"Hayden. It's you, isn't it?" I asked, voice raw.
He grabbed me by the collar so fast I didn't even have time to flinch. The barrel of the gun returned, pressed right against my skull.
"I'll give you ten seconds to explain how you know that name before I plant a bullet in your brain," he said, voice cold enough to freeze the air between us.
Despite the pain screaming through every part of my body, I let out a breathless laugh. "You don't remember? This is how we first met."
He didn't like that answer.
The pressure on my temple increased. His finger twitched near the trigger, and this time, he looked like he wouldn't hesitate.
I growled in pain, head pulsing. "The alleyway. Four years ago. We—"
My words broke apart. I could barely speak. Every inch of me felt like it had been slammed through a wall. Because, well… it had.
He stared at me, really stared, then slowly removed the gun from my face. His brows pulled together.
"...Peepsqueak?" he muttered. "Oh, shit. It's been you this whole time?"
Then he scoffed and let go of me. I dropped to the ground like a sack of bricks, coughing, gasping, humiliated.
"That really explains a lot," he said casually. "I almost killed you."
I forced myself upright, leaning against the wall for support, breathing hard. "How've you been?"
What? What the hell did he just say?
Did he just ask me how I'd been? Like this was a goddamn school reunion?
The adrenaline surged again, and I swung at him. He caught my wrist like it was nothing and gave me a warning look.
"That's enough," he said. "Don't make me hurt you."
"Hurt me?" I growled.
That's when I heard it—voices. Footsteps. People coming.
Hayden turned sharply. "Oh shit," he muttered. Then he looked at me with something between urgency and guilt. "Listen, Isaaq, I know you probably hate me right now, but if you want to keep breathing, you need to come with me. Now."
I hesitated.
Everything in me screamed to run in the opposite direction. But my body was too weak, my head too cloudy—and I had questions. Too many.
So I nodded.
Without another word, he scooped me up bridal style like I was weightless and took off into the dark.
What the fuck is happening.
He moved like a machine—fast, silent, efficient. The kind of fast that came from years of practice and a whole lot of shady training.
Eventually, we reached a car parked under a busted streetlamp in a sketchy alley. He opened the door.
Was this his car?
"Put me down," I grumbled. "I can walk myself."
He obliged, setting me down gently—almost too gently—and we both got in. The inside smelled like leather and danger. He started the car without a word and drove.
A few turns later, we pulled up to a nearby hotel. Not a five-star resort, not a sleazebag motel either. Just the kind of place you could disappear in.
Then he did something that made my blood run cold.
He got out of the car, left the engine running, reached in, and casually hit drive.
The car rolled forward, gaining speed, and slammed into a concrete barrier.
I turned to him, horrified.
He just shrugged. "Wasn't mine anyway."
Who the hell is this guy.
"Come on," he said. "Let's go inside."
I didn't trust him—not even a little. But I followed anyway. Curiosity, stupidity, or maybe some dumb instinct to survive—I don't know.
We got a room.
He closed the door behind us like this was just another night out. I stood frozen near the entrance, glaring, while he stretched like he'd just finished a workout and not, you know, a full-blown terrorist operation.
He turned toward me with a smirk. "Aren't you going to come in?"
I said nothing.
"Look," he sighed, "I know you have questions. And… for old time's sake, I'll answer them. Most of them."
He peeled off his vest and gloves, tossed them to the side, and threw himself onto the bed like this was a damn sleepover.
I didn't move from the chair opposite him. My body was wrecked, but my mind was on fire.
First question out of my mouth: "What happened to Julie?"
He groaned, scratching the back of his head. "She's fine, really. I saw her get out. I didn't touch her—I swear."
Relief flooded me.
But could I believe him? Or was this just part of some twisted plan to get my trust back?
I narrowed my eyes. "Aiden… Hayden… whoever the hell you are. Who even are you?"
He grinned. "I'm both, actually."
I blinked. "The fuck does that mean?"
He sat up, looking all too proud of himself. "It means I'm Aiden… and at the same time, I'm Hayden."
I stared at him like he'd just grown two heads. "Are you bullshitting me right now?"
He laughed. "Honestly? I don't care if you believe me. But it's the truth."
I wanted to punch that grin off his face.
Instead, I leaned back in my chair, still breathing heavy, still glaring.
"Alright then, make me believe you," I said, my voice steady despite the ache in my ribs.
"Excuse me?" he blinked.
"You heard me," I replied firmly, not backing down.
He groaned and threw himself back on the bed with the grace of a drama queen. "Do I really have to?"
"Not like you have a choice."
Another groan. "Then I'll have to start telling stories. And I hate that. I hate talking."
That much was obvious. Aiden—or Hayden—usually spoke like he was getting charged per word. Tonight had been the most he'd ever said to me, and somehow, it only made things worse.
"If you don't want me to turn you in, you better start talking," I said coldly, leaning forward.
He laughed, dark and amused. "Are you threatening me? You wanna call the police on me? Go on, I dare you." The smile that followed was the kind that made my skin crawl.
My throat dried. I clenched my fists instead of answering. I had nothing. No threat strong enough, no words brave enough to stand against whatever the hell he was.
He clicked his tongue. "Tch. Fine! I have split personalities."
I blinked. "What?"
"I think it's called Dissociative Identity Disorder. Some fancy shit like that. But I don't black out—we just… switch places."
"So, you're possessed?" I frowned.
"Ha ha, very funny." He rolled his eyes.
I scoffed. The sarcasm was the only thing keeping me grounded.
"I will assure you," he continued, "that currently I'm Hayden. And the person you've been screwing around with… was Aiden."
I stared at him, trying to piece it all together. None of it made sense, and yet… it sort of did? The shift in his demeanor, the way his voice felt sharper, colder now. Aiden had always been more—gentle, I guess? And Hayden? Hayden looked like he'd kill me in my sleep if I said the wrong thing.
"So what, you got dropped as a baby and split into two people?"
He chuckled, low and dangerous. "Keep joking with the guy with the gun, Almasi."
I swallowed hard. My damn mouth was going to get me killed.
"How did this happen?" I asked quietly.
He sighed. "So many questions, Isaaq. Just sleep already."
"No." I pushed. "Tell me."
I needed something to hold onto. Some kind of reason not to hate him. My heart was cracked open and bleeding, and the only person I could blame was sitting right in front of me.
"When we met—the first time. That was me. It's always been me. Until…" he trailed off, staring into space.
The look on his face shifted. He seemed… haunted.
"Fuuuuck," he muttered, voice breaking.
I hesitated. I didn't know if I should comfort him or keep my distance. "You… okay?"
He looked over at me, expression blank. "Yeah. I'm fine. It's just… my life was really shitty after that. Shit happened. And then Aiden came along."
"Oh," was all I could manage.
"Yeah," he said with a hollow smile. "Aiden's the calm one. Nicer. People actually liked him. He was the perfect cover."
I could tell there were gaps. Huge ones. But I didn't press—partly because I was exhausted, partly because I didn't know if I wanted the whole truth just yet.
I tried to sit up straight, but the movement made me wince. Pain shot through my skull.
Hayden stood and walked to the cupboard like he owned the place. He pulled out a first aid kit. Definitely not his first time here.
"Here, let me help."
I flinched when he approached. Instinct.
"And whose fault is that?" I snapped.
"Just let me stop the bleeding, or you'll pass out."
I didn't have the strength to argue. I let him close the distance.
He cleaned the wound at the back of my head with swift, practiced movements, then dabbed at the bruises on my face. It stung like hell, and I gritted my teeth to stop from screaming.
"You've got a swollen face from just two hits," he teased with a smirk.
"Funny," I grumbled.
"How does that feel?"
"Like shit."
He laughed. "Good. 'Cause you look like it."
This bastard.
I still didn't know if I believed his whole double-personality crap. But part of me… could almost see it. Theo had warned me from the start. Said there was something off. I should've listened. I should've seen it. But I was too smitten with Aiden—or Hayden—whoever he was.
And that's when it hit me. I had fallen for both versions of the same damn guy.
Four years ago, when I first met Hayden. And now, when Aiden had slowly worked his way into my life. My head throbbed even more.
He put the first aid kit away. I watched him, then asked, "Hayden… what have you been up to all this while?"
He stilled. "I don't want to talk about it."
Of course not.
"Okay. What about today? What the hell was that?"
Silence again. I was losing patience.
"Do I really have to say anything?" he finally muttered.
"Yes! You pointed a freaking gun at me. You ruined my friend's birthday party."
"Oh," he said casually, like I'd told him we were out of milk.
Seriously?
"Well, it wasn't just me, okay?"
"I noticed," I snapped.
He hesitated before speaking. "The Almasi family are a piece of shit."
"That, I can agree with."
"Aren't you an Almasi?"
"I really, really wish I wasn't."
He sighed. "The plan was to take out one of them and blame the Malriones."
"What?!" My voice shot up.
"Again with the questions, Isaaq."
"I need to know!"
"You need to rest."
"So you do care about me," I said before I could stop myself.
He stiffened. Swallowed. Then looked away.
"I need to breathe," he muttered, and got up, walking off like I hadn't just watched my whole world spin on its axis.