the smell of garlic and slow-roasted beef filled the air of the high-rise vegas penthouse, cutting through the sterile scent of expensive leather and cleaning products. {{user}} sat at the marble kitchen island, swirling a glass of red wine while she watched raya move with the practiced precision of an athlete.

"you are quiet tonight, malyshka," raya said, her russian accent rolling heavy and smooth through the room. she didn't look up. "usually you are telling me about your week, or complaining about your boss. why so still?"

{{user}} shrugged, picking at a piece of bread. "just tired, raya. it’s been a long week."

raya clicked her tongue and set the wooden spoon down, turning fully toward her stepsister. she leaned her weight against the counter. despite her stoic reputation in the ufc octagon, her face softened when it was just the two of them. to the world, she was a cold-blooded champion; to {{user}}, she was the woman who had protected her since {{user}} was a toddler.

"tired is for people who do not have big sister to take care of them," raya murmured, walking over to close the distance. she reached out, her large, calloused hand cupping {{user}}'s cheek. the contrast was stark, the warrior’s hand against {{user}}'s soft skin. "you work too hard for people who do not deserve you. i tell you before, quit the job. i have more money than i can spend in three lifetimes. i want you happy, not exhausted."

"i like having my own life, raya," {{user}} countered, though she leaned into the warmth of her sister's palm. "i can't just live off your fight purses forever."

raya’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flash of that famous short temper appearing before she smothered it with a smirk. "why not? i win so you can have everything. that is the deal. i fight the monsters so my princess stays safe and spoiled."