The gates groaned open like they remembered her.
Aaria stood at the edge of the estate she once called home, the walls cracked with time, but still standing—just like her.
Behind her, Rafael waited in the black SUV, windows tinted, engine running. He hadn't offered to come in.
He didn't need to.
This was her war now.
She stepped through the iron gates alone.
The house hadn't changed.
Same white walls.
Same twisted ivy crawling up the sides.
Same ghost of a girl still screaming in that red-painted room upstairs.
But this time, she didn't flinch.
She didn't freeze.
She walked through the front door like she owned it.
Her stepmother was waiting, seated in the lounge with a glass of wine. Dressed in silk. Calm as ever.
"You really came back," the woman purred. "How brave."
"No," Aaria said. "Not brave. Just done."
Her voice was quiet—but it carried the weight of years. Of memories scraped raw and buried deep.
Her stepmother smiled. "So what now, little girl? Are you here to cry? To confront me? To finally break like you should've back then?"
Aaria stepped forward slowly.
"I'm not here to cry," she said. "I'm here to return everything you gave me."
She reached into her bag.
Pulled out the red ribbon.
The one that used to be tied around the lock on the red room's door. The one Aaria wasn't allowed to touch until the screaming stopped.
She dropped it on the table like a curse.
"I used to think you were powerful," she said. "But now I see you were just… sick. And I was the mirror you hated too much to look at."
The woman's face darkened.
"You think you've changed," she said coldly. "But I can still see it. The fear. The little girl beneath all that paint and money."
"No," Aaria said softly. "What you see is you. And that scares you."
And with that, she pulled the lighter from her coat pocket.
A silver one.
Rafael's.
She flicked it open. Flame bloomed.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she lit the edge of the red ribbon.
Watched it curl, blacken, turn to ash.
The woman screamed. "What are you doing?!"
"Cleansing," Aaria whispered.
She dropped the burning ribbon onto the wine-soaked rug.
Fire caught fast.
Flames leapt.
And Aaria turned and walked out.
She didn't run.
Didn't look back.
She walked out the same door she had once been dragged through in tears.
And this time… she left the house screaming.
Rafael was waiting at the gate.
His jaw tightened as the fire rose behind her.
"You did it," he said, stepping forward.
"I had to," she murmured. "I needed to be the one who ended it."
His eyes searched her face.
"And what now?"
Aaria looked up at him, fierce and calm. "Now I decide who I become."
Rafael reached out. Touched her cheek.
And in that moment, the man who owned everything looked at the girl who had once been caged…
And knew he was hers now.