SEVENTEEN
745 Words
🕊️ Chapter 17 – Behind the Mask
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The rain fell endlessly on the roof of the old warehouse—like heaven’s tired palms pounding in grief.
In the corner, Xavier Roa Madrigal and Althea Moreno Reyes sat, both wounded, both exhausted from a war they never started.
Xavier lay weakly on the floor, a bandage wrapped around his head, while Althea gently wiped the blood from her cheek.
“You’re alive, Xavier,” she whispered, forcing a small smile. “I thought… I thought you left me in that hell.”
Xavier’s eyes opened slowly—weak, but unbroken.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he said, managing a faint grin.
But behind that grin, Althea could see questions—ones that could no longer be silenced.
“Xavier… what’s the truth?” her voice trembled.
“Lea, Clarisse, even Marco—were they all just pieces in a game?”
He took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling as if surrendering to it.
“It started as a game, Althea… but it ended as a war. And now, we’re the ones left to clean the blood.”
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At the other end of the warehouse, Marco Vera Monteverde sat slumped against a crate, holding a bloodstained phone.
Messages kept coming in from an unknown number:
> “Deliver the drive, or the next bullet is yours.” — C.N.M.
A bitter smile crept across his face.
“Clarisse Navarro Montemayor,” he muttered. “Even in death, you still know how to hurt.”
He looked over at the wounded couple.
He knew he couldn’t escape either side—the man he once admired, and the woman he once loved.
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The next morning, Althea woke to the faint sound of a passing train.
Beside her, Xavier was still asleep, his hand resting gently on hers—as if telling her not to disappear again.
On the table, she noticed an old notebook, soaked and worn from the rain.
On its cover was written: “Lyka Reyes Sandoval.”
She opened it carefully.
Inside were old photographs, handwritten poems, and faded sketches.
One page caught her eye—ink washed by tears or time:
> “If I disappear, it’s not because I wanted to.
It’s because someone needed me gone.”
— Lyka
Althea froze.
She could hardly breathe as realization struck her—Lyka, her half-sister.
The same girl she thought had died in an accident fourteen years ago.
“Lyka…” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Why did they take you from me?”
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Suddenly, the door burst open.
Marco—bleeding, out of breath, his eyes wild with panic—stumbled inside.
“Althea! Xavier! You need to leave—now!”
“Marco, what’s happening?” Xavier demanded, instantly alert.
“Clarisse knows you’re alive,” Marco said. “She’s coming. And she’s bringing Lea Sandoval’s men with her.”
Althea froze. “But… I thought Lea was dead.”
Marco let out a bitter laugh. “She’s not. She changed her face. She’s been living under another name—Clarisse Navarro Montemayor.”
The world stopped for Althea.
“So… Lea and Clarisse… they’re the same woman?”
Marco nodded grimly. “All this time, you’ve been chasing one ghost with two faces.”
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Before they could speak another word, an explosion tore through the outside walls.
The entire warehouse shook violently.
Marco peered through a crack—SUVs, lined with the emblem of Montemayor Security, closing in.
“She found us,” he said through clenched teeth. “Go! Take the drive and—”
He never finished the sentence. The door slammed open with a deafening crash.
Three armed men stormed inside.
The one in front wore a black mask.
“End of the line, Mr. Madrigal,” a cold voice said.
When the masked figure pulled the cover away, Althea froze in disbelief.
The air around her seemed to die.
The face—familiar, impossible, yet real.
“Lyka…?” she breathed.
The woman smiled, tears glinting in her eyes.
“I warned you, Ate,” she said softly. “Some truths should never be found.”
And amid the rain and the gunfire, two sisters—bound by blood but divided by fate—faced each other once more.
Not as family, but as enemies, standing between love, secrets, and revenge.
- Writer
