The Man You Love Has Someone Else

Chapter 1

REA E. SUWAIB's POV

"Rea, child! Wake up, Reyang!" I heard my grandma, Areah, shouting at me. I was startled by the deafening volume of her voice. Be warned-my grandmother has a voice like a loudspeaker.

I scratched my head and buried my face in my pillow, covering my ears with both hands to block out her voice. I just wanted to go back to sleep. My sleep was so good, Grandma.

Grandma Areah serves as my morning alarm clock. Just her voice alone is enough to wake you up, even if you're in a deep sleep. I'm sure she could wake up the people resting in the cemetery too.

Grandma's voice is truly painful to the ears. It seems like the whole house shakes, and you feel like all our furniture will move around. My grandmother is like my mother-she doesn't show any signs of weakness, even though she's getting old.

She's already 65 years old but still very strong. My grandpa Henriko is the same. They're the same age.

"Reyang! What's with this child! I've been calling you for a while now! You sleep like a log no matter what!" she yelled from downstairs. Yes, even though our house is old and antique, with a second floor like them, you can clearly hear their voices from below.

This house belongs to them, and it's where my father grew up, became a man, and everything. That's why I call it antique.

"Areah, the neighbors can hear you. Let our granddaughter rest. You know she was tired yesterday," Grandpa Henriko said.

I am close to both my grandparents, but Grandpa Henriko is more of my ally in the house. Grandma Areah always picks on me, but I know she loves me. It's obvious from the way she takes care of me, even though I'm already grown.

"What rest, Henriko? Did you forget what day it is?" Grandma Areah snapped at Grandpa.

I moved in my small bed and slightly opened my eyes. I looked at my closed window, covered by black curtains. Yes, they're black instead of colorful, because that's what I prefer. I like black; it kind of matches my personality.

Wait, I thought about what Grandma said. What's special about today? I tried to remember what today was about.

"The exhibit!" Grandma and Grandpa shouted at the same time, and I quickly sat up, remembering!

I was part of our barangay's exhibit, and they invited guests from Manila who might buy our artworks if they liked them.

It's fiesta time here, so we have events like this. It was organized by our barangay captain. I had been preparing for this day, hoping someone would buy one of my paintings. That would add to my savings. Oh no, I need to get ready!

I hurriedly got up as my small room door opened.

"Good morning, Grandpa and Grandma!" I cheerfully greeted them, even though I wasn't fully presentable yet.

My long, curly hair was a mess, and I knew there was dried drool on my cheek. Grandpa Henriko smiled at me, but Grandma Areah gave me a stern look.

"Good morning to you too, granddaughter," Grandpa greeted me back.

"If you're late, I won't ask the captain for any favors again!" Grandma threatened. Yes, she was the one who talked to our barangay captain to get me into the exhibit. No one else would remember me. Like my favorite color, I'm dark in the eyes of most people.

I feel insecure because other artists here even get invitation cards to join the barangay exhibit. It's undeniable that they are all smart and talented. Some are well-known and have sold out their paintings in Manila several times.

Unlike me, it seems like only my family supports and appreciates my artworks. And the kids? Oh, they're scared of them. I can't blame them-my paintings are pretty scary, especially to children. But they're not really meant for kids.

"Come on, Grandma. Don't be like that. Besides, I know you won't do it. You love me too much," I babbled, but she just frowned at me.

"Go take a bath already!" she shouted at me. I scratched my head again and headed for the door. The bathroom is downstairs, not in my room, so I had to go down.

"Ouch!" I yelped as Grandma slapped my butt. She often does that to me, even though I'm already grown. It's embarrassing if someone saw-they'd think I'm a troublemaker.

"Areah, come on. She's a grown woman now, yet you still do that to her." I smiled at Grandpa's defense. See? He's my ally whenever Grandma bullies me. Yes, she bullies me.

The bathroom is in the kitchen, and I hurriedly went there, but I slapped my forehead when I realized I forgot my towel. I didn't want to go back to my room.

"Really?" I heard Grandma say as she threw my black towel at my face. I smiled. See? She loves me too much to resist or stay mad at me.

"Hurry up, so we can have breakfast," she said, making me move even faster.

The water was freezing because I forgot to ask for hot water from Grandma, but I endured it, knowing I might be late.

Our exhibit starts at 9 AM, and there are only fifteen of us artists. I hope I get lucky today. After my quick bath, I rushed upstairs and into my room.

I heard Grandpa gently warning me not to run, afraid our wooden floor might break. Everything here is made of wood.

A smile spread across my face when I saw the outfit Grandma had prepared for me. It was neatly laid out on my bed. I had been busy yesterday finishing my other paintings, and we were only allowed to bring ten each to the exhibit since there are fifteen of us.

I was going to wear a black empire-waist dress with a small white belt. Grandma Areah knows my favorite color and style. The dress was knee-length, which made it comfortable for me to wear.

I put it on and quickly dried my jet-black, curly hair. My hair is naturally curly, which I inherited from my mom.

Both my parents work abroad, so my grandparents have been like my parents since my mom and dad aren't around. They rarely call us, just send money.

They know I'm saving money to build my own studio, but I don't ask for help. I want to do it on my own, and I know their jobs abroad aren't easy. Even though they insist on sending me money, I always refuse.

The last time I saw them was three years ago, and they didn't even visit together. Mom comes first, then Dad, even though they work in the same country now.

It's a bit hurtful since I'm their only child, but they seem to be able to bear being away from me. But I understand...

Even though my hair wasn't fully dry, I tied it up. Some baby hairs stuck to my cheeks, but I didn't mind.

I didn't put on eyeliner because Grandma would scold me, saying I was trying to look like Avril Lavigne again. But I did put on red lipstick so I wouldn't look too pale. I have fair skin, and people joke that I look like a ghost-if not for my curly hair.

I put on my black knee-high boots, which matched my dress perfectly. Cool, right? I grabbed my wallet from the bedside table and slipped it into my small brown sling bag.

My room is small, filled with cabinets. There are no paintings here, or else the whole room would look even darker. Almost everything I own is black.

That's why they call me the "Wicked Painter." People say my artworks are scary. I can't blame them-that's where I excel in painting.

I stepped out and headed to our kitchen. We don't have a dining room. We're not wealthy enough to afford one.

I sat next to Grandpa Henriko. My lipstick is waterproof, so I can eat without worrying about fixing myself afterward.

They both want to come with me for moral support, even though I don't think it's necessary because they might just get tired. Our exhibit won't be over anytime soon. But they were insistent, so I let them come.

I appreciate their support even if they don't need to accompany me. One of their reasons is that my parents are far away, so they think they should be there. Lucky me, right? Even though Mom and Dad aren't here, I'm still fortunate to have them. Though, it seems like my parents have no intention of staying here with us and might go back abroad.

Grandma Areah prepared fried rice and a big milkfish, with vinegar and dried fish sauce, along with onions and tomatoes. There's also hot coffee.

And since today is important to me and I don't want to smell bad, haha...

I only ate the fried rice, even though Grandma also cooked chicken adobo, so that became my breakfast. I really wanted to eat the milkfish and dip it in spicy vinegar, though.

After breakfast, we prepared to leave. The event was at the barangay hall, but they had set up four tents.

The distance was walkable from our old house, but we still took a tricycle, you know how it is.

The two elderly folks with me also looked good today. Grandma didn't back down and wore a black dress and black slippers, while Grandpa sported a white polo shirt and white pants. He even had a hat and carried his cane.

We rented two tricycles because of my paintings. Those can't get damaged, after all.

Life in the province is beautiful, and the place is peaceful. You can see tall trees everywhere and simple houses.

You won't breathe in smoke here, only fresh and cool air.

The weather today was nice, for which I was thankful. It was cloudy, but there was no threat of rain, and the sun peeked through occasionally.

When we arrived at the exhibit, there were already a lot of people outside, and some of my colleagues were there too. You could see the excitement in their cheerful and bright expressions.

I looked at the woman who approached us with a big smile, "Oh, Reyang." She's all about calling me "Reyang." Are we even close? Tsk.

This is Annaliza Victor. Everyone calls us best friends because they say we get along. Where is that coming from? She's been my rival since childhood, and even now that we're adults. She's far more successful than me, though.

Her? She goes back and forth to Manila because she keeps receiving invitations from big studios for their exhibits. Many opportunities have come her way.

To Be Continued...

Chapter 2

And me? Here I am, still in Sta. Tomas, waiting for my own opportunity to knock. That witch is already famous, and yes, she's beautiful.

Her boyfriend, Rexus Herrel, has a lot of connections, so it's easy for her to sell her paintings, unlike me. But I'm happy with what I have.

Rexus Herrel, by the way, was my childhood friend-well, until Annaliza came along and ruined everything. Ever since they started dating, things have changed between us. He became distant because of her.

"Good luck, Reyang. I hope someone buys your paintings so you can go home happy," she said sweetly. But I wasn't fooled. She's so fake. Her words sounded insincere.

What she probably meant was, "I hope no one buys your ugly paintings so you can go home in tears." I know her too well, and I know she hates me.

I don't even know why. She's the more successful one between the two of us. She's worse than bitter gourd-so bitter.

She was wearing a white strap dress and looked like an angel. If only her attitude wasn't devilish. If I didn't know her, I might've mistaken her for a kind person.

Back to reality, I'm Rea Enero Suwaib. 23 years old. Known as the "Wicked Painter" and definitely not cute.

"Leighton, my future sister-in-law, is here! Let me introduce you, Reyang!"

Leighton?

"AND WHY would you do that, Annaliza? I'm not interested," I said in a bored tone, but with no emotion.

I saw her grit her teeth, causing a slight smirk to form on my lips. That's it, Annaliza. Show your true colors. Stop being so fake, because even pretense can get tiring.

"Oh, bestie. I'm just kidding. You know I could never refuse you. You're my best friend, and I'll never forget you no matter where you go." Because you're just a rival and a friend-stealer. I'm not bitter; she can have that guy. Ew.

I approached her and hugged her as if I missed her, even to the point of squeezing her tightly. I kissed her cheek and hugged her harder. I felt her body stiffen, and I knew she could barely breathe properly.

Yes, she's fake, but I can match her and play along with her plasticity.

"Get off," she whispered weakly, but forced herself to smile. She couldn't push me away because too many people were watching us. She would look like the bad one if she did something that could ruin her sweet image.

Once I was satisfied, I released her and even gave her a little shove. Her lips parted in shock at my action.

She quickly adjusted her crumpled dress, laughing as if she was pleased with me.

"I missed you too, bestie. Good luck later, okay? Don't be nervous, because you won't be going home with a frown on your face. Isn't that right, Grandpa Henriko and Grandma Areah?" she said, trying to get the attention of my grandparents.

Of course, only Grandpa Henriko answered her, since Grandma Areah has quite the attitude.

"Of course, Annaliza," Grandpa said with a smile, only to be elbowed by Grandma. I smirked secretly. Grandma really doesn't like my so-called best friend.

"Rexus!" she suddenly called out her boyfriend's name.

I ignored her and focused on my paintings, which Kapitana's men were carefully bringing inside the tent.

"Let's go inside," I said, inviting my grandparents. I positioned myself between them to help them walk, even though Grandma could manage on her own. Grandpa, on the other hand, needed assistance, despite using a cane.

He walks slower now. I made sure not to glance back at that lovebird couple. I'm not jealous, okay? I'm just disgusted. Seriously, ew.

"Rea." I exhaled deeply when I heard my name spoken by my former friend. His voice was still as gruff as ever.

But since he distanced himself from me, I did the same. I gave him a genuine smile and looked at him.

He was still handsome, with his black hair neatly combed back, looking just the same as ever. You can tell by the first line of this paragraph that he hasn't changed.

"Hi," I greeted him briefly, showing that I wasn't sad or regretful about losing him from my life.

"Long time no see, Rea," he said, a smile on his lips. A smile that could kill, but sorry, I'm wicked, so I won't be dying from just his smile, which, by the way, is his best asset and what my so-called best friend fawns over.

"Yeah," I replied curtly.

"Good luck, Rea," he said, still smiling.

"Thank you," I replied, turning my back on them and rolling my eyes.

Inside the large tent, we each had our own booths. My face lit up when I saw my name displayed on mine. My booth had a black theme, which stood out from the others. It should have been noticeable, but somehow, it wasn't. People might even pass it by. I specifically requested three chairs from Kapitana.

"Please have a seat, Mr. and Mrs. Suwaib," I said formally, making Grandpa Henriko smile and chuckle softly. Grandma simply shook her head at me, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face, which was visible to me.

"Thank you very much," I said to the two men who carried my paintings.

I carefully arranged them, and soon enough, more people started coming inside. Locals were allowed to enter, as this was a free exhibit. Guests could also buy the artworks if they liked them, as long as the price didn't drop below 5K, which we set to avoid losses.

I straightened up when I saw guests walking around and starting to admire my fellow painters' artworks. I could see the wonder in their eyes, and they nodded in approval.

I was about to greet a couple when they passed by my booth. I was immediately disappointed but kept smiling so I wouldn't look pitiful.

Then I noticed Annaliza and one of her lackeys eyeing my booth. It was obvious they were talking about me. I averted my gaze. She was showing off because her booth had many guests.

"It's okay, child. Not everything comes so easily," Grandpa Henriko reassured me.

"There's nothing wrong with trying, Rea. Even if no one buys your paintings, what matters is that you put in the effort," Grandma added.

"It's okay, you're the most beautiful painter here anyway," Grandma Areah teased. She rarely does that, so I let it slide.

"I'm fine, Grandpa Henriko and Grandma. It's just a little disheartening," I said, pouting.

When no one buys my art, I cry not because of disappointment, but because it helps me release the frustration of people not appreciating my work.

Afterward, I feel okay and return to my usual self. Weird, isn't it? But that's how I am.

"This... this is amazing." I stood up from my seat when I heard a voice close to my booth.

I wasn't mistaken. I saw an old man, about the same age as my grandfather, with a younger man who seemed to be my father's age.

"Because of this painting... I remember your mother, my son," the old man said joyfully.

He looked wealthy, judging by his clothes, and they weren't alone at my booth. I noticed men in black tuxedos standing alert behind them.

Are they rich?

"This is... weird, Dad," the younger man said. I grimaced.

"But yeah, it's beautiful."

I looked at the painting they were referring to. I had used black and white for the painting, with a white background depicting two people seemingly courting, surrounded by a smoky atmosphere.

The man, painted in black, held a red rose in his right hand while gently touching the woman's cheek with his left. The woman, painted in white, appeared to be reaching for the rose.

But it wasn't just about courting. My subject was a man and a woman.

"Art of Love..." I murmured, catching the attention of the two men.

Their presence was striking, and it was clear they were father and son. Despite the old man's age, it was easy to see how handsome he must have been in his youth. Their presence was intimidating.

I could feel the power radiating from them. They weren't just rich people; they were more than that. Still, I mustered the courage to face them.

"I know you all already know about this, right? The Art of Love-it's visible in that painting, how you can see the beginning of their love. Their first meeting, or how they got to know each other, wasn't exactly ideal," I explained as I gestured toward my first painting.

In it, you can see three characters. It's also in black and white. A woman and a man are dancing, while another is sitting on a chair, smiling as she watches the two.

The second woman is smiling, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes, while the man remains tight-lipped, looking serious as he dances with his partner.

"What do you think of this?" I asked them, my eyes still fixed on the painting. There was something that tugged at my chest when I looked at it.

"You might think the woman sitting is jealous, even though she's smiling-but she's not. The girl smiling is actually the one hurting the most right now. Because even though she's in the arms of the man she loves, she still doesn't have his attention," I explained. I heard the older man breathing heavily, while the other simply listened in silence.

"Second painting," I added, directing my gaze toward another artwork.

"It would take a year if I explained every painting to you," I said, chuckling, "But to cut the story short: The Art of Love-it's not something you can always see, because we feel it. But it's not enough to simply show love without taking action and making an effort. Love must be felt not just emotionally and mentally, but also physically for it to be real," I explained.

"As we can see in each of these paintings, it wasn't easy for the woman to love a man who had already given his heart away. But they were destined. So, no matter how much the man tried to resist, he couldn't avoid it. He would eventually fall in love with another woman, even if he had promised to love only one and be with her forever. Yes, we can't force our hearts to love someone else. It's like destiny. Whatever is written in your fate will still come to pass."

"It wasn't just the woman who suffered; the man did too. It's not the girls' fault for giving up when they no longer have a reason to fight for a love they thought was never theirs to begin with. We can't call it karma for men either. It's only when they lose someone that they realize their value. That's when they'll know they love them-when they give up a fight that no one dictated but still had an enemy. Destiny. What is written is what destiny wants. It's not about chasing each other; it's about fate testing you," I said, smiling, and I heard them applaud.

To Be Continued...

Chapter 3

I glanced at the two men and saw them wiping their tears, just as I did the same.

"You're not just a great painter. You're smart and you understand love..." one of them said, and I understood what he meant, wanting me to finish his thought.

"That not all love is enough if it's only felt. It also requires action, effort, and a physical presence," I added, and the old man nodded at me.

"I'm amazed. You speak with wisdom. You deserve to be recognized as the best and most talented painter. You don't just paint beautiful things, but also reflect what we see. We must also focus on the bad memories because those were the beginnings of who we are now," he said, and his words deeply moved me.

He signaled to someone, and they quickly approached him. The person took something out of a suitcase, but I didn't look-lest they think I was being nosy.

But I was overjoyed that someone noticed my artwork! Oh my God!

"Miss?"

"Miss Rea, sir. Rea Enero Suwaib," I introduced myself, and the old man smiled at me. He wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to me.

My eyes widened when I read it. "S-Sir..."

"Did you know that this actually happened in real life? And that last painting-that was the final scene I shared with my beloved, right after I gave her a single rose," he said, his voice cracking as he tried to hold back his tears.

"Dad..."

"And I want to buy all of these. Thank you, because through your art, I was able to relive the moments I had with my wife."

I nodded and wiped my tears... Wow. I can finally build my own studio. They are incredibly wealthy.

"H-Haven't you just been caught up in the moment, Sir? One m-million? Isn't that too much? We painters only estimated the price to be around 5K. What you paid me is too much. I feel like I can't accept it," I tearfully said as I wiped the tears from my cheek.

I couldn't believe what I read on the yellow paper. Not just 500, no. I mean, the off-white paper he handed to me with the guest's signature.

"Engineer Denbrill Arkun Brilliantes," I said, marveling at his long and elegant name.

It was a fancy name, clearly showing that they were wealthy. But a million? That's too much.

"Most people know me as Don Brill. I've long since retired from that field, my dear. Many of my grandchildren will inherit the business that I've held onto for so long," he said.

Wait, why is he telling me about that? Sir Denbrill, or rather Don Brill, is quite friendly.

We just met, and he's already telling me about his grandchildren.

Where are they, so I can meet them?

"Are you planning to stay in this province? Not that I'm belittling your place, no. I just think you need a bigger world, so to speak, to allow more people to discover your talent as a painter. Luck opens its doors to people like you, so don't hide yourself in the dark world you've created," he said meaningfully, and I understood what he meant.

"Thank you very much, Sir. You're the only one who appreciates my artwork. Thank you so much."

"There are many more of us, my dear. You just haven't met them yet. Someday, everyone will look up to you, and I will be one of them," he said to me. That's just too much!

"Can I ask you one question, Miss Rea?" asked Don Brill's son. He was handsome, even though he was older. He was tall and looked like he was still in his 30s.

I wonder what his children look like? Are they handsome or beautiful too? What a great lineage. Oh, good God. Even just one-please introduce one to me.

"Of course! What is it?" I asked with a smile, clutching the check Sir Denbrill gave me, which contained one million. Unbelievable, right?

I watched as his hand slowly rose and pointed to a painting that wasn't included for sale. It was just on display.

"What does that mean? 'Beauty and Secret,'" he asked, his brows furrowed. It was just a small painting, so it wasn't exactly eye-catching.

The colors of my paint were black and white. I didn't expect that he would notice it.

I glanced at the elderly man, Sir Denbrill, who suddenly coughed loudly.

I looked at him with concern, and so did his son. "I'm fine. It's nothing," he said with a nod, also glancing at the painting that had piqued his son's curiosity.

I smiled as I looked back at my painting. "A figure of a tall man, filled with sadness, envy, and a thirst for attention. A woman who hides in men's clothing, a shadow of her creation of a new identity that only she knows. A beauty seen in the form of a man, secretly carrying a burden on his chest and appearing to be punished. A secret she has long embraced but has struggled with, reluctant to do things that could ruin her life and reputation. A woman who did something against her will, because being a man in the eyes of the masses was not what she wanted, but it was the only way for everyone to accept her. They are one and the same, a secret that cannot be revealed as it would affect many," I explained at length.

I had this... creepy dream about a woman hiding in men's clothing. That woman was filled with envy, sadness, and pain. She was also thirsty for attention from the people important to her.

I'm not just called a wicked painter, but a creepy one too. Where do I get my ideas for subjects? One from my dreams and the other from reality. Just based on what I see and experience.

That's why the main theme of my work is death and life. After all, not all life is colorful. There are also dark experiences. Whether we admit it or not, everyone will experience that, and everyone will eventually reach that point.

I looked at my painting again. A man standing in a side view, carrying a suitcase. Behind him was the shadow of a woman wearing a long dress, with her long hair seemingly blown by the wind.

It was black and white, but to make it different, I used red ink for the background.

"H-Haven't you wondered... what does the background color mean? Why red instead of blue, the color of the sky?" he asked, clearly intrigued.

"It doesn't have any particular meaning, Sir," I said with a smile, turning to look at Sir Denbrill's son.

"When we meet again, I will paint something for you that you will never forget," I said meaningfully. I don't know, I just had the instinct to say it.

"There's no need for that," he replied nervously, raising his hand as if to signal me not to.

I nodded and focused my attention on the elderly man. He smiled when he saw me looking at him.

"I like the title of your painting and the story behind that guy-or rather, the girl who hides her true identity. Do you have the ability to see the past or present in someone you can only interact with?" My eyes widened at his question.

"I don't have a third eye, Sir! And I'm certainly not a fortune teller... That's creepy!" I exclaimed, hugging myself. Why did he say that?

"That painting?" he asked again, pointing at my painting that I had only made as an extra.

"That's just a product of my weird dream, Sir. It has no other meaning-"

"It's like love, my dear. If you don't express what's real, your love for someone will go nowhere." It's like you have to confess to someone so they're aware of your love for them? That's one way of interpreting what he said.

But in the end, what? After all, not all love is happy or ends in a happy ending. Tss.

Or should I express my feelings?

"Dad, let's go. Markin has been pestering me for a while now. We need to leave because my son is getting irritated," said his daughter, as she grabbed his arm.

"Why did that kid decide to stay outside?" he asked, glancing at me with a ghost of a smile on his lips. "If he hadn't, he could've met this talented painter." I think I blushed at what Sir said.

Are you trying to set me up with your grandson, Sir? Because I wouldn't say no. Haha. Just kidding.

"Dad," his daughter interrupted again.

"Alright, alright. It was a pleasure meeting you, dear. See you soon," he said, as if we would meet again someday. I just smiled and nodded in response.

"Congratulations, my grandchild!" my grandfather said happily, finally breaking his silence. I knew he and my other grandparent had been quietly listening the whole time.

They both hugged me tightly, clearly overjoyed. It seemed like my achievements were theirs as well.

Kapitana also congratulated me with a big smile as she spoke to us.

She said the person who bought my paintings wasn't just an ordinary guest. Apparently, they were wealthy and a businessperson. I already knew that because-well, they bought my artworks for a million.

So, who wouldn't be happy, emotional, and surprised?

"There's a party tonight. The Brilliantes father and son will still be attending. Come if you want, Rea. You're the luckiest painter to have caught the attention of those engineers. Their grandson is an engineer too, but he chose to stay by Leighton's side," Kapitana said, which made me think.

Who's this Leighton they're referring to? Are they an important person too?

"Wait a minute, Kapitana. Sir Denbrill gave me so much, so if you don't mind, may I-" I hadn't even finished speaking when she interrupted.

"That's yours, Rea. You don't owe anyone a share except your family. You worked hard for that," she said, but I didn't respond. Chars.

You can't refuse blessings, Kapitana.

I rummaged through my small bag for the check, but it felt like my soul was leaving my body and my heart started pounding when I couldn't find it.

I hadn't put my bag anywhere else, right?

So where's the yellow piece of paper that was given to me? Why can't I find it?

To Be Continued...