Chapter 169
Aria's POV
I stood in the Harper family dining room, a strange mixture of satisfaction and emptiness washing over me. My fingers trembled slightly as I raised my water glass, the enormity of what I'd orchestrated finally sinking in. Four years of calculated patience had culminated in this moment, and the taste of victory was both sweet and surprisingly hollow.
The sound of furious footsteps echoed through the foyer, growing louder until Scarlett burst into the dining room. Her normally perfect hair was disheveled, her designer weekend outfit rumpled, and mascara streaked down her flushed cheeks. Her chest heaved with each panicked breath.
"You finally got what you wanted, didn't you?" she screamed, her voice cracking with emotion. With one violent sweep of her arm, she sent my dinner plate flying. Blueberry juice splattered across my blazer, the dark purple stain spreading slowly across the expensive fabric. "This was all your scheme!"
I felt my heartbeat quicken, but kept my expression neutral as I deliberately picked up my napkin. The silk felt cool against my fingertips as I dabbed at the stain with methodical precision. Inside, a wave of vindication swelled, warming me from within. I allowed my gaze to drift up to Scarlett's panic-stricken face, savoring the way her confidence had crumbled.
"You might want to focus on how to maintain your position in the Harper household, Scarlett," I said, my voice low and measured. I studied her reaction, noting how her lower lip trembled. "Your mother's reputation isn't the only one in tatters."
Scarlett's eyes widened. I could see the realization dawning on her face—the privileged life she had cultivated was suddenly precarious. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, knuckles white with tension.
"You think you've won? Dad will never believe—"
"Your father?" I arched an eyebrow, allowing a slight smile to form. The flash of fear in her eyes sent a jolt of power through me. "Interesting choice of words."
She turned and rushed upstairs, her sobs echoing through the hallway. I remained perfectly still, listening as her footsteps faded. The quiet that followed was broken moments later by my father's voice thundering from above.
"Anyone who says another word in Victoria's defense can pack their bags and leave the Harper house immediately!"
My heart hammered in my chest. This was real. This was happening. After years of being marginalized in my own home, the scales were finally tipping back in my favor. I pressed my palms flat against the cool dining table to steady myself.
William descended the stairs and entered the dining room. The lines around his mouth had deepened, his complexion ashen. His hands shook slightly as he poured himself a generous scotch.
"Scarlett is just like her mother," he said, not meeting my eyes. "A saint on social media, a hypocrite behind closed doors. The things I've discovered..." He trailed off, taking a long sip from his glass, his throat working as he swallowed.
I remained silent, studying the man I'd once adored as a father, now a stranger consumed by his own betrayal.
---
Later, I encountered Scarlett in the upstairs hallway. Her eyes were swollen, bloodshot, and rimmed with red. When she saw me, her shoulders tensed and her jaw clenched.
"Happy now?" she hissed, voice barely above a whisper. "Seeing me humiliated by Dad?"
I felt a cold clarity settle over me as I looked at her. This girl who had taken everything—my father's affection, my mother's bedroom, even my ex-fiancé—was finally facing consequences.
"Extremely," I replied, my voice steady. I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo of her tear-streaked face, the camera click echoing in the silent hallway.
Scarlett's eyes widened with alarm. "You wouldn't dare post that!" she shrieked, lunging for my phone. Her fingers grasped at air as I easily sidestepped her. "If you put that on social media, I'll—"
"Don't worry," I cut her off, feeling a surge of control that bordered on intoxicating. "This is for my private collection. I have no interest in your followers."
She stared at me, momentarily speechless. I could see the realization in her eyes—she was powerless. Her shoulders slumped slightly before she spun on her heel and stalked away.
I watched her retreat, my heart still racing from our confrontation. The scales had tipped, and for the first time in years, I felt like I was reclaiming my life.
My phone vibrated in my hand, breaking my reverie. Sophia's name flashed on the screen. I answered immediately.
"Can you come get me?" Her voice was barely audible, thick with tears and something that sounded like fear. "I want... want to go home."
The triumph I'd been feeling evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold knot of worry. My stomach tightened, and I felt my throat constrict.
"Sophia? What happened? Are you hurt?" The words tumbled out as I already began moving toward the stairs, my hand gripping the banister tightly.
"Please, just come," she whispered. "I can't... I can't do this alone."
"I'll be there in twenty minutes," I promised, my mind already racing through traffic patterns and shortcuts. "Hold on, Soph. I'm coming."
On my way out, I found Elsa dusting in the foyer, her eyes watchful and concerned.
"Keep an eye on Victoria," I instructed her quietly, placing a hand on her arm. "If she does anything suspicious, call me immediately. I mean it—anything at all."
Elsa nodded, the lines around her eyes deepening. "Be careful, Miss Aria," she murmured. "These waters are getting very deep."
---
I drove through Manhattan's streets with single-minded focus, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. The vindication I'd felt earlier had been replaced entirely by concern for Sophia. My best friend, my business partner, the one person who had stood by me through everything—the thought of her alone and in pain made my chest ache.
The hospital's fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow as I scanned the waiting area. I spotted Sophia sitting alone on a long bench, her slender frame hunched over, clutching her purse to her chest. Her normally impeccable appearance was disheveled—her silk blouse wrinkled, her hair falling loose from its usual neat bun.
"Sophia," I called softly, hurrying to her side.
She looked up, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. When she recognized me, her face crumpled, and she reached for my hand with unexpected desperation.
"Take me home," she whispered, her fingers cold against mine. "Please, Aria... Mom, she..."
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, feeling how she trembled beneath my touch. All thoughts of Victoria and Scarlett vanished from my mind as I focused entirely on my friend's pain.
"I've got you," I murmured, helping her to her feet. "Whatever it is, we'll handle it together. Just lean on me."
As we stepped inside, my breath caught in my throat. The once-immaculate living room was in shambles. Furniture had been overturned, picture frames lay shattered on the floor, and the beautiful Korean traditional embroidery that had been in Sophia's family for generations hung in tatters, ripped down the middle.
In the center of this destruction sat Carmen Kim, Sophia's mother. She stared blankly at the wall, seemingly unaware of the chaos surrounding her. Pill bottles and medical bills were scattered across the coffee table in front of her.
"Mom?" Sophia called, her voice small and uncertain. She approached slowly, as if afraid sudden movements might shatter the fragile silence.
Carmen's head turned toward us, her vacant expression suddenly transforming into one of intense anger.
"You are not my daughter!" she shouted in Korean, the words harsh and staccato, before switching to English. "I have no daughter who would be so disrespectful!"