The Next Heiress

Chapter 12 - Unexpected

YOLANDA ALCANTARA-QUIÑONES.

TWO OF HER ENTRIES FROM HER PERSONAL DIARY.

December 13, 1931

My life was very different than what I had expected.

If my marriage can be compared with a dream, it would be definitely a nightmare. The moment that my hand was asked by Aureliano from my parents after Tadeo's fake death, my freedom deteriorated. I married that Mestizo man who had the same awful qualities as my father. Worse, the assigned servants in our house as a wedded couple didn't help at all. They never listened to my needs, and they only submitted themselves to my filthy husband. I was just locked up inside the house, only allowed to use the bedroom and bathroom. Fortunately, I had that one granted request.

And that was placing the oil painting inside the bedroom.

I almost gave up on the outcome of my life. My head couldn't wrap around the fact that I allowed my body to be used by a sickening man every night. I could remember myself crying to sleep as I couldn't get out of this miserable situation. Aureliano had even blocked Asuncion from communicating with me. The last time that I heard from her was after my marriage. Sincerely, I was hoping up to this day that nothing bad had happened to her. I wouldn't forgive myself if there was.

But in the midst of these despairing things, there was a special person who gave me a spark of hope, and there was none other than Tadeo, the love of my life.

Whenever Aureliano was doing his works or he was asleep, I would visit him inside the oil painting with the magical verse that Asuncion had given to me. During my time inside that wonderful world, I would forget all of my problems. Just a simple talk accompanied by Tadeo's kiss, all of my problems, worries, and doubts to myself would be washed away.

However, I felt so undeserving of him. Tadeo remained pure until he gave himself to me, while my disgusting husband tainted my innocence. The special lovemaking that was supposed to be shared only between us was ruined, which I thought that was very unfair to him. I always felt guilty about it, and I didn't even know if he noticed it.

All that I knew was he loved me very much. He didn't ask for anything but me. That man only wanted me and my love for him. I was so grateful that I found a kind of love like that.

July 19, 1948

It's been three years since another nightmare happened in my life.

There were times that I found myself being surprised at the fact that I'd made it this far. I could still remember everything—the sound of the firing guns, horrible droppings of bombs, families feeling troubled as they were preparing to escape, and the loud screams of women getting tortured. There was that one vivid memory stuck deep inside my head that I thought my heart would give up in its beating. It was so horrendous and dreadful that I thought I couldn't take it.

That was the time when I had to choose between my daughter and myself.

Carmina was ten when Imperial Japan began to occupy the country. Like my mother, I would do everything just to protect my child. Luckily, despite our quarrels, Aureliano and I were on the same page for our daughter. Hours after the attack on Pearl Harbor, my husband locked me and my daughter in the private basement of our house. I could clearly remember how he said sorry for everything that he had done to me after throwing the five huge bags and the oil painting that I insisted him to bring with, and securing the lock of the basement above us.

The next thing I knew, there were several feet stomping from above, some words in a foreign language that I couldn't understand, and a loud exchange of bullets.

It was Aureliano with the Japanese soldiers.

I was very fortunate that we hadn't been discovered. As much as I could, I tried my best in using the clothes efficiently and saving up the food and water that we stored in those bags, but it only lasted for two months, resulting in a terrible condition. I got to the point where I killed two rats for supper. Despite these events, I still continued to visit Tadeo inside the artwork to protect him and myself from the curse. The course of events continued for another two months until there was nothing left to eat and drink for me and my daughter.

Desperate to make Carmina stay alive, finally, I asked for help from Tadeo.

I didn't tell him about the war. He didn't know that I already have a daughter. Nothing had much changed since whenever I go inside the world of that painting, my former eighteen-year-old face and body kept appearing, except for that one particular part that changed—my hair. It became so greasy due to a lack of bath and hygiene. The moment I'd visited him, asking for food, he seemed skeptical, but he gave me fresh fruits and vegetables that he gathered up from his garden. In order to survive, that cycle continued until the country of Japan completely surrendered.

Carmina was turning fifteen when I decided to come out from the basement. Fast forward to this day, she is now a blooming lady. I have already shared some of the information about Tadeo with her, and she told me that she can't wait to meet him because of the stories I'd shared about him. Next month, I will give the handwritten letter of obligation for her eighteenth birthday along with the instructions that I have to say.

I trust Carmina. She is a warmhearted, affectionate young woman.

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CELINE SUAREZ. MANILA SCIENCE HIGH SCHOOL. YEAR 2021.

"Girl, have you heard about the new guy?" Brielle pokes my right shoulder using her elbow.

This girl has been flooding me with various topics for about several minutes, but still, I haven't moved even for a bit from my seat. My sleep-deprived eyes are staring out of nowhere, drowning myself in a pool of confused thoughts. I could feel my mind getting lost in the midst of chaotic ponders.

"Hey! Celine!"

Instantly, my head shakes along with my rapid blinking eyes, discarding the daydream session in a matter of seconds. "What did you say?"

Brielle rolls her eyes. She blows some strands of her hair off her forehead. An obvious sign of impatience is visible on her small, oval-shaped face. "You're just ignoring me. I've been noticing that for the past four days. Last Sunday, we didn't hang out," she pouts.

I heave out a deep sigh, closing my eyes for a moment. My brain tries to gather some words to say. "I'm just...a little busy."

"Do you have something to tell me?" Brielle squints in suspicion. "Possibly there's a guy you're seeing now?"

"What? No!" I flick my hands in denial.

"Celine, you don't have to be shy," she teases, hitting my arms in a playful manner. "We both know that our respective schedules mostly revolve between us, but recently, you've started changing."

I stare at her blankly. "There's just a little problem with my mom."

"Really?!" She gasps. "Are you and Auntie Carol okay?"

"Don't worry. We've been working it out," I assure, forming a little smile on my mouth.

The truth is, my mom and I are not fine. Just like Brielle, I have been snubbing her. There are a lot of text messages and phone calls coming from her over these past few days, but all of them are left unanswered. Ever since that day when she'd told me the truth about the oil painting and its conditions, everything has become so awkward between us.

The revelations are just too hard to swallow.

I still couldn't accept it.

Out of all solutions, why would my dead great-grandmother think of that?

Her decision is just so greedy. She shouldn't be putting the first-born girls from her bloodline and their lives at a certain obligation they don't even want to be in. We can barely make our own choice. Just thinking about it makes my chest tighten in anger.

"That's good to know," my bosom buddy smiles. She caresses my back gently. "Just tell it to me when you're ready, 'kay?"

I give her a small smile.

"He's cute, isn't he?" A sweet voice suddenly chirps, diverting my attention from our conversation. It comes from a curvy gal sitting behind me.

Brielle, the girl who doesn't let herself be outdated with the school's hot teas, asks her immediately. "Who is it, Yvonne?"

"The transferee," she beams.

I scoff, pinching my chin. "Who would even transfer at this time of semester?"

"Celine, I asked you about that earlier," Brielle replies. "But you weren't paying attention to me, so..."

My brows raise up. "Eh, really?"

On the spur of the moment, the door from the back opens. Students turn around their heads to look at it, including Brielle and me. There, we see a guy with ruffled black hair and small eyes, stepping inside. He has a pale complexion that resembles to those famous Korean advertisements for cosmetics.

Why does he look like he's putting more effort into skincare than me? I ask myself, feeling a bit jealous of his glassy skin.

Judging his looks, his height and built are good enough for a typical lad. He stands possibly around five feet with inches ranging from five to seven. With his right hand attached to his bag's strap, he walks inside casually, not even showing a single hint of shyness. Then, another young man follows him from behind.

"Wait...Jim? Why is he with him? Does he know the new guy?" Yvonne questions.

The transferee puts his backpack on his table. He sits in front of Brielle in a quiet manner. He's just shunning the attention that he gets from my classmates. On the other hand, Jim goes straight to his seat—the one beside me.

"Good morning, Celine," he greets sweetly, adding a warm smile from his full lips.

Before I could reply, the new guy suddenly snorts. "That's a lame move to flirt with girls," he retorts.

Upon hearing him, the students flock to their groups, murmuring gossip. It is only a one sentence from that lad, but they're already making their various impressions about him. One of them comes from Yvonne.

"Well, that's a real guy. A Chinito who probably knows how to seduce the ladies. That's admirable!"

"Yes. He's fascinating," another girl says, squealing for him.

I grunt, cringing at these weird ladies. It's just his day one here, but he's already getting some girls to be interested in him. Well, that isn't new.

Whenever there's a transferee, students will go crazy like they're excited to see an artist who's about to perform on stage. Honestly, I don't find them special. Who knows? They may have some issues from their past schools that's why they moved, right?

And that guy might have one too.

"Stop it, Yuri. She's my friend. I'm just greeting her," Jim finally answers his teasing remark.

He tilts his head to our location, a smirk is plastered on his face. "Okay. Whatever you say."

Why does Jim know him?

Suddenly, the door on the front side opens. Mr. Herbert Cortez welcomes us with a brief smile, causing the students to panic and settle down to their proper seats. He doesn't seem to mind it as he proceeds in putting his belongings on his table—books, records, other sets of papers, and his laptop. After arranging them neatly, he rests his arms on the table, still standing.

"Good morning, class," he greets us.

"Good morning, Mr. Cortez," we say in chorus, bowing at him back.

"We will continue our lesson about Linear Regression. I hope you'll listen carefully 'cause we have a pop quiz today," he informs, scanning each and every one of his students.

I overhear many "aww" and "ugh" from my classmates. Most of them are uttered under their breath, but some are loud enough for others to hear, making our professor snicker.

"Anyway, welcome to seventh section, class nine-one-three, Mr. Yuri Morales," he acknowledges, giving a small smile. Although it's kinda awkward, the new guy also returns the gesture to him.

After doing so, the professor turns his back behind us to start writing on the whiteboard using his black marker.

"Tough luck for the new guy. There's already a quiz on his first day here," Brielle whispers at me, giggling softly.

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The bell rings loudly. Mrs. Vanessa Ortega, our teacher for history class, bids her farewell by informing us about the assignments, then waving her head. Everyone greets her back and stands up from their designated seats to pack up, about to go home after a tiring day.

Meanwhile, some students, who are assigned as the cleaners for the day, start arranging the tables and chairs. As for my remaining plans, Brielle escorts me to the school gymnasium for my volleyball training, holding my sports bag just for me. Such a good girl.

"Celine, I won't accompany you again later," she smiles sheepishly. "I have something to buy in the hardware store. Is it okay?"

"It's fine," I scratch my arms in irritation, finding the specific spot that itches the most. "I can go home alone."

Her forehead creases, probably surprised at my answer. "You're getting weird."

My head tilts in surprise. "What?"

"Nothing," she shakes her head. "It's just...you sound tired, like you don't want to talk to anybody. Seriously, girl, go get some rest."

"Oh god, I really want to take a break," I respond, pinching my nostrils with my right hand. "But I have to attend classes, or else you wouldn't have me as your seatmate in the seventh section next year."

Brielle pauses for a moment. "Wait a minute."

My best friend takes my hand. She looks keenly at my fingers as if she's examining something on it. Her action sends uncanny thoughts to my mind. Feeling uncomfortable, I remove my hand from her hold.

"What are you looking at?"

She stares at my ring finger with wide eyes. "Is that your wound before?"

I lift a brow. "What do you mean?"

"During the cafeteria...remember?"

We both stop walking. Brielle involuntarily drops my sports bag on the floor. Our eyes are in shock, trying to recall the exact moment that happened during that time. Bit by bit, there's a little ball of reminiscence opening itself inside my mind. Like a flower spreading its petals, it slowly grows within my curious brain until I recollect that one unforgettable thing.

"Celine, where did you get that?! The cut looks deep!"

"I don't know! It just appeared!"

Upon remembering it, my eyes widen to their maximum level. I gape at Brielle who has the same reaction. Instantly, I look at my right hand. My chest almost explodes when I see a visible scar. The color is still white like it's been faded for years, but what's more shocking is the fact that its shape has entirely changed. Under the knuckle of my left ring finger, from being a usual straight cut, it has now a shape of a distorted heart.

First is the fast duration of healing.

Second, the newly altered shape.

Is this the freaking sign?

"Celine," Brielle calls out. She seems so nervous.

I raise my head up to glance at her.

"Is it weird that you got that heart-shaped scar?" Her tone sounds so frightened. "I mean, if I could remember...it was just a single line? How come that it changed like that?"

I bite my lips anxiously.

Did Justin see it too? I suddenly ask myself. No, he got my right hand for that bracelet, I reply to my own question, peeking at the jewelry piece wrapped around my wrist.

"A lot of things are getting weirder with you," Brielle tells, looking a little worried. Her eyes are still attached to my scar.

If you just know.

"Hey, you're thinking too much," I smile at my best friend, trying to uplift the mood. "That wound might really be in the shape of a heart before. We just didn't see it fully since it was covered by the blood."

Brielle stares at me with a poker face. Her arms are crossed. That's one of her favorite poses when she knows that something is fishy. Well, I won't tell to her. I'm just not ready yet. I mean, who would even believe me that I have to love a man trapped inside an old painting so that I won't die?

I will surely sound stupid if I share this with her.

Plus, it's a family secret that nobody should know, or else they'll go insane.

"Hey," a voice unexpectedly joins us.

We turn around to look in the direction of it, and there we see Jim with his backpack coming towards us. Because of my conversation with Brielle, I'm a little carried away with the fact that we haven't moved to go downstairs.

"What are you doing here?" I ask him.

He smiles. "About to go home. How about you? Why are you not walking?"

"We're just having a serious discussion," Brielle answers with a tensed tone, removing her grasp from my hand.

Jim's head tilts in wonder. "About what?"

I glare at my best friend, halting her to say more. Good thing, she gets the message instantly.

"Uhm, about Celine's volleyball training. It's Tuesday. Have you forgotten?"

"Oh," he nods. "Do you want me to accompany you to the gym?"

"Exactly," Brielle pushes me to him straight away. "I can't go with her. I have something to buy from the store. Do it for me, Jim."

"Hey! I could go there by myself," I frown at her.

Before I could argue, Brielle gets my sports bag from the floor and gives it to Jim. She waves her hand goodbye and runs away quickly, leaving us both in awkward silence.

"So...let's go?" He shrugs.

I nod in response.

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"Celine, you can do it!" Jim yells with a loud voice from his seat. His hands are on his mouth, forming a circle around it to emphasize his holler.

All of the people inside the school gymnasium stare at him. Some of them on the bleachers are exchanging whispers. This guy is definitely the thick-skinned type. He doesn't mind being the center of the crowd. As long as he cheers for his friend, he's happy, and even if he's a few meters away from me, I could see that on his face.

Am I really his friend?

I breathe nervously, positioning myself two-three feet behind the back line. I want to throw the ball up high and step to the line in order to gain the momentum for my jump.

"Spike that ball like a pro!" Jim shouts once more.

I find myself smiling from the situation. That guy...

To start, I look at the positions of the players on the opposing team. I will try to aim my serve in the empty spaces so that the ball will hit the dead zones.

With the whistling signal of our coach, Sir Oscar Permalino, I toss the ball in the air.

Slow left step.

Two fast steps.

Right and left.

In a swift manner, I jump with both feet and hit the ball hard with my right hand. After striking it, I flick my wrist and point toward the place where I want the ball to land. My eyes are on it, focusing on its direction. Unfortunately, the opposing players act immediately.

I'm absolutely not a pro, Jim, I whisper to myself.

One of them catches the ball and strikes it back to us. The other players of my team hurry to hit it back to them, and it successfully flies in the air. The contenders keep their eyes out on it, waiting for their turn to give it back to us again. As I stare at them, suddenly, my eyes capture something else.

It is a figure of a tall man, standing near the service zone of the opponents.

He wears that familiar white polo with long sleeves and that faded pants.

He is staring at me with eagerness laced within his eyes.

"Tadeo. N-no. It can't be," I tremble, retreating myself slowly. I could feel my hands shaking. Immediately, my breathing becomes heavy.

What does he want from me?

My eyes are locked with his, making me gulp down as deep as I could. As my feet continue to back away, he starts walking closer. Nervousness starts to knock me down. Surprisingly, he offers his hand to me. My eyes widen at his move, almost tripping myself.

All of a sudden, the ball slams my head, causing me to fall to the floor.

"Ouch!"

"Celine!" Jim calls out, running down the bleachers.

To my surprise, a man quickly takes action. He holds me tight as he touches my head to caress it tenderly. Still, the dizziness is embracing my brain. My eyes are feeling a bit weighty due to the strong impact, causing my eyesight to blur and darken for a little.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Celine, it's me," he whispers softly. "Are you okay?"

That voice.

I try to open my eyes, blinking a few times for my vision to become clear. Still, my head is throbbing hard. "Justin, is that—"

"Wait," the guy interrupts. Gently, he helps me to sit on the floor.

Abruptly, Sir Oscar pauses the game with a signal from his whistle.

I look at him, feeling embarrassed with the audience and players' attention on me. "Why are you here?"

He smiles at me sweetly. "I just want to watch you playing."

Promptly, Justin massages my temples. I could feel his soft thumbs rubbing against my skin. He adds more circling motions for it, making me feel at ease for a moment. His touch is relaxing.

"Uhm, hey," somebody coughs, causing a distraction at the moment.

We both glance in the direction of the sound. It comes from Jim who's staring at us blankly.