Chapter 3: We Were Supposed to Be Family

May mga tanong na mas mabuting hindi na lang itanong. At may mga sagot na kahit hindi mo marinig, alam mong nandiyan na.

Tatlong araw na ang lumipas mula nang sabihin sa akin ni Ronan na ayaw niyang makita akong kasama si Julian. Tatlong araw na rin akong nagpapanggap na hindi ko iyon iniisip. Pero obviously, nagsisinungaling ako. Kasi kahit anong gawin ko, bumabalik sa isip ko ang expression niya noong gabing iyon.

Hindi galit.

Hindi rin simpleng inis.

Something else.

Something I didn't want to name.

"You're quiet."

Napalingon ako kay Nadia.

Nasa coffee shop kami, parehong may hawak na iced coffee.

"I'm always quiet."

"No, you're not."

Napataas ang kilay ko.

"Excuse me?"

"You've been staring at your drink for five minutes."

Napatingin ako sa baso ko.

"Maybe I'm thinking."

"About?"

"Nothing."

She gave me a look.

"You're a terrible liar."

Napabuntong-hininga ako.

"Ronan."

Agad siyang napangiti.

"I knew it."

"Don't."

"What did he do?"

"Wala."

"Then why are you thinking about him?"

I looked away.

"I don't know."

"Okay."

Tahimik siya sandali.

Then—

"Do you like him?"

Napatingin ako sa kanya.

"What?"

"You heard me."

I laughed nervously.

"Of course not."

"Why?"

"Because he's my stepbrother."

"That's not an answer."

"It is."

"No. That's an excuse."

Napakunot-noo ako.

"Nadia."

She leaned closer.

"You're always talking about him."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"He's just…"

I stopped.

"Just what?"

I shook my head.

"Annoying."

She smiled.

"Sure."

I took a sip of my drink.

"Can we change the topic?"

"Fine."

She leaned back.

"But I'm not dropping this."

I rolled my eyes.

Pagbalik ko sa mansion that afternoon, tahimik ang buong bahay.

"Mom?"

Walang sumagot.

"Gideon?"

Still nothing.

I checked my phone.

May message si Mama.

Mom: We're at the venue. We'll be home late. Dinner's already prepared.

Napangiti ako.

Wedding preparations.

Three weeks na lang bago ang kasal nila. Three weeks before this house officially became my permanent home.

Napabuntong-hininga ako.

I was still getting used to the idea.

I placed my bag on the couch and headed upstairs, pero bago pa ako makarating sa room ko, narinig ko ang boses ni Ronan mula sa study.

"You should've told me earlier."

Tumigil ako.

Hindi ko sinasadya.

The door was slightly open.

I heard another voice.

A man's voice.

"Your father doesn't want you involved."

"I don't care what he wants."

Napakunot-noo ako.

Who was he talking to?

I took one step closer.

"Ronan."

The other man's voice sounded serious.

"If this gets out, your family is finished."

Nanlamig ako.

Family?

Finished?

I shouldn't be listening. I knew that, pero bago ako makaalis, narinig ko si Ronan.

"I said I'll handle it."

Then the door suddenly opened.

Nagkatinginan kami.

Ronan froze.

I froze.

The man behind him looked at me.

He was older.

Maybe late twenties.

He gave me a questioning look.

"Who is she?"

Ronan's expression immediately hardened.

"My step-sister."

Step-sister.

Again.

I don't know why, but hearing him say it suddenly felt strange.

The man looked between us.

"Oh."

Ronan stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was going to my room."

"You were listening."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

I crossed my arms.

"I heard voices."

"Then you should've kept walking."

"Sorry."

I turned away.

But he grabbed my wrist.

Not hard.

Just enough to stop me.

"Eve."

I looked at his hand.

Then at him.

"Let go."

He did.

Immediately.

"Sorry."

There was something in his voice that made me look at him again. He looked tired. Not angry. Tired.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing."

"I heard you."

"You heard nothing important."

"Ronan—"

"Don't." He looked away. "Please."

The word surprised me.

I had never heard him say please.

"Fine."

I stepped back.

"But if you're in trouble…"

"I'm not."

"Okay."

I walked away, but I knew he was lying.

That evening, I found myself thinking about the conversation.

Who was that man? What was Ronan involved in? And why did it feel like the entire Blackwood family had secrets?

I was still thinking about it when I heard a knock on my door.

"Come in."

Ronan.

Again.

He stood by the doorway.

"Can we talk?"

I nodded.

He entered.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he said—

"About earlier."

I looked at him.

"What about it?"

"I need you to forget what you heard."

"Why?"

"Because it's not your problem."

"Maybe I wouldn't have heard it if you weren't talking about it in an open room."

His jaw tightened.

"Fair."

I smiled slightly.

"So?"

"So what?"

"Are you going to tell me?"

"No."

I sighed.

"Fine."

He looked at me.

"You really aren't going to ask again?"

"I already know you're not going to answer."

"Good."

"Besides, it's none of my business."

He nodded.

"Exactly."

I looked at him.

"You know, you don't have to keep reminding me that I'm your step-sister."

His expression changed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

I looked away.

"I just noticed you say it a lot."

He was silent.

Then—

"You are."

"I know."

"Then why does it bother you?"

My eyes went back to him.

"It doesn't."

"You're lying."

"So are you."

He went quiet. And somehow, that silence felt louder than anything else.

The next morning, I woke up late.

I rushed downstairs, still fixing my hair.

"Good morning."

Ronan looked up from his phone.

"You look tired."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I know."

He almost smiled.

Almost.

I grabbed a piece of toast.

"I'm going out later."

"Where?"

"University."

"You have classes?"

"Yes."

"Until what time?"

"Why?"

He looked at me.

"Just asking."

I smiled. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Interrogating me."

"I'm asking questions."

"Same thing."

He shook his head.

"Whatever."

I was about to leave when my phone rang.

Julian.

I answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Eve. Are you free later?"

I looked at Ronan.

He wasn't looking at me, but I noticed his hand had stopped moving.

"Maybe. Why?"

"I wanted to ask if you could help me with something."

"Sure."

"Coffee?"

"Okay."

"Great. See you later."

"Bye."

I ended the call.

Silence.

I looked at Ronan.

He was still looking at his phone, but his expression had changed.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

"Sure?"

"Very."

I smiled.

"Okay."

I turned around.

Then I heard—

"You're meeting him again?"

I stopped.

I looked over my shoulder.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he needs help."

"Can't someone else help him?"

I laughed.

"Why do you care?"

He didn't answer.

"Ronan?"

"Because I do."

My smile disappeared.

"Why?"

He looked at me.

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then he said quietly—

"I don't know."

That answer stayed with me the entire day.

I met Julian at a café near campus. We talked about his project. At least, that was what I kept telling myself. He was easy to talk to. He made me laugh. And unlike Ronan, he never made me question what he was thinking.

"You've changed."

I looked at him. "How?"

"You're quieter."

"Maybe I'm tired."

"Or maybe there's something bothering you."

I smiled.

"You sound like my best friend."

"Maybe she's right."

"About what?"

He hesitated.

"Nothing."

I laughed.

"Everyone's acting weird lately."

"Everyone?"

"Yeah."

"Who else?"

I thought about Ronan.

"Never mind."

Julian smiled.

"Okay."

When we left the café, he walked me toward my car.

"Thanks for helping."

"Anytime."

He smiled.

Then he hugged me.

A simple hug.

Friendly.

Pag-uwi ko, tahimik ang mansion.

I walked inside.

"Hello?"

No answer.

I headed upstairs, but before I reached my room, I heard footsteps behind me.

I turned.

Ronan.

His expression was unreadable.

"You're home."

"Yeah."

"How was your coffee?"

I frowned.

"Fine."

"Good."

He tried to walk past me.

"Wait."

He stopped.

"What?"

"Why are you acting weird?"

"I'm not."

"You are."

He looked at me.

"You were with him."

"Yes."

"You let him hug you."

I froze.

"You saw that?"

"Yes."

"So?"

"So nothing."

"Then why mention it?"

His jaw tightened.

"I don't know."

"You keep saying that."

"Because I don't know what you want me to say."

"Then don't say anything."

I stepped closer.

"You're not my boyfriend, Ronan."

"I know."

"Then you don't get to tell me who I can see."

"I know."

"Then stop."

Silence.

He looked at me.

His eyes were darker than usual.

"I said I know."

"Then why?"

He took a breath.

"I don't like it."

"That's your problem."

"I know."

"Then deal with it."

I walked past him.

But before I could enter my room, he said—

"Eve."

I stopped.

"What?"

His voice was quiet.

Almost defeated.

"I'm trying."

I turned around.

"Trying what?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he looked at me for a long moment.

Then he walked away.

I stood there, confused.

Trying what?

To ignore me?

To accept me?

To forget something?

I didn't know.

And maybe I shouldn't have cared.

But that night, lying in bed, I kept thinking about his words.

I'm trying.

And for the first time, a frightening thought entered my mind.

Maybe Ronan wasn't trying to stay away from me. Maybe he was trying to convince himself that he should, because somewhere between the arguments, the stolen glances, and the jealousy neither of us wanted to admit—something had already started. Something neither of us knew how to stop. And the worst part? I was beginning to wonder if I wanted it to stop at all.