(Jay's POV)
The embarrassment was still burning through my veins like a slow-moving wildfire. Every time I closed my eyes, I didn't see the beautiful beach resort or the tropical sunrise; I saw a high-definition mental replay of myself—the supposedly dignified Jay—performing a tribal dance around a bonfire while screaming at the top of my lungs that my fiancé was a "virgin sacrifice."
I was currently fused to Keifer's chest, trying to merge my physical atoms with his shirt so I could disappear forever.
"Barakuda! Oh, Great Barakuda! Is the ritual complete?"
The muffled shout from behind the hotel room door was followed by a chorus of snickering. It was David's voice, sounding way too proud of himself.
Then came Mica's high-pitched giggle and the unmistakable sound of Ci-n drumming on the wooden door frame."We brought some goat milk for the Priestess!"
Edrix hollered. "Do we need to find another virgin, or is Keifer still... intact?"
I groaned, digging my face deeper into Keifer's pectoral muscles. "I am going to kill them. I am going to find a real ritual and turn them all into toads," I muttered into his skin.
Keifer let out a low, vibrating chuckle that rumbled through my cheek. He wrapped his arms tightly around me, patting my back with a soothing rhythm. "Don't worry, my baby wifey," he whispered, his voice dripping with playful sweetness. "I'll protect you from the mean boys."
Suddenly, the noise outside reached a crescendo. It sounded like Eman was trying to lead them in a chant. But then, Keifer did something. He didn't scream. He didn't threaten. He simply cleared his throat—a harsh, sharp, authoritative cough that echoed through the room.
Silence.
Total, absolute, pin-drop silence followed. I could almost hear the Section E boys sweating through the door. Even after all these years, even after moving to London, their instinctual fear of their "President" was a hardwired evolutionary trait.
I pulled back just enough to look at him. Keifer wasn't even looking at the door; he was looking at me with a devastatingly smug smirk.
"See, Wifey? I told you," he said, his eyes glinting with that dark, handsome mischief that always made my heart do a backflip. "I have my ways. They know better than to push their luck when I'm 'busy' with my bride-to-be."
"You're terrifying," I breathed, truly impressed. "They're literally hiding in the hallway right now, aren't they?"
"Most likely hiding in the elevator by now," he corrected. He leaned down, his nose brushing against mine. "Now... since I've successfully banished the demons, I believe the hero deserves a reward."
I felt my face heat up again. This man's transition from 'Protective President' to 'Flirty Fiancé' was too fast for my brain to process.
I grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked him right in the chest."No reward for basic fiancé duties, Keifer! You're supposed to defend my honor!"
He caught the pillow effortlessly, laughing that rich, melodic laugh that I loved and hated at the same time. His eyes darkened slightly as his smirk grew more playful.
"Don't," I warned, pointing a finger at him. "Don't make that face."
"What face?" he asked innocently, stepping closer.
"The one that makes me melt and terrified at the same time! It's unfair. It's a biological weapon."
Before I could protest further, Keifer lunged. With a squeal of surprise, I felt the world tilt as he scooped me up into a bridal carry. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck, chuckling despite myself as he began marching toward the bathroom.
"Shower first," he declared. "Then we negotiate the reward."
We were literally at the door of the bathroom when his phone—sitting on the nightstand—erupted in a harsh, demanding ring. Keifer groaned, looking at the phone like he wanted to set it on fire with his mind.
"Ignore it," I suggested, hidden in the crook of his neck.
"It's the special ringtone for the class group," he sighed.
Instead of putting me down, Keifer did a display of pure, unadulterated testosterone. He adjusted me, shifting my weight until I was sitting on his hip, balanced perfectly by just one of his arms. I felt his bicep bulge like a rock under me as he reached out with his free hand to grab the phone. I clung to him like a baby koala, leaning in curious to see who was calling.
It was Alex, Annie's brother and our one and only classmate with some brain ."Hello?" Keifer answered, his voice back to its professional, cool tone.
"Keifer! Man, finally," Alex's voice crackled through the speaker. "I forgot to tell you guys—the university actually announced the mid-year vacations the very day you guys flew out to the Philippines. Total chaos in the admin office."
I blinked. Vacations? Already?
"And the assignments?" Keifer asked, his thumb absentmindedly stroking my leg.
"They're being forwarded via email. We have a solid three weeks of nothing but 'independent study,' which we all know means doing absolutely nothing until the last forty-eight hours."
Keifer thanked him and hung up. He looked down at me, a new light dancing in his eyes. The "Barakuda" embarrassment was still there, but it was being pushed aside by a sudden surge of excitement.
"Vacations," Keifer mused. "Real ones. Not just a weekend at the estate."
"What are you thinking?" I asked, already knowing that look.
"I'm thinking that if Section E is here to haunt us, we should probably flee the country," he laughed. "Let's go somewhere new, Jay. Just us. We can explore, get lost, and I can have you all to myself without David filming us for blackmail material."
I nodded eagerly, my mind already spinning with possibilities. "Let's do it. Somewhere far. Somewhere where nobody knows who 'Barakuda' is."
"Deal," Keifer said, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "But first... that shower."
After getting ready we went to Keifer's main house and met keigan and keiren. They were also wishing to come with us but they had their exams and they both same as keifer inherited pure germ killing alcohol genes to score perfect 100% and they bet to take no risk... Tsss...
The Great Escape: Lost in Thailand
Two days later, we were standing in the middle of Bangkok. If I thought the Philippines was chaotic, I wasn't prepared for Keifer in Thailand. He claimed he wanted a "cultural experience," but I quickly realized his version of culture involved seeing how many spicy skewers I could eat before my soul left my body.
We were currently in a bustling night market. I was wearing a light linen outfit, trying to look like a sophisticated traveler. Keifer, in a simple black tank top, looked like a bodyguard for a celebrity. Every third person turned around to look at his arms."Stop flexing," I hissed. "You're drawing a crowd."
"I'm just holding the shopping bags, Jay. These muscles have a mind of their own," he teased.
The highlight—or perhaps the lowlight—was when we decided to take a Tuk-Tuk to a riverside dinner. Keifer, being a giant, barely fit in the colorful motorized rickshaw. His knees were practically touching his chin.
"You look like a human pretzel," I laughed, snapping photos. "As long as I'm your pretzel," he grunted as the driver took a sharp turn, sending Keifer sliding into me.
However, the "funny" part truly began when we visited a traditional Thai Cooking Class. Keifer, the terrifying President of Section E, was forced to wear a bright yellow apron with a giant cartoon pineapple on it.
"Jay, this apron is compromising my authority," he whispered, holding a mortar and pestle like it was a tactical weapon.
"Just crush the chilies, Pineapple King," I giggled. The instructor told us to taste our curry. Keifer, wanting to prove his masculinity, threw in five extra bird's-eye chilies. Within seconds, his face turned the color of a fire engine. He didn't want to admit he was dying, so he just sat there with tears streaming down his face, smiling manically at me.
"Is it good?" I asked, dying of laughter.
"Exquisite," he squeaked, his voice three octaves higher than usual.
The Full Moon Fiasco (Barakuda Strikes Back)
You would think I had learned my lesson about alcohol. But we ended up at a beach party in Koh Phangan.
I remember the first "Bucket" drink. It was fruity and came with four straws.I don't remember the third one.
According to the videos I found on my phone the next morning, I didn't just dance. I staged a "reclamation of the ocean." The video showed me wearing a garland of glowing neon flowers, standing on a plastic chair, and addresssing a crowd of confused tourists.
"LISTEN UP! THIS IS KEIFER! HE IS MINE! I BOUGHT HIM WITH THREE COCONUTS AND A PRAYER!"
Keifer was in the background, trying to pull me down while holding my shoes. "Jay, please, the coconuts weren't even that good."
"SILENCE, PEASANT!" I bellowed in the video. I then proceeded to lead a group of strangers in a "Barakuda" chant, teaching them the specific hand gestures I used back at school camp.
The video ended with me trying to "save" a beached inflatable unicorn from the "tide" (which was actually just a puddle) while Keifer carried me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
The Morning After
I woke up in our villa, the sunlight hitting my eyes like a physical assault. I rolled over, hoping Keifer was still asleep. But no. He was sitting on the balcony, looking impeccably handsome in a white robe, sipping a fresh coconut.
He heard me groan and turned around."Good morning, my Coconut Queen," he chirped.
I pulled the duvet over my head. "I want to die. Put me in a suitcase and drop me in the Mekong River."
"Why? I thought the 'Save the Unicorn' speech was very moving," he said, walking over. He pulled the duvet back. "Though, the resort staff is still wondering why you tried to tip the gardener with a half-eaten mango."
"I'm never drinking again," I sobbed. "I'm retiring the Barakuda."
"I don't know," Keifer said, pinning my wrists to the bed and looming over me. "She's got spirit. And she told everyone on the beach that I have 'the best back muscles in the Southern Hemisphere.' I appreciated the free PR."
I hid my face in his chest. "Please tell me nobody else saw the video."
"Well... I might have sent it to the Section E group chat," he said casually.
I froze. "KEIFER!"
I grabbed a pillow and began whaling on him. He just laughed, his rich, melodic voice filling the room. He caught me in a hug, his heart beating against mine.
"Vacation's over soon, Wifey," he whispered. "Back to London. But I wouldn't trade your chaos for anything."I stopped struggling.
"I hate you."
"I love you too, Barakuda," he replied, sealing it with a kiss. As we packed, my phone buzzed. It was the group chat.
David: WE HEARD ABOUT THE MANGO TIP!
Freya : Jay, the neon flowers really bring out your 'dark side' glow.
Calix: Keifer, are you still a 'peasant' or have you been promoted?
Ci-n: Mom! Dad! I have a reputation
I looked at Keifer. He was humming, looking at a map of London. I realized that no matter where we went, I'd always have him to hide my face against.
Back to territory
The flight back to London was a blur of recycled air, overpriced snacks, and my head resting on Keifer's shoulder while I tried to mentally delete the footage of me "blessing" a Thai gardener with a mango.
We were exhausted, our internal clocks were screaming in three different time zones, and my only goal was to reach our apartment and enter a coma for at least twenty-four hours.
"Home sweet home," Keifer muttered as he kicked the door shut behind us.We didn't even bother unpacking. The suitcases were left like abandoned monuments in the hallway.
We moved in a synchronized, zombie-like shuffle toward the bedroom. I didn't even take off my jacket; I just face-planted onto the mattress.
"Bed," I groaned into the pillow. "If anyone calls me, tell them I've joined a monastery and taken a vow of silence."
"Make room for your monk husband," Keifer murmured, collapsing beside me.
For exactly three minutes, it was heaven. The sheets were cool, the room was quiet, and the sweet embrace of sleep was pulling me under. Then, the nightstand vibrated. Then it vibrated again. Then it let out a persistent, high-pitched ping that sounded like a digital mosquito.
"Keifer," I whined. "Kill it."
He reached out blindly, grabbing his phone. I watched through one half-open eye as his face went from sleepy to confused, and then to a horrifying mask of disbelief.
"Jay," he said, his voice cracking. "Open your laptop."
"No. Laptops are for people with futures. I am currently a potato."
"Jay, Alex wasn't joking. Look at the email."
With a soul-crushing sigh, I dragged myself upright and opened my MacBook. The screen glowed with the intensity of a thousand suns, blinding me. There, at the top of my inbox, was a message from the Faculty of Business and Economics.
Subject: URGENT - Mid-term Project Portfolio & Case Study Analysis
I scrolled. And scrolled. And scrolled. It wasn't just an assignment; it was a manifesto. It was a library's worth of work. Research papers, financial modeling spreadsheets, and a 5,000-word analysis on "Macroeconomic Elasticity in Post-Pandemic Emerging Markets."
"Wait," I said, my voice trembling as I looked at the calendar. "We spent two weeks in the Philippines and Thailand. Today is Sunday. When is the deadline?"
Keifer looked at his phone, his face pale. "Tuesday morning. 9:00 AM."
The silence that followed was heavy. We had exactly forty-eight hours to complete a month's worth of academic torture.
"I'm going back to Thailand," I declared, starting to crawl off the bed. "I'll live in the Tuk-Tuk. I'll become a coconut vendor. I can't do this."
Keifer grabbed my waist and hauled me back. "Oh no, you don't. If I'm going down, you're coming with me, Wifey. But look at you—you're already vibrating with stress. Deep breaths."
"I can't breathe! Keifer, look at these terms!" I pointed at the screen. "What is a 'Stochastic Frontier Analysis'? Is that a type of coffee? Is it a new Marvel movie?"
Keifer leaned over my shoulder, squinting at the text. He didn't look stressed anymore. In fact, he looked... bored. He began scrolling through the instructions with a casual flick of his thumb that made me want to scream.
"Actually, this is pretty standard," he said, yawning. "The Stochastic Frontier is just a method of estimating the production function. It's basically measuring how much you're failing at being efficient."
I stared at him. "You just said words. They were English words, but they didn't make a sentence in my brain."
"Come here," he said, pulling me into his lap and opening a fresh Word document. "I've literally seen this case study in three different textbooks already. It's a repeat. I could probably do this in my sleep."
"Of course you could," I muttered, leaning my head back against his chest. "Because you're a freak of nature. A beautiful, genius freak."
The next six hours were a masterclass in humiliation for me. I sat there, surrounded by three different highlighters and a pile of sticky notes, trying to understand why a graph was moving to the left.
"Keifer, why is the supply curve doing that?" I asked, pointing at my screen. "It looks like it's trying to escape."
He didn't even look up from his own laptop, where he was typing so fast it sounded like a machine gun. "It's shifting because of the inflationary pressure on raw materials, Jay. Look at the variable costs."
"Variable costs?" I whispered. "Is that like... when the price of my bubble tea changes?"
He stopped typing and looked at me. He didn't laugh—well, his eyes laughed, but his face stayed heroically neutral. He reached over, closed my book, and turned my chair toward him.
"Okay, let's try this 'Keifer-style.' Forget the textbook. Imagine you're the President of a giant company that makes... let's say, designer sneakers."
"Okay, I like this. I'm the boss."
"Right. Now, if the leather suddenly becomes twice as expensive, but you still want to make the same profit, what do you do?"
"I raise the price and tell everyone it's a 'limited edition' vintage leather," I said instantly.
Keifer beamed. "Exactly! That's price elasticity of demand! You just did Economics, Jay!"
I blinked. "Wait. That's it? Why did the professor use words like 'asymptotic' and 'heteroscedasticity'?"
"Because professors get paid more when they use words that have more than five syllables," he joked, pulling me into a hug.
"See? You're a genius. You just need a better translator." For the next two days, our apartment became a war zone. There were coffee mugs on every surface.
I was wearing Keifer's oversized hoodie, my hair in a bun that looked like a bird's nest, and I had a smudge of blue ink on my cheek.Keifer, meanwhile, looked like he was on a spa day.
He finished his 5,000-word analysis in four hours. He then spent the rest of the time hovering over me, explaining complex financial derivatives using metaphors about pizza and shopping.
"So, a 'Call Option' is like... putting a dress on hold at the mall?" I asked, scribbling furiously.
"Exactly," he said, kissing the top of my head. "You pay a small fee now to have the right to buy it at that price later, even if the price goes up."
I dropped my pen and looked at him in total awe. "Keifer, why am I even going to the University of London? This is a scam. I'm paying thousands of pounds to be confused by old men in tweed jackets when I have a private tutor in my bed."
He chuckled, rubbing my tired shoulders. "I don't think the university gives degrees for 'Bedside Tutoring,' Jay."
"They should! I'm serious. You explain things in five minutes that take the lecturer three weeks. From now on, I'm staying home. You go to class, take notes, come home, and explain it to me while I feed you grapes. It's a perfect system."
"You want to turn me into your personal academic slave?"
"I prefer the term 'Genius Consultant Husband,'" I corrected him, leaning back into his embrace.
"Seriously, I only understand this stuff when you say it. Without you, I'd still be staring at the word 'asymptotic' and wondering if it's a type of skin cream."
He laughed, scooping me up just like he had at the resort, despite the piles of paper around us. "Well, if I'm the tutor, I expect a very high salary."
"Oh? And what's the rate?"
"One hug per paragraph," he whispered, his smirk returning. "And a very long, very quiet sleep once we hit 'Submit.'"
We finally clicked the "Upload" button at 4:00 AM on Tuesday morning. As the "Submission Successful" green bar appeared, I felt like I had just won an Olympic gold medal. I turned to Keifer and threw my arms around him.
"We survived! The Barakuda and the President conquered the assignments!"
"We did," he said, sounding truly tired for the first time. "Now... about that 24-hour sleep?"
We crawled back into bed, the London sunrise just beginning to peek through the curtains. I buried my face in his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.
"Hey, Keifer?"
"Hmm?"
"What does 'Stochastic' mean again?"
"Go to sleep, Jay."
"Right. Love you."
"Love you too, Wifey."
As we drifted off, I knew one thing for sure: the London crew might be back, and the university might be trying to kill us with paperwork, but as long as I had my "Genius Consultant" beside me, I could handle anything—even a 5,000-word essay on things I couldn't pronounce.