Chapter 170

ARIA

"Matthew," Emma said, voice high and breaking, "what are you doing? Stop this nonsense right now!"

"You wanted the truth revealed," Matthew replied calmly. "Now face the consequences."

Emma backed away, shaking her head frantically. "This is crazy! He's making this up! He's mentally unstable!"

She turned to me, desperation filling her eyes. "Aria, you can't believe this! He has no proof he hypnotized you!"

Matthew gave a slight smile. "The evidence speaks for itself."

He clicked a remote, and the giant screen behind us flickered to life.

The video quality wasn't great - grainy and old - but I could make out a teenage girl lying in what looked like a hospital bed. My heart stopped. Despite the poor quality, I recognized her immediately.

Me. That was me.

My body covered in bandages, face pale as death, back wrapped in bloodstained gauze. I looked half-dead.

Blake made a strangled sound. His eyes fixed on the screen, pupils contracted to pinpoints.

My head began throbbing violently. The scene triggered something - not complete memories, but fragments. Falling down stairs at the Grant house? No. That wasn't right. I saw flames. Smoke burning my lungs. Someone calling for help.

I remembered the servants at the Grant house caring for me while Christine focused only on Emma. They said Emma was "injured" too, but now I understood - she never was.

The video continued. A younger Matthew appeared beside my hospital bed, playing strange, rhythmic music from a small device. His voice came through clearly:

"Aria, can you hear me? I'm someone you can trust..."

I watched, horrified, as Matthew systematically manipulated my memories.

"You didn't go to Manhattan. You never went to that fire. You fell down the stairs at home. The boy you saved isn't worth remembering - he'll only bring you pain..."

The me on screen slowly opened her eyes, vacant and empty. "Forget everything... then I won't hurt anymore..."

Oh God. What had they done to me?

The video jumped to Emma and Matthew talking in a hospital corridor.

"She won't mention saving Blake now?" Emma asked, looking satisfied.

Matthew nodded. "Her memory has been replaced with the stair accident."

"Good," Emma said. "You better not be lying. We can't have her mentioning the fire rescue to Blake."

Matthew warned, "You can't hurt her again, Emma. Not after what you tried today."

Emma laughed dismissively. "What feelings could you possibly have for Aria? Don't be ridiculous."

Matthew denied quickly: "I don't have feelings for her! Don't say such absurd things."

Emma smirked. "Whatever. All evidence of Aria saving anyone is gone. Christine will back me up. I'm a professional performer! Blake won't suspect a thing."

The video ended. Complete silence filled the room. Then a man in a black suit approached Blake, whispering something and handing him what looked like travel documents.

Blake's hands trembled as he took them. The veins in his hand stood out as he gripped the papers so hard they crumpled in his fist. He broke the armrest of his assistant's chair.

"A plane ticket," he said, voice barely audible. "Aria's plane ticket to Manhattan sixteen years ago."

Everyone stared at the evidence projected on screen. The atmosphere felt heavy as concrete.

I stared at the screen, at my younger self lying broken in a hospital bed while Emma stole my life. The pounding in my temples grew worse as suppressed memories fought to break free.

Flashes came back to me: sitting in a wheelchair, watching Emma receive Blake's admiration; crying backstage when Emma "recovered" and returned to dancing while I struggled through physical therapy.

I laughed bitterly through my tears. "All these years, I envied you. I thought I wasn't strong enough to overcome my injuries and return to dance. I felt worthless next to you."

I faced the audience, voice stronger. "Now I see the truth. I was the one who saved someone in that fire. I was the hero whose life was stolen. Everything I envied for years was actually mine, just stolen from me."

Emma backed away, face pale as chalk. "No! These videos are fake! This is all fake!"

She lunged toward Matthew, trying to grab whatever backup drive he might have.

Blake moved with shocking speed. He caught Emma by the throat, pushing her against the wall. His face transformed by fury.

"Emma," he growled, voice dangerously low, "is what Matthew saying true? Did you lie to me all these years?"

"No!" Emma choked out. "Please, I didn't..."

Blake tightened his grip. "The moment you decided to deceive me, you should have considered what I would do when I found out."

Emma trembled. "You... you want to destroy me? Just because of this?"

"Not just for deceiving me," Blake said, voice ice cold. "For what you did to Aria. For stealing her life."

Emma's fear transformed to desperation. She thrashed against Blake's grip.

"You blame me?" she shrieked. "You think I'm the only one at fault? What about you, Blake? You suspected the truth, didn't you?"

Blake's grip loosened slightly.

"You had doubts," Emma pressed. "There were moments when you questioned things. But you chose to believe me over her! If I'm guilty, you're even more guilty!"

Blake released her, stepping back. His face went blank as her words hit home.

I saw flashes of all the times Blake had treated me with suspicion while treating Emma with reverence. How much pain could have been avoided if he'd trusted his instincts about me?

Emma rubbed her throat, coughing, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak again.

I didn't let her. My hand connected with her cheek in a slap that echoed through the room.

I didn't stop at one. Again and again, my hand struck her face while sixteen years of pain and rage poured out of me.

"How dare you," I said, voice cold. "How dare you try to blame Blake for your crimes. You manipulated everyone. You killed Dr. Smith. You stole my identity. You are the villain here, Emma. No one else."

Emma fell to the floor, her face swelling, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. She stared up at me, then began to laugh - a horrible, broken sound.

"Aria," she said, blood staining her teeth, "do you think I wanted Blake for no reason? Do you think I had to tell this lie? It was all because of you!"

Her makeup was ruined, tears cutting tracks through her foundation. The guests looked uncomfortable, shifting in their seats. Blake seemed to understand something in my expression and stood beside me, his left hand trembling slightly.

"If you hadn't always competed with me," Emma screamed, "if you hadn't always needed to win, would I have needed to lie to Blake? Do you know how hard these years have been? Always careful, always maintaining the lie?"

She sobbed, body shaking. "I had to pretend to be you! I had to make your dreams mine! And Blake," she turned to him, "you never stopped thinking about that girl from the Manhattan fire. The one you really loved was just the memory of her!"

I looked at her calmly. "Emma, no matter how much pain or pressure you felt, it was your choice. Your actions. Your crime."

Olivia stood beside me. "You hurt Aria the most. You don't get to play victim now!"

Emma's eyes narrowed. "Oh, Olivia. Acting the good sister now? Your brother helped me sixteen years ago. How can you stand there judging me?"

Olivia froze. Her hands trembled as she stared at Emma.