was still professional.
That was the rule.
That was always the rule.
So when Keifer didn't walk into the conference room one Monday morning, Jay didn't ask.
She noticed.
The chair across from her stayed empty.
No quiet "good morning."
No soft shuffle of files.
No low voice correcting a number before anyone else caught it.
The meeting went on.
Perfectly.
Too perfectly.
Only at the end, when Kaizer stood up, someone mentioned it casually.
"Keifer left for Europe. Expansion visit. One month."
One month.
Jay nodded like it meant nothing.
Of course he would go.
Of course the Watson heir had other continents waiting for him.
That evening, she stayed longer than usual in the office.
Not because of work.
Because leaving felt… unnecessary.
The next meeting felt wrong.
Not broken.
Just… unbalanced.
She caught herself glancing at the empty seat again.
Once.
Twice.
Then she stopped.
She didn't need him.
She had handled rooms like this her whole life.
Still—
When a projection froze and no one reacted fast enough, her mind whispered his voice before anyone spoke.
Refresh the local server. Not the cloud.
She said it out loud.
It worked.
People praised her.
She smiled.
It didn't feel like a win.
Days passed.
Jay realised something small… and humiliating.
She had started measuring meetings by him.
By how quickly he understood.
By how quietly he supported.
By how safe it felt to speak when she knew he was there.
At lunch, she sat alone more often.
Not lonely.
Just… undisturbed.
Except she kept catching herself turning her head when someone walked past with his height.
Same shoulders.
Same walk.
Never him.
Halfway through the month, her father noticed.
"You're quieter lately," he said one night over dinner.
Jay paused.
Just for a breath.
"I'm tired."
It wasn't a lie.
It just wasn't the full truth.
What she missed wasn't Keifer.
Not officially.
She missed the way the room made sense when he was in it.
She missed not having to carry every sharp decision alone.
She missed the silent certainty that someone across the table would understand her before she had to explain herself.
On the twenty-seventh day—
A presentation collapsed under aggressive questioning.
Jay stood her ground.
She always did.
But when she sat back down, her fingers were trembling slightly under the table.
Normally…
He would have slid a note.
Or leaned in.
Or quietly anchored the chaos beside her.
This time—
There was only the empty chair.
That night, she stayed late again.
The city lights bled into the glass walls of the office.
Jay opened her laptop to shut it down.
Instead, her eyes drifted to the shared project folder.
Her cursor hovered over his name.
Keifer Watson.
She didn't click.
She closed the laptop.
And for the first time in a long time, Jay finally admitted the thought she had been avoiding for an entire month.
His absence hurt more than his presence ever could.
And that scared her.