Bitter Vows, Sweet Revenge

Chapter 6: Home

The slam of the hospital room door echoed in the crushing silence. Aria lay staring at the ceiling, her eyes wide and vacant. The raw, physical pain of her loss had dulled, entirely eclipsed by a different kind of agony—a thousand tiny needles of betrayal piercing her heart.

A fog of despair, thick and suffocating, settled over her. She slowly placed a hand on her flat stomach, a gesture of mourning for a future that had been stolen. After a long moment, she closed her eyes, and a single, hot tear traced a path down her temple.

It was over. Truly, finally over. She would not waste another drop of her life, another ounce of her love, on a man who despised her. The road ahead was long and unknown, but it was hers. She had to learn to look forward.

After a week, she insisted on being discharged. Her body was still weak, but the oppressive gloom of the hospital was suffocating her spirit.

On the morning of her departure, she sat on the edge of the bed, methodically packing the few items she possessed. She had left Julian’s mansion with a single small suitcase, and a week in the hospital had added little more than a cheap toothbrush and a renewed sense of desolation. Everything she now owned fit into a small backpack.

She let out a hollow, bitter laugh. For a moment, she sat perfectly still, listening to the bustling sounds from the hallway—doctors, nurses, the chatter of visiting families. Not one of them was for her.

She had always been alone.

Aria slapped her cheeks lightly, a sharp sting to chase away the self-pity. She took a deep, cleansing breath, stood up, and walked out of the room, leaving the ghosts of the past week behind.

In the back of a taxi, a plan began to form, solidifying from the ashes of her grief. There was one last thing to do. She would go back to the Thorne residence, her childhood home. She would reclaim what her mother had left her. And then, she would disappear from this city, from this life, and never look back. She would leave behind the people who had murdered her child, her love, and her heart.

As the taxi moved through the vibrant, bustling city streets, a strange sense of longing bloomed within her. A longing for a new life, a future she would build with her own two hands. As long as she was still breathing, anything was possible.

A slow, genuine smile spread across her lips. It was a smile of breathtaking beauty, full of a hope she thought she’d lost forever. The taxi driver, catching her reflection in the rearview mirror, felt his breath catch. It was the smile of an angel, and he was completely unaware that he was chauffeuring a woman who had just been reborn in fire.

The car stopped in front of the familiar, imposing gates of the Thorne estate. Aria took a deep breath, paid the driver, and stepped out. She stood on the pavement for a long moment, hesitating, until she noticed a maid she didn't recognize staring at her from the doorway, her eyes dripping with contempt.

The maid's disdain was a physical thing, but she was still addressing the eldest daughter of the house. "What are you doing back here?" she asked, her tone flat and insolent.

Aria blinked, pulled back to the present by the woman’s piercing gaze. A bitter smile touched her lips. This really didn't feel like her home. She walked towards the entrance. "I'm here to see my father," she said, her voice even, refusing to engage with the woman's rudeness. "You can go back to your duties."

She moved to step past, but the maid blocked her path, a smirk playing on her lips. "I think you'd better wait here. I'll need to inform the missus before I can let you in."

Aria's eyes widened in disbelief. She was rarely here, but since when did she need a servant's permission to enter her own home?

She laughed, a humorless sound. For the first time in a long time, a flicker of her old fire ignited. "This is my house," she said, her voice low and sharp. "I don't need your permission." She tried to sidestep the maid.

The servant, however, was determined. She grabbed Aria's arm, her grip surprisingly strong, and raised her voice into a theatrical wail. "Please, Miss, don't make trouble for me! If I lose my job over this, my family will starve!"

Aria flinched at the sudden, painful grip on her still-tender body. She instinctively tried to shake the woman's hand off. But the iron-like grip suddenly went limp, and with the slightest push, the maid stumbled backward, collapsing onto the ground in a heap.

Aria stared, stunned. She knew she had barely used any force. She bent down to help the woman up, a sense of responsibility warring with her confusion.

But the maid scrambled away from her, clutching her wrist as if it were broken. "Miss Thorne... why did you push me?" she sobbed, her voice trembling. "I'm just a humble servant! I was only following my orders!"

Aria stood frozen, speechless at the sudden, baseless accusation. She stared at the woman, completely bewildered. "What are you—"

"Aria!"

A voice, dripping with venom, cut through the air. She looked up. Julian stood under the shade of a large oak tree, his hands on the back of Vivienne's wheelchair. His face was a mask of pure disgust, as if the very sight of her made him physically ill.

Aria saw it then—a fleeting, triumphant smirk on the maid's face before it dissolved back into a mask of tearful victimhood. And in that moment, she understood.

But even after all the pain, a foolish, desperate sliver of hope remained. She fought back the tears threatening to fall. "Julian, it's not what it looks like. She fell on her own. I didn't—"

"Miss Thorne!" the maid cried out, cutting her off. "I was only doing what the missus told me! To announce any visitors! I'm sorry, I won't stop you again, please don't be angry!"

Aria looked at the maid's face—the expertly crafted performance of terror, the underlying gleam of malice—and she felt a wave of nausea. The words she wanted to say died in her throat.