Chapter 35- A New Me

Chapter 35- A New Me
ARIA’S POV

The first thing I felt when I opened my eyes was pain.

A heavy, pounding ache throbbed behind my temples, sharp enough to make me wince. For a moment, I didn’t even remember where I was. The sunlight spilling through the curtains was too bright, stabbing straight through my skull.

I blinked, once, twice, trying to piece together fragments of what happened.

And then it all came back.

The argument.

The tears.

The kiss.

My stomach twisted painfully.

God, what had I done?

I sat up slowly, pressing a hand to my forehead as the room swayed around me. The blanket slid down my arms, and I realized someone had tucked me in. Him.

Alessandro.

Heat crawled up my neck, but not from embarrassment—from anger.

I hated that he’d seen me like that. Weak. Broken. Out of control. I hated that I had clung to him like some helpless girl begging to be saved. I wasn’t helpless. I never was. But this morning… I looked it. I felt it. And I couldn’t forgive myself for that.

I swung my legs off the bed and tried to stand, but the moment I did, the world tilted. My knees buckled, and I caught the edge of the nightstand before I could hit the floor.

“Damn it,” I muttered, my voice hoarse.

For a few seconds, I just stood there, gripping the table, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Then I straightened, squaring my shoulders. No more falling. No more breaking. No more crying.

Not again.

I took a deep breath and started toward the bathroom. My feet were bare, the marble floor cold beneath them. Every step echoed in the silence of the room, sharp and lonely.

When I reached the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at me.

My eyes were red, rimmed with exhaustion. My hair was a tangled mess around my face. My lips were pale, my skin dull. I looked like someone who had lost everything.

And maybe I had.

For a second, I thought of Camilla. Her laughter. Her warmth. The way she always stood beside me no matter what storm I dragged her into. The image hit like a knife to the chest. I shut my eyes quickly, refusing to let it stay.

No. Not again. I couldn’t fall apart every time her name crossed my mind.

I gripped the sink tighter, forcing myself to breathe.

Crying wouldn’t bring her back.
Grief wouldn’t give her peace.

But revenge…
Revenge just might.

I turned on the shower. The water roared to life, steam fogging up the mirror as I stripped off my clothes. The heat hit me the moment I stepped in—scalding, cleansing, almost punishing.

For a long time, I just stood there, letting it burn against my skin.

The water ran down my face, washing away the salt of dried tears, the scent of fear, the trace of him. I imagined it washing away the part of me that still wanted to be saved.

I didn’t want saving anymore.
I wanted blood.

Camilla’s killer was out there, walking free, probably smiling, probably sleeping soundly while she rotted six feet under. That thought filled my chest with something dark and sharp.

They took her from me.

Whoever they were—whoever thought they could break me—had no idea what kind of monster they just created.

I tilted my head back, the water streaming over me like fire. My body shook, but not from weakness anymore—from rage. Pure, steady, dangerous rage.

When I finally turned the water off, the silence was deafening.

I stepped out, steam curling around me, dripping water onto the marble floor. My reflection was nothing but a blur behind the fogged glass. I wiped it with my palm and stared at myself.

This girl wasn’t broken anymore.

Her eyes weren’t red from crying—they were burning.
Her mouth wasn’t trembling—it was hard, set in determination.
Her soul wasn’t shattered—it was rebuilding itself out of steel and spite.

I wrapped a towel around myself and walked into the closet. Every step felt deliberate now, every breath controlled. I scanned the rows of dresses, colors, fabrics—all meaningless. I didn’t want bright. I didn’t want soft.

I wanted black.

I reached for the fitted black pants, the silk blouse that clung to my frame, and the matching jacket that looked sharp enough to cut. The moment the fabric touched my skin, I felt something shift inside me—like armor snapping into place.

I fastened the buttons slowly, one by one.

Black wasn’t just for mourning. It was for rebirth. It was the color of endings—and beginnings.

Camilla’s death would not be the end of me.

I would turn it into fire.

I would turn myself into something the world couldn’t ignore.

As I sat before the mirror again, I picked up the small brush from my vanity. My hands were steady now. I brushed through my damp hair, letting it fall back into soft waves. Then I reached for my foundation, covering the dark circles beneath my eyes. Concealer, powder, a touch of blush. A mask.

My reflection began to change with each careful stroke.

The dead girl was gone. The broken one too. What stared back at me now was someone dangerous. Someone cold. Someone who had stopped caring about right and wrong.

Grief had stripped me bare. Now vengeance would clothe me.

When I finished, I leaned closer to the mirror. My eyes looked clearer now, sharper. Alive, even if my heart wasn’t.

“You can do this,” I whispered to my reflection.

The words felt strange on my tongue—half promise, half threat.

Because I wasn’t just talking to myself.

I was talking to every soul that had a hand in her death.

The ones who planned it.
The ones who carried it out.
The ones who laughed afterward.

They didn’t know it yet, but their days were numbered.

Camilla’s laughter might be gone, but I’d make sure their screams filled the silence she left behind.

I stood up, walked back into the room, and pulled open the drawer beside the bed. Inside lay my phone, still untouched. A few missed calls, some messages, none of which mattered.

I opened my contacts and scrolled until I found one name.

Dante Rivas.

My lips curved faintly. He owed me a favor—a big one. And he had connections that reached places the police couldn’t touch.

This time, I wasn’t going to rely on law or mercy.

I was going to dig into the shadows.

I was going to find every single person who stood behind her murder, and I was going to make them pay.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Completely.

I set the phone back down without calling. Not yet. Not until I was ready.

This wasn’t going to be some reckless act of revenge. No. This was going to be art. Every move calculated. Every punishment personal.

They wanted to see me weak.
They wanted to see me break.

So I would give them a show.

I would smile. I would laugh. I would make them believe I had healed. And when they finally lowered their guard… I would destroy them.

I walked back to the mirror one last time.

The girl staring back wasn’t the same one who had fallen apart in Alessandro’s arms. That girl was gone. Buried with Camilla.

This one was sharper. Colder. Stronger.

I tilted my head slightly, studying the curve of my own smirk.

“Do you know what they’ll call you?” I whispered to my reflection. “They’ll call you cruel. Heartless. Monster.”

I smiled wider.

“Good.”

I didn’t want to be the girl who needed saving anymore. I wanted to be the reason they ran.

I wanted to watch the fear in their eyes when they realized who they’d made an enemy of.

Camilla’s blood wouldn’t be spilled in vain.

They thought her death would end something. They were wrong.

It started something.

Something dark.

Something unstoppable.

I brushed my fingers over the mirror’s edge, leaving a faint trail on the glass. “A new me has been born,” I whispered.

The air felt colder somehow, thicker, like the room itself understood the weight of my words.

My reflection stared back at me, her eyes glinting with something fierce and deadly.

And then I smiled—a slow, deliberate, sinister smile that curled at the edges like smoke.

“I will be their worst nightmare.”