I.
Mattia "Aya" Roccio Santillian was roused by insistent knocks.
He narrowed his eyes adjusting to the brightness of his surroundings.
The knocks continued getting louder and more aggressive. He frowned. Whoever was outside his door is begging for death.
He reluctantly got up and was surprised when a white slim hand snaked around his waist. His frown deepened. He looked at the person beside him and pondered.
The woman's beautiful face was flushed and her creamy skin was a stark contrast to the matte black sheets that covered half her naked body. He pursed his lips.
"What time is it?" she whispered. He shrugged. He removed her hand from his waist and stood up. The sheet fell to his feet but he was too preoccupied to care. He walked purposely to the bedroom door, snatching a pair of boxers that hung by a chair.
He strode to the door and yanked it open. He was met with another slim hand which was raised and mid-way from knocking. He caught her hand and then released it with force. For a fleeting second, her face registered pain but it was quickly masked.
"What" he said gruffly. He watched as her eyes travelled from his face going down and then back to his face again. He cocked his eyebrows. She rolled her eyes at him and with a flip of her hair, she pushed him and forced herself inside.
"I need to crash." She said. She went straight to the sofa and slumped with her back at him.
"Get out." His voice was cold. She flinched.
"No."
"It's my place."
She turned around and sat up. "I know. It's in my building." She said matter-of-factly.
He gritted his teeth and stared at her long and hard. She shrugged her shoulders.
"It's not like I want to be here. Your place smells filthy." She said again looking around. It was a lie. Every part of the house smells of him and he is far from filthy. She peered at him. His body looked more toned that before. His hair longer and darker. He pursed his lips and squinted his eyes. He's fuming.
"Why exactly are you here?" he asked exasperated.
"Henry brought his new wife home." She said. Henry. His father. "I didn't want to get in the way."
"And you have no other place to go but here." He said. Hearing his father's name made him angrier.
"Three days." She said, "Let me crash here for three days. I'll be gone before you know it. I'll stay out of your sight, too. I just need your couch." She said and sighed. "Come on, Aya. I'm tired."
She never called him by his name.
He looked at her again. There were dark circles around her eyes - her big, round and doll-like eyes. Her naturally thick and curled lashes were like fans but they did nothing to hide the dullness, a far cry from her usual bright eyes. Her long wavy hair hung loose around her face. She normally had it styled. His brows crossed when he noticed she was wearing what looked like a man's hoodie.
He was about to tell her off when the bedroom door creaked opened. They both turned towards it.
"Oh." The petite woman gasped. He frowned when he noticed she was wearing his shirt. "Hi." She said.
"Naya." He called turning to the doll-like woman sitting on the sofa. She was still staring at the bedroom's direction with disgust etched on her face.
She turned to him, her face now devoid of emotion.
"I'll come back tonight." She said and stood up. She threw one more look at the other woman before turning to the door.
The click on the door sounded louder than ever. He was drawn to it and found himself staring at the closed panel long after she has gone.
"That's Naya?" the soft voice snapped him back to the present. "She's beautiful."
He looked at her. She is beautiful, too.
But inferior next to Naya.
II.
Viviana "Naya" Castille slammed her hands on the steering wheel. Her chest hurts. Her eyes were hot and they stung. She squeezed them shut, willing for the tears to stop. When the tears stopped falling, she leaned back and drew a long sigh.
She pulled the sleeves of her hoodie and sighed a bit more. It was Aya's hoodie.
She's of the same age as Aya. She met him when her mother, Natalia married his father, Henry. Since the first day they laid eyes on each other, he already had a frown plastered on his face every time he looked at her. Once in a while she would catch a glimpse of his relaxed face, and when she's lucky, a smiling one.
They went to the same school. He was the popular snobbish prince every girl wanted and the godlike leader the boys followed. She, on the other hand, was the beautiful rich girl every boy chased after while the girls seethed with envy and hate. Where she was quick with her fist, he was smarter with his and while they were both skilled in fighting, he normally goes home with less bruises that her.
They were alike and different at the same time. Separate but connected.
Aya is the heir of the Santillian family, the Mafia-like organization protecting the rich, and she is the princess of the Castile ā the old money.
She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. She cursed the woman Henry brought home which pushed her to leave her mansion. It was her choice. Henry begged her to stay but she can't stand looking at that wretched woman. Her mother, Natalia, has long since abandoned the life of the rich leaving her, the last of the Castile, in the care of the Santillian.
While Henry has always been the father she wanted, he was still a man who needed a woman beside him and her mother's wanderlust never worked with the stationary life that Henry leads.
She sighed as she remembered them so in love but when their differences started seeping through the surface, that love wasn't strong enough to hold them together. Natalia and Henry parted ways amicably after a decade of trying to make things work.
She chuckled bitterly. It's been two years. Her mother has been trotting the globe since then and Henry, as he is bound to protect the Castile, has stayed with her.
He's been wonderful as a father and not as a mere guardian. She can't find it in her heart to forbid him when he said he wanted to remarry. Where he was a formidable mob boss, he was also a puppy in love.
"Rachel" she groaned.
She cursed Rachel a hundred times in her head.
Maybe killed her a thousand times over.
She hissed and slammed her fist on the steering wheel again.
She is repulsed just by even thinking of that woman.
Henry is a sweet soul beneath the scary faƧade and Rachel is a scheming woman clothed in a sheepskin.
She should know.
Rachel was her best friend.
And Aya's ex-girlfriend.