16. Chapter 16
A ria
The rest of the evening passed in a blur.
Aria moved like a sleepwalker through the final courses of the dinner, the world around her dim and echoing. The roast meat on her plate turned to sawdust in her mouth. Every bite felt like a betrayal. Her stomach coiled, tight and angry, but she managed to keep it down.
She stuck close to Ophelia, drifting behind her like a ghost.
Smiles. Polite nods. Muted applause.
It all melted together.
At one point, Dorian appeared at her elbow, holding a glass of wine she hadn't asked for.
"Still here?" he murmured, voice low and amused. "You're tougher than you look. I'd have wagered you'd bolt after dessert."
She said nothing.
He leaned in, as if sharing a joke. "Tell me, is this what you pictured when you played house with him? Thought you'd be sitting here with his ring on your finger instead of Helga's? "
The words scraped her inside with a rusty spoon, but she kept her expression blank.
"You always were a good listener," he added, then walked away, taking a sip of wine.
Later, Crispin's mother tried to approach Ophelia with some polished excuse about catching up, but Ophelia cut her off with clinical grace.
"I'm tired," she said, her voice sharp and final. "Come, Aria. It's time we left."
The goodbyes happened around her. A blur of parting kisses and handshakes, of voices that seemed far away. Aria moved through them without feeling her feet. Someone complimented her dress. Someone else didn't meet her eyes.
And all throughout, she felt the intense burn of cobalt eyes on her.
The car ride back to Hampstead was silent. The city lights passed by like ghosts on water.
When they arrived, Ophelia turned to her gently. "Would you like to come in?"
Aria looked up, her eyes dry but aching. In the low light of the car, Ophelia's face looked different-not tired, not elegant...but guilty.
"Why?" Aria asked softly .
Ophelia was quiet for a moment before she addressed the driver, "Would you wait a moment? Take Aria home before you go."
She led Aria inside.
The house smelled like lavender and polish. Familiar, safe.
Except now, it wasn't.
"Sit, please," Ophelia said quietly.
Aria didn't.
"Would you like a brandy?"
"No, thank you"
Ophelia poured one for herself, anyway. Her hand shook slightly as she brought it to her lips.
"The old Aria would have scolded me for this," she said with a sad smile.
Aria didn't answer; she couldn't have said a word if she tried .
Ophelia sighed and lowered herself into a chair. "There's something I have to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago."
Aria stood silently, waiting.
"When Sandra, Crispin's mother, heard he was...spending time with a cleaner, she was furious. Embarrassed. She had you investigated. Quietly."
Despite trying to keep her expression impassive, Aria flinched.
"She wanted eyes on you. So, she asked me to hire you, said it would be easier that way. And I agreed. She arranged it with your agency."
"At first, I was suspicious. I kept track of my jewellery, I double-checked drawers.
Then the incident with the Lackenbys happened, and we all felt.
..vindicated. It confirmed what we wanted to believe.
" She looked down into her glass. "But you were innocent, and I knew it even before the pearls were found.
.. I knew it, but it was too late. I'd already let the poison settle. "
Ophelia set the glass down and looked up, her voice trembling.
"I judged you, Aria. Without knowing you and without giving you a chance.
But you...you were always kind, always gentle.
The way you read to me...you think I make you read for your own good.
But the truth is, I ask because your voice soothes me.
You care for me like a daughter. And this is how I repaid you.
I wanted you to know the truth. But I didn't expect him to bring that girl, and I certainly didn’t know about the engagement. "
Aria said nothing and instead, reached behind her neck. Slowly, silently, she unclasped the opal pendant and placed it on the coffee table. Then the earrings. The delicate drops made a soft clink against the wood.
Silent tears streamed down her face.
"No...Aria, please," Ophelia whispered in a broken voice. "It's yours. I meant it."
Aria finally met her eyes. There was only agony in them.
"When I was about six," she said quietly, "my Mami took me to visit a rich aunt.
It was someone's birthday, and they had cake-a rare treat for us.
One of those big pink ones with lots of frosting.
One slice per child. I reached for a second piece, and my aunt made a comment.
..something about 'our kind' always taking more than our share. "
Her voice was steady. "I said it was for the cat, pretended I wasn't hungry. Mami didn't scold me, but later, she looked at me with such shame in her eyes .
"My parents were not as rich as you are, but they were proud. You and your friends have no honour. All the money in the world and this is the result," she whispered in a tortured voice.
She looked down at the pendant once more. "Taking this necklace... It's not worth giving up the only thing I've got left." She straightened and slowly got up. "My pride."
"Taking this necklace... It's not worth giving up the only thing I've got left."
She straightened and slowly got up.
"My pride."
She turned to the door. "I'll finish out the rest of next week, but consider this my notice. Please find a replacement by then."
Ophelia didn't try to stop her. She simply nodded and whispered, "I'm sorry."
The driver was still waiting outside. Aria rode in silence, her reflection flickering in the dark window glass. Her phone buzzed in her bag.
Once.
Then again.
And again .
Calls. Messages piling up.
The screen lit up with a name she didn't need to see. She knew.
He was calling now-now, when it was too late. There was nothing left but ashes. He probably wanted to offer money to keep her mouth shut.
Little did he know that even Chinese water torture would not have dragged his name from her lips.
There was another name in her call log, too: Lule. Her sister had messaged three times already. Probably sensed something was wrong.
But that conversation would come later.
Right now, she had no strength for anything.
When she finally reached her building, she climbed the stairs like an old woman, each step heavier than the last, as though the whole night had laid itself across her shoulders.
Inside her flat, she dropped her coat to the floor.
She didn't bother undressing .
She lay down on her bed, curling into herself in the foetal position, the ache like a wound beneath her ribs.
She welcomed the pain.
Because it was an old friend-familiar, steady and unflinching. Dependable.
And now, it was the only real thing her love had left her.