Chapter 47- A Life for a Life

Chapter 47- A Life for a Life
ARIA’S POV

The first scream didn’t even register.

The gun kicked back in my hand—a soft, controlled jolt—and the woman collapsed against Nikolai like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Her blood hit the marble in a quiet splash before anyone realized what had happened.

Then the world snapped.

People shouted. Someone dropped a glass. The music stuttered, caught between one beat and the next, and then the speakers went dead. Red lights flashed, alarms blared, and every head swung toward the VIP section.

But I didn’t move.

I didn’t run.

I didn’t gasp.

I didn’t panic.

I simply lowered the gun, slid it into my bag, zipped it up, and breathed.

Just breathed.

My heart was pounding so violently I could taste metal on my tongue, but my face stayed empty—flat, bored, untouched. I didn’t blink when Nikolai dropped to his knees and screamed her name. I didn’t flinch when the guards drew their guns and barked orders.

I didn’t care.

None of it was for me.

The club erupted around me— bodies pushing, feet scrambling, people trampling each other to get out. Security shoved through the masses, yelling about exits, ordering everyone to move toward the back.

Perfect.

Chaos was camouflage.

I stepped into the flowing river of terrified people, letting them carry me forward. Everyone was too busy crying, screaming, choking on fear to notice me. Too busy being alive and hoping to stay that way.

I kept my head down, hood up, bag hugged to my chest.

One step.

Another.

And another.

I didn’t look back. I wouldn’t give him that.

Nikolai’s roar echoed through the hall—raw, animalistic, something that didn’t sound human at all. It shook the floor beneath my heels.

Good.

Let him scream.

Let him break.

Let him taste what he fed me.

A shoulder slammed into mine hard. Someone knocked into me, crying hysterically. Another person shoved me sideways. But I didn’t stop. I flowed with the current, slipping between bodies like smoke.

My breath burned in my chest, but my pulse had slowed. I felt strangely light. Empty in the best possible way. Like something heavy had been cut out of me.

Pain. Grief. Fury. All carved out with one single bullet.

The exit doors burst open and the crowd spilled into the street like water breaking through a dam. Cold night air hit my face, sharp and biting, but instead of waking me up… it grounded me.

I kept walking.

Nobody stopped me. Nobody questioned me. Nobody cared.

They were too busy running from death while I walked away from it.

I didn’t turn around, not even once, not even when I heard distant sirens or more shouts inside the club. I just kept my chin up, bag clutched, steps steady.

My blood was singing.

I lifted my arm and flagged down the first taxi I saw. The driver hesitated—maybe because my face looked cold or my dress was blood-red or maybe because I looked like someone who had just done something unforgivable.

But he stopped.

I opened the back door and slid inside. The seat was cold. The air smelled like mint and cigarette smoke.

“Where to?” the driver asked, eyeing me through the mirror.

“Empire Penthouse. Upper East.”
My voice didn’t shake. It didn’t even sound like me.

He nodded and pulled away from the sidewalk, leaving the chaos behind.

I leaned back and stared out the window. The city lights smeared into streaks of gold and red, blending into each other like paint on wet glass.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

And then—A laugh slipped out.

It startled even me.

The driver’s eyes flicked to the mirror again, this time more cautious, like he was wondering whether he should pretend he didn’t see me or pull over and jump out of the car.

I didn’t blame him. I wouldn’t trust me either.

“I feel good,” I whispered.
The words tasted crazy. Wild. True.

His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Smart man.

The streetlights flickered across the seats, stroking the leather in long yellow flashes. My body felt warm and trembling, like electricity was dancing under my skin. My fingers were tingling. My heartbeat was steady now—too steady.

I pressed my palm to my chest just to feel it. Just to confirm I was still alive.

Camilla. Her name drifted through my mind like smoke.

And the warmth inside me cracked—just a little.

My breath hitched, but I swallowed it down. Not here. Not in front of a stranger. Not where anyone could see.

The taxi turned into my street. The tall dark shape of my building rose into view, strong and sleek, shining under the night sky. Safe. Quiet.

The car stopped at the entrance.

I paid the driver and got out, heels clicking against the pavement. The door to the lobby slid open as soon as I approached, warm air washing over me.

The elevator was waiting.

I stepped inside, pressed the penthouse button, and leaned back against the wall.

The instant the doors closed, silence wrapped around me—thick, suffocating, intimate.

I exhaled.

The coldness I’d carried all night started melting. Just a little. Just enough to leave cracks.

The elevator lights were too bright. They showed everything—every piece of me that wasn’t as put-together as I pretended to be.

And then…

The tears came.

Silent. Steady. Unstoppable.

Hot tears slipped down my cheeks, one after another, falling onto the red dress like tiny drops of truth.

Because no matter how many people I killed…

No matter how much blood stained my hands…

No matter how loud Nikolai screamed tonight…

Camilla was still gone.

And nothing I did tonight would ever bring her back.

I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, breathing slow and harsh. The elevator chimed softly—a warm, stupid sound that didn’t match the storm inside me.

The doors slid open to my penthouse.

I stepped out.

The place was dark, quiet, untouched. The city spread out through the floor-to-ceiling windows, glowing like a thousand tiny fires.

I walked toward the glass, my steps echoing softly against the polished floor. I dropped my bag on the couch without looking at it. I stood in front of the windows, staring at the lights below—cars, buildings, streets, lives that went on while mine twisted and darkened.

My hands were still trembling.

My pulse was still racing.

My chest still felt like it was holding too many emotions—rage, sadness, satisfaction, emptiness. All fighting for space at once.

Let him feel it.

Let him feel everything.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and closed my eyes.

“Let him have a taste of his own medicine,” I whispered. My breath fogged the window.

Let him drown in the same pain he poured into my life. Let him lose something he loves.

He deserved every second of it.

But still…

The tears kept falling—soft, quiet, betraying me.

Why?

Why did it still hurt this much?

Because it wasn’t just revenge. It was grief.

Raw. Wild. Endless.

I wiped my cheek again, sucking in a shaky breath.

My mind replayed the whole day like a twisted movie.

I had slept with a man I should’ve stayed away from. I had killed a woman who didn’t even know my name.

I had started a war with the Russians—whether they knew it yet or not.

All in one day.

One insane, violent, beautiful, terrible day.

My hands clenched.

They would never find me.

Not if I didn’t want them to.

They will never know it was me.