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Jasper Jean Mariano - known simply as Jay Jay - was just another face in the crowded halls of HVIS, Section E. To most, she was a common student, a quiet girl battling the usual high school chaos - insecurities, fears, and a world that sometimes...
The house was alive with sound. Somewhere downstairs, music rehearsals echoed faintly, the clinking of glasses suggested staff setting up for the evening’s reception, and the muted murmur of guests already arriving carried through the walls. Yet, in the suite where Luna stood, all of it faded into nothingness.
Her heartbeat was the only sound that mattered.
The gown hugged her curves as though it had been spun for her alone—deep emerald green, shimmering under the light, a slit daringly high, the silver embellishments glinting like stars dusted across midnight. The sheer drape at her shoulder fell like a whisper of smoke, brushing against her bare arm, grounding her. Luna had been dressed for balls and galas her entire life, but tonight… tonight was different. Tonight, she wasn’t dressing as the mafia king’s daughter. Tonight, she was Keifer’s wife.
She turned to the mirror, breath catching at her own reflection. The gown’s intricate beading looked like constellations wrapped across her body. But what truly startled her wasn’t the dress, or the jewels at her ears, or the sweep of her hair in elegant curls.
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It was the softness in her eyes.
It was the smile tugging at her lips, unbidden and unstoppable.
It was the quiet glow of being loved.
And then, behind her, the door opened.
She didn’t even hear footsteps at first—just the subtle shift in air, the faint creak of wood. Slowly, her gaze drifted upward to the mirror, and her breath stilled.
Keifer stood in the doorway.
He hadn’t spoken a word. He didn’t need to. His presence filled the room, commanding without force, magnetic without effort. The suit fit him like sin—velvet dark green that caught the light, silver embroidery winding across his shoulders like vines spun by gods. His broad shoulders carried the embellishments with ease, the satin lapels gleamed like midnight rivers, and the crisp white of his shirt made him look almost too sharp, too perfect.
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But his eyes.
His eyes told the story.
Keifer froze, his chest visibly tightening as his gaze landed on her. The composure he so often wore cracked; for a fleeting second, he looked undone.
