014. The Past

**POV: Nael**

I was there, sitting in a corner of the room, staring into the void as my thoughts wandered. Amara was still asleep on the bed, her body sprawled carelessly, as if the weight of everything we had lived through had completely exhausted her. Her breathing was slow, almost inaudible, but steady. She looked like a corpse, motionless, but at the same time carried a tranquility I had never felt.

I glanced around. The guest room was impersonal, decorated with only the essentials. Gray curtains hung from tall windows, hiding the moonlight. There were no pictures, personal items, or any evidence that the space belonged to anyone. It made me relax a bit. It was the kind of place that left no traces.

My mind drifted back to the past, to the first time I met Amara. I was fifteen years old but looked older. My height and posture always gave me a presence other boys my age didn't have. Even now, at eighteen, I still carry an aura that confuses people. My cold expression and intense eyes make them see me as someone older, more dangerous. Perhaps it's a reflection of my life—shaped in blood and shadows, I never knew what it was to be young.

I looked at her again, thinking about my entire life. Everything I had done up to now had led me to this moment, but doubt always crept in. Was this right? Sleeping with her? The weight of past actions felt heavier that night, and as Amara slept on the bed beside me, still as a corpse, I allowed myself to think.

I glanced around the room again. It remained one of the guest rooms in the mansion, devoid of personal belongings, which made me relax for a moment. The environment was cold, impersonal, as if it were devoid of any life or memory. The walls were adorned with paintings that didn't draw attention, merely filling the space out of obligation. The light hanging from the ceiling was soft but sufficient to highlight the details of Amara's face. Her dark hair was messy, her lips slightly parted as she slept deeply.

My mind wouldn't stop. Our lives had never been easy, not for me, not for her. Amara and I first met on a mission. At the time, I was fifteen but always looked older. My face was serious, rigid, marked by a maturity many boys my age didn't have. Maybe it was my older appearance, along with my cold, calculating demeanor, that made me stand out among the others. Even now, at eighteen, I don't seem truly young.

Our first meeting was... chaotic. The mission was simple: destroy a budding mafia. I was there to follow orders, without question, until I saw her. Amara was protecting the mafia—or at least trying to. At the time, I didn't know why, and honestly, I didn't care. What mattered was that suddenly she was in my way, and everything turned into an intense shootout.

She was good. Better than I expected. Her movements were precise, calculated, yet there was a wild passion in the way she fought. I was fascinated, not just by her skill but by her intensity. I knew she was different.

We ran out of bullets. That's when things changed. The hand-to-hand combat was brutal, a fight for survival where hatred pulsed between us. She was strong, but I had more experience. In the end, the small mafia was destroyed, and Amara was furious. She chased me for months afterward, always appearing at the most unexpected moments. I couldn't understand why she insisted so much, but deep down, I think we both knew something else was happening.

During that time, I was "Number 1" at the brothel the Queen controlled. It wasn't something I chose but something imposed on me. I was used to manipulate, seduce, and destroy. And Amara... she knew where to find me. She would come occasionally, paying for my time. It wasn't frequent, but our encounters left marks. I could count at least ten times we were together, maybe more.

I remember the moment we met again. This time, there were no gunfights or arguments. It was different. She knew where to find me, as she always did. By then, I had been assigned to work at one of the Queen's brothels. I was "Number 1," the most sought-after. The Queen, with her calculated cruelty, knew how to use me, and I fulfilled my role without hesitation.

Amara began showing up there occasionally. She paid for me, like everyone else, but things between us were different. It wasn't just a job. There was something more. I can't deny it: we did it at least ten times. I always remember numbers; I never get my calculations wrong. However, now everything felt different. Knowing she was my aunt, my own family, put everything into a new perspective.

Fate is cruel, isn't it? She was the sister of the man who destroyed my mother. Maybe, in some way, I wanted revenge. Perhaps, by getting involved with her, I was trying to break her the same way my world was shattered. But looking at her now, sleeping deeply, I realized that revenge brought me nothing. Just emptiness.

I got up slowly, feeling the weight of every decision. My expression remained cold, as always. I wasn't someone who let emotions show, and that was the difference between me and Amara. While she fought her demons, I faced mine alone.

"Please... don't go..." Her voice broke the silence of the room. She held my hand tightly, her eyes still closed, but her expression was laden with sadness. It was as if she knew this could be the last time she'd see me.

"You won't abandon me too, will you?" she asked, her voice fragile, almost pleading.

For a moment, I hesitated. Her words carried a weight I couldn't ignore. She looked so lost, so broken, as if I were the only thing keeping her anchored to reality. But I couldn't stay. I couldn't offer her what she needed.

"I'm here. Go back to sleep," I replied, my voice low but firm. My face revealed nothing, no emotion, but inside, something stirred within me. As cold and indifferent as I was, perhaps there was still a fragment of kindness in me. Or maybe it was just guilt.

Amara relaxed a little, though her fingers still clung to my hand as if afraid to lose me. I watched her for a moment longer before releasing her hand and stepping away. As I walked out of the room, I felt the weight of what I had done and what I would still do.

The night was silent, but within me, chaos roared. Amara was just another chapter in my complicated life, but one that would leave marks. Even as I left that room, I knew I would never truly escape the consequences of everything that had happened.

[**Continued in full English translation with Nayara's POV...**]

**POV: Nayara**

The party was in full swing, a whirlwind of sounds, laughter, and lights blending into near chaos. People danced and toasted incessantly, flaunting their social masks like gleaming armor. But for me, the entire atmosphere was suffocating. There was no authenticity. I was just a piece in a game I hadn't chosen to play.

As soon as I saw Amara, I knew something was wrong. The expression on her face was enough to alert me. I knew about her history with Nael – a "friends with benefits" arrangement, as he called it. But that night, something was different, something heavier in the air. She was more vulnerable, while Nael, as always, carried that dangerous calm, that gaze that seemed to calculate all possibilities before acting.

Walking through the mansion's corridors, trying to escape the commotion, I saw Amara leaving one of the rooms. Her face was flushed, her clothes slightly disheveled, and there was something in her eyes—a mix of guilt and ecstasy. That was all I needed to understand. Something terrible had happened.

Amara and Nael.

I knew their story. A shared past of "friends with benefits," as she used to call it, but now it seemed deeper, even more dangerous. I saw the way she looked at him that night, and I saw how he looked at her. Two predators who had just left a confrontation... or maybe something more intimate.

Leaving the main hall with Mom—or rather, Celestia, as many called her—I excused myself. I said I was going to the bathroom, but I just needed a moment to breathe, to escape the role of a "living trophy" that everyone seemed to want me to play. I didn't want to return to the party, being observed, analyzed, treated as if I were merely a reflection of our family's power.

I wandered the corridors searching for Nael. He wasn't in the main hall, nor in the courtyard, nor any of the usual places. Then I saw him, discreetly following Amara. He seduced her as he did with everyone, but this time it seemed different. It wasn't just charm. It was something darker. She tried to resist—at least at first—but ended up being pulled by him into one of the rooms.

What happened next was, to say the least, unsettling. They didn't even try to hide it. The sounds coming from the room were loud, intense, and I found myself standing guard to ensure no one caught them. If they were discovered, the consequences would be disastrous—not just for them but for all of us.

I stood there, struggling with the storm of emotions inside me. My face revealed nothing, but I was furious on the inside. Not at him, nor at her, but at the situation. I knew I had to do something. If anyone found them, they'd be screwed. So, I did what I always do: assume the role of a guard.

Hours dragged on. They didn't even bother to minimize the noise. Moans and cries echoed through the corridors, while I remained there, still, trying to ignore what I was hearing. But I couldn't help reflecting: forbidden things always taste sweeter, don't they? Maybe that's why they lost themselves in each other like that.

But my mind began to wander. Dark thoughts invaded me. Was Nael really like this? Did he enjoy crossing boundaries? But then I remembered: he never tried anything with me, nor with Mom. Despite everything, he always treated us with respect. I couldn't decide if that was a relief or a disappointment.

Mom and I weren't ordinary women. At 38, she was the very definition of perfection. Her long golden hair shimmered like silk, and her sculpted body left all the men around her speechless. And me? I resembled her—a younger reflection. My golden hair and crystalline eyes made boys my age stumble over their words, but I knew I was still far from achieving her magnetism.

While waiting outside, thoughts invaded my mind. There was something perversely fascinating about watching this forbidden scenario from a distance. Perhaps it's human nature—that tendency to be drawn to what we shouldn't. I couldn't help but think that anything forbidden always seemed sweeter, more irresistible. Perhaps that's why they lost themselves in each other like that.

Hours passed, and the sounds inside the room finally ceased. Everything went quiet, as if the world had decided to give them a brief moment of peace. But I knew that calm was temporary. Chaos would come.

I sighed, crossing my arms as I looked at the closed door. Nael was... complicated. He always was. Even before we knew we were siblings, he was already a mystery, a walking paradox. Strong, charismatic, yet carrying a coldness that pushed almost everyone away. He had a magnetism that made any woman—and even some men—succumb to the slightest hint of interest.

And me?

I was never immune to him. When we were younger, before learning of our blood connection, I saw Nael as the ideal man. Strong, fearless, with eyes that seemed to see straight into the soul of anyone who dared to meet his gaze. But he never crossed the line with me or Mom. It was as if there was something unbreakable in his moral code when it came to us. Even so, my mind sometimes wandered to places I preferred to ignore.

My thoughts turned back to myself. I knew I was beautiful—with golden hair and crystalline eyes that seemed to hypnotize anyone who dared to look at me. Since I grew up, men and boys became nervous around me, unable to look away. But still, I never felt like more than a piece on the chessboard of our family.

I thought of Celestia. Mom was the epitome of what I aspired to be someday. Even at 38, she maintained a beauty that made men of all ages lose their minds. Her body was sculpted by sheer willpower and the necessity of survival, and her presence commanded equal parts respect and desire. I could only hope to be like her when I reached her age.

But Nael was different. Even surrounded by beauty, power, and temptation, he seemed untouchable, as if nothing could truly affect him. And that only made him more intriguing.

I walked through the empty corridor and entered one of the guest rooms. The bed was enormous, with immaculate white sheets, and the air had that scent of polished wood and expensive perfume that seemed to permeate every corner of the mansion. I closed the door behind me and sat on the edge of the bed, still trying to process everything that had happened that night.

Lying down, pulling the blanket up to my chin, I stared at the dark ceiling. Nael was destroying himself, I knew that. And Amara? Maybe she was just clinging to what she could. It didn't matter. What mattered was that tomorrow would bring more complications, more secrets, and probably more pain.

I closed my eyes, trying to convince myself that sleep would bring some relief. But deep down, a part of me wished things were different. That Nael wasn't my brother. That I could have the courage to want something I knew was impossible.

But that's not how the world worked.

"He's my brother," I murmured to myself, as if the words were a shield against treacherous thoughts.

I sighed, trying to push those thoughts away. It was absurd. He was my brother, and as much as my mind played with the idea of "what if?", I knew I never wanted to cross that line. I preferred to have him as my brother, as someone who was always by my side, even if distant.

"Let's see what tomorrow holds," I murmured to myself before closing my eyes.

I knew the next conversation with Nael would be difficult, but it didn't matter. He was my brother. And as confused as my mind was, that was something I didn't want to change.

And yet, I couldn't help but smile slightly before drifting off to sleep. After all, tomorrow always brought new chances for chaos.