Costa Casa, Atlantica
The island which held the Atlantican state of Costa Casa was divided into five; four districts and a capital. The four districts, like the other states of the country, were named after the cardinal points; Northern Costa Casa, Southern Costa Casa, Eastern Costa Casa, and Western Costa Casa. The island's capital, Reito, sat in the middle of it all.
Every district had its beautiful beaches and resorts which made the island the most visited by nationals and tourists alike as it was the tropical heaven of Atlantica. It had beautiful residential properties too, such as the gated compound on the edge of the northern district which held four luxuriously built and furnished bungalows; a gated property that only a few people knew belonged to The Hexad Squad.
Surrounded by tall trees that provided natural privacy beyond the stone fence and nestled nicely on a highland which gave it stunning views of the Atlantic Ocean, the property was one of Costa Casa's hottest. Tobi had been the one to close the deal for the squad back in 2014 after the company had kicked off and they realised they needed a place to unwind each time the opportunity presented itself; times when they didn't want to leave the country.
Two bungalows in the compound belonged to a pair; the farthest for Bella and Ibrahim, and the one in the middle for Anneth and Nathaniel. The two bungalows a little far from the gates belonged to Jalal and Tobi respectfully. The four bungalows had the same floor plan; a living room with a lot of space, an Italian styled kitchen with a breakfast nook that served as the eating area, two bedrooms, and a sundeck with loungers and hammock seats. The exterior was the same too; stone walls coming together with wood and glass to create masterpieces. The property had a central pool and one addition from the squad was the round gazebo they used for grill dinners and game nights. They sometimes watched movies there too. The interior of each bungalow, though, couldn't be more different from the other as it was done to fit each owner; colours coming together alongside furniture pieces to make each house a home away from home.
The sun rising over the island was what woke Bella up from a blissfully deep sleep as the full length windows were uncovered, both she and Ibrahim forgetting to pull the curtains back together before they'd finally given into sleep hours earlier. When her eyes adjusted to the rays that shone into the room, she sighed and rolled over, meeting Ibrahim's side empty and cold.
She frowned slightly and sat up, an ache between her legs from all their rendezvous straight from Aomi until they slept. Goosebumps broke out briefly on her skin as the cool air hit her bare body. She looked around, waiting to hear the sound of the shower running but she heard nothing.
"Serkan?"
Silence was all she got in response and her attention moved to the nightstand when his phone beeped, the screen lighting up with a new message. She stretched and picked the device up, unlocking it quite easily. A brow rose naturally when she saw the message was from Ayra.
Ayra A.: Hey, sweetheart. I'm sorry I'm just texting back now. I wasn't feeling so good yesterday but I'm fine now. I hope you arrived safely and I hope you take it easy on yourself. Say hi to the others for me, please. I'll text them later In Shaa Allah. I love you!
Rolling her eyes, Bella put the phone to sleep and returned it to the nightstand. Pushing the duvet back, she put her feet on her cool floor and pushed herself off the bed. Not bothering to put on a shirt or anything, she opened the door and walked out of the room. The heavenly mix of food aromas hit her nose immediately and with a small smile that came naturally, she made her way to the kitchen.
Ibrahim was in nothing but dark blue sweatpants with his back turned towards the door where she stood as he set the breakfast nook, putting the served dishes in perfect spots. Draped on her usual chair was one of his shirts and she knew even if she ended up putting it on, it'll come off while they were eating or even right after. After all, there was something about coming to this very home that always made them insatiable.
Well aware that she'd moved from the door to stand right behind him, Ibrahim put the cutlery for both of them down and then faced her, his smile soft and lovely while his heart did that its usual little jump each time it came to her. It was natural for him to pull her close. "I was hoping you'd be asleep for a little longer."
She smiled a little wider. "Why?"
"I haven't gotten dessert ready yet. I was hoping to make sugar cookies but I guess we can settle for something else. After all, there's ice cream in the fridge and we both know the way I like it."
Anticipating what would come when he got the tub of ice-cream out of the fridge, she pushed herself to her toes and kissed him hard; their way of saying good morning once there was no need for them to pretend as though they hadn't been together for years. Ibrahim kept a steady arm around her waist while the other moved to cup the back of her neck as he moved his head sideways so he could deepen the kiss, almost feral when she returned his dominance with hers.
It was way too easy to forget about the meal he'd prepared – from chicken dumplings to her favourite potato salad – and back her up against the nearest counter while her hands moved to push down the band of his trousers. Being buried deep inside of her a minute later, like always, felt like home and he savoured it all; his face buried in its favourite spot in the crook of her neck.
Her eyes rolled back when he moved and she spoke with her hands in his hair. "Your wife texted, finally. It's quite unlike her."
His pace didn't slow; it picked up instead. "And what did she say?"
It took everything in her to stay focused while he satisfied her every morning craving. "Something about being a little down or...Serkan."
He kept his eyes on her face, finding the usual satisfaction that came with watching her unravel; every part of her solely at his mercy. "Did you give her a reply?"
Her glare should have sent him to the next grave. "Not today. I'm not texting her until we get back."
He grabbed her chin, a little rough. "That's fine. I'll text her later."
Her nails dug into his scalp as she felt the pressure start to build. "You need to make up for her kinda ruining my morning."
He grinned, perfect dentition on full display. "Okay."
He gave her everything she wanted and the climax had her milking him dry which pushed him to near insanity. When they managed to catch their breaths, he kissed her softly. "Let's clean up and eat."
"I think we should have dessert first. There is ice-cream in the fridge after all."
His laugh was deep and so velvety that her toes curled, her smile a natural reaction. He kissed her again. "You're not going to kill me, Bella."
"I can't do that, Serkan. I love you."
He kissed her once more, taking his sweetest time. "And I love you too."
♣
Aomi, Atlantica
Ayra stepped out of the apartment at noon when her mind stopped being numb and little pieces had fallen into place. Her head throbbed, a side effect of the sleep she'd barely gotten, but she ignored it as she took the elevator down to the lobby.
She murmured greetings at those she knew in the time she'd stayed in the residential area and if anyone found it weird that her eyes were swollen with dark circles underneath while her face was flushed, they said nothing and she was insanely grateful.
Going out through the main doors, she didn't stop until she was on the other side of the tarred road. She then turned around and stared at the towering structure of The Oasis, remembering how amazed she and Ibtihaj had been – like every other citizen of the country – when the property became open to the public.
She then recalled how Ibrahim had told her they'd been staying in The Oasis once they were married and she nearly laughed humourlessly now that it all made sense to her.
"Bella and her lover moved recently," He told her back then, right there by the pool in his parents' home. "And they've had nothing but good reviews so I got us an apartment at The Oasis. We'll be staying there when we get married In Shaa Allah."
And the previous day, Bella had called the apartment on the 8th floor "home"; not for her (Bella) and the Serkan she'd introduced to Ayra in December but for her and the Serkan who was Ibrahim.
Swallowing the bitter lump in her throat while her hands were painfully balled into fists, Ayra crossed the road and walked back in. The elevator carriage was already on the lobby floor so she got in and pressed the eighth floor button. Once she got there, she walked all the way to Unit 8C and stared at the closed door, recalling how months back Bella had opened up with a smile on her face and ushered her in, saying welcome in Italian.
Thinking back now, Ayra realised there was more Bella said that day while she said welcome and she'd never wished so badly that she understood the language so she could know everything Bella said. Her line of sight moved to the keypad by the side and she thought about how the other members of the squad had come in, knowing the passcode; something she never even bothered to wonder why she didn't know it too since she lived in the same apartment building and could check up on Bella if there was any need to.
She then recalled how Ibrahim had been against her idea of making changes to their own apartment, stating that he didn't want white walls and black accessories and "let Serkan and Bella deal with that alone". Yet, he'd called the apartment he claimed to not like "home" an exact day before and he'd come down to it before leaving for Costa Casa to the villa Ayra knew nothing about.
As she tightened her fists, causing her nails to dig into her palms, Ayra recalled the story Bella had shared; she and Serkan being together for more than a decade and going all the way to Leicester where Ayra knew they'd all schooled together, "Serkan's" parents disapproving of their relationship and wanting him to get married to someone else, both of them living their best lives without actually committing and then the sex that was a big bonus.
Replaying the conversation in her head sprung up way too many questions and when it felt like her head was ready to split in two, Ayra forced herself to walk away. The elevator ride up was short and it was the first time she helped herself into the apartment she'd called home while looking at it with a different eye; the rose coloured lens of love had been painfully pulled off after all.
The foyer no longer seemed welcoming and beautiful. It felt tainted; used and all she could see as she stared at the floating shelf was Bella clinging onto Ibrahim as she came undone on his hand with his fingers buried deep inside of her. All Ayra could see was the gentle way Ibrahim had held Bella and the way he'd stared at her; a way she couldn't remember ever being stared at by him, not so sincerely at least. It said a lot because there was nothing that ever gave it away that the looks and expressions he gave her (Ayra) were ever fake.
She turned away from the floating shelf and looked up at the corner where the camera had been. The thought of installing a CCTV camera popped up from nowhere and she did nothing to push it away. Keeping the thought in mind, she walked deeper into the house.
Everything, now that she knew Bella was the one who'd picked it all, seemed very ugly and the hatred that hit her was so strong that it scared her to death because she'd never hated something that much. The beige walls no longer offered warmth and the white sofas now seemed too bright. The painting above the TV made Ayra realise that they never really got around picking out a photo from their wedding album to get framed and hung up. In fact, now that she thought of it, they'd only looked at the album together twice. Each time she went through it in order to relive the memories, she was on her own and he was either at the office, with Bella downstairs, or they were all out of the country.
She laughed dryly despite the tears that prickled her eyes. "Ayra, you've been the biggest fool."
And it hurt like hell.
The kitchen was spotlessly clean; something she'd ensured the previous night before heading up. She couldn't bring herself to hate it and she had no idea why. She thought about how excited she'd been to make dishes for him, to surprise him, and yet she'd been the one who'd been so surprised that her heart and mind were no longer the same.
Fate, she decided then and there, worked in very twisted ways.
She left the kitchen and headed up. The family lounge, for the first time, seemed too small and too choked up and she hated the voile curtains that swayed. She went to the room he'd called Ayra's space and she hated it all as she saw it for what it was; a den to keep her in and preoccupied while he went ahead to do everything else.
Her room no longer seemed stunning and the only thing she couldn't bring herself to dislike was the painting on the wall which was of her, covered with a Leilani in full bloom. Not knowing why, she moved forward and climbed the bed to take a very close look at it. The strokes had been done with precision and she realised then she never asked who the artist was. For the first time, she realised there was a little signature in the bottom left corner and her heart – in its hole – sunk even deeper as she read out what was spelt in the cursive calligraphy in red paint that matched the flower.
"S.F." She had to squint a little. "Serkan Fahad."
Another memory hit, clashing with the new discovery; her birthday the previous month and what he'd said after she'd twirled in front of him, wearing the baby pink dress he'd gotten.
"I'm no painter but God knows if I could create masterpieces with the strokes of brushes against canvas, I'd have captured the radiance and happiness coming off you in waves."
She nearly fell as she hurriedly got off the bed, catching the foot of the bedframe just in time to stop herself from toppling forward. She ran back down, straight to the living room, and she pulled one of the side stools towards the wall with the painting. In the bottom left corner of that painting was the same signature and the name underneath; S.F. Serkan Fahad.
Ayra shook her head, too deep in disbelief. "No...No."
She got off the stool and went to the foyer. The two mini paintings on the floating shelves had the same signatures and it hurt...All of it hurt; like little knives that kept cutting every part of her that was visible. Recalling there was a painting in his room, she went there. Like the first time she stepped into it, she was hit with the fact that it was his room. It was all of him and there was only very little of her in it. She then remembered what Bella said; that she'd done work in here because he wanted to have traces of her in the apartment.
Not wanting to dwell on it for her own sake, she took small steps in and went straight to the sitting area, focusing on the painting on the wall. Unlike the first time she'd seen the painting, it was no longer hard to make out who it was. It was a painting of Isabella Valentino; done in a way to confuse people who didn't know her as well as he and the other members of the squad did. And right there in the bottom left corner was his signature yet again: S.F. Serkan Fahad.
"Don't think too hard about who it is." Ibrahim had said with his chin on her shoulder and his mouth by her ear the first time she and Ibtihaj had come to tour the apartment. "I just saw it and I liked it. Helen also said it fit the theme of the room."
Ayra, in so much pain, realised there was no way Helen was not in too on whatever scheme had played out. She – Ayra – had actually loved the painting because Ibrahim loved it and each time she saw him glance towards it, she never imagined that he was thinking about Bella. That he was looking right at Bella.
Her mind went back to Bella's house. The paintings in the study and then all of the pictures, especially in the one in the living room which had made her feel as though Serkan was familiar with his knee length shorts, his extra loose top and his hair that had been captured being ruffled by the wind.
Ayra had to bring a hand up to her mouth to muffle the sound of her choking on a sob. She'd assumed it was because she'd seen the "Serkan" on the day of her and Ibrahim's Nikkah, having absolutely no idea that she'd been staring at Ibrahim himself.
"This photo was taken in Cape Town." Bella had said and Ayra wondered how the pieces only came together in that moment.
The Fahads had been the ones who brought together South Africa and Atlantica in unimaginable ways and she knew – like everyone else – that they had a number of properties in the country, especially in Cape Town. She thought she couldn't feel even more pain but every new thing she learned proved her wrong as she broke further and further; in ways she'd never ever done before while being surrounded by things that now felt so unfamiliar.
She let her body move on its own accord, towards his walk in closet. The lights blinded her momentarily when she switched them on and when her eyes adjusted, she moved and went through each storage space, not feeling even an ounce of guilt. His perfume drawer had her pausing. Staring at his row of Tom Fords made her really think once again, more pieces snapping into place and leaving her in even more pain.
She remembered hugging Bella the first time she and Ibtihaj met the squad and saying "You scent exactly like Ibrahim."
They – the squad – had laughed and then Anneth had said Bella was the biggest perfume thief and "I think Ibrahim's tired of changing his perfumes because of her so they've stuck this one. We all have actually."
As she stared at the perfume bottles, she realised – quite belatedly – that no one else in the squad used Tom Ford's Oud Wood; only Ibrahim and Bella, despite Anneth saying then that they'd all stuck to it. Only Ibrahim and Bella used the perfume and then he'd gotten it for her as part of his wedding gifts to her and also as a part of her birthday present.
She took a shaky step back and tripped on the hem of her kimono, going straight to the floor as a painfully prickly sensation she couldn't recognise crept towards her throat from her chest. She recalled a story she'd come across online with Ibtihaj; a story of a man who got his wife bottles of a particular perfume which she loved using until she came across a message on his phone where he told his lover that having his wife spraying the perfume in the house was nice because it reminded him of her (the lover), especially when he and his wife had to get intimate.
The painfully prickly sensation slipped past Ayra's lips as an eerie scream. She moved to her knees and held her head in her hands, shaking it from left to right as more and more things came crashing down. Each time he'd hugged her, he'd held her tight and more than once he'd said "You always scent like home, Ayra. You have no idea just how much you do."
And those times, she'd smiled, glad she made him feel safe while having no idea that she wasn't the home he was referring to. His home had always been two floors below and he'd gone there time and time again, even when it was late and she wanted them to do something such as watching a movie together or even running a home spa session.
Ayra kept screaming, feeling too much at once and breaking in way too many ways. All of it, from the very start, had been a lie and there was no more denying the truth that was as clear as day.
She was his wife in the public's eye and on paper but in real life? She was the other woman. She'd always been the other woman. In real life, there was only one Mrs Fahad and it wasn't her.
It was Bella.