CHAPTER 197: GIRLS’ DAY OUT: SLICES OF SOMETHING DEEPER [II]

The tears hit before I could stop them. Silent, hot, humiliating. I ducked my head, pressing my fingers to my lips as if I could shove the memory back down. Not here. Not in this booth, not in daylight. But Aria’s hand didn’t move, her grip steady, unrelenting. And suddenly, I wasn’t strong enough to hold it anymore. I thought I was fine? Why am I crying!?

Finally, I broke. The words tumbled out in a rush—about the gala, the drug, the blurred edges of reality, Clara’s betrayal, and the two men waiting in that suite. My voice shook, faltered, cracked, but I didn’t stop. I told Aria everything.

The pizzeria noise, which had been a warm, comforting blanket, suddenly felt grating and intrusive. The laughter from the family in the next booth sounded shrill, the clatter of silverware like tiny, sharp blows. Around us, life went on, oblivious. Inside our booth, the air had grown still and cold.

Aria’s hand, still covering mine, felt like an anchor in a churning sea. The flamboyant Queen persona had vanished completely, stripped away to reveal something harder, colder, and far more dangerous beneath. Her painted lips were pressed into a thin, bloodless line. Her eyes, usually dancing with mischief, were now dark, still pools of glacial fury.

She didn’t offer platitudes. She didn’t say, "I’m so sorry that happened to you." Her first words, when they finally came, were spoken in a voice so low and venomous it barely disturbed the air between us.

The laughter and clatter of the pizzeria faded. Even the sunlight through the window seemed to dim as Aria’s voice cut the air like a blade. "That bitch," she hissed. It wasn’t a curse; it was a verdict. "That c—" she caught herself, lowering her voice. "That witch. I swear, if I ever get within five feet of her, I’ll kill her. I knew she is no good person, isa. I told you."

"She engineered it," Aria continued, her voice still a low, dangerous growl, but laced with a chilling certainty. "From the moment she ’accidentally’ bumped into you that day, playing the innocent victim and making a scene, then suddenly morphing into your friend by association the second she caught wind of you being Adrien’s woman. It was too convenient, too perfect. People like that don’t exist, Isa. They’re either saints or snakes, and I haven’t met a saint in a designer pantsuit yet. That saccharine sweetness, that manufactured charm – it was all a performance. A manipulation. And you, my sweet, trusting buttercup, you walked right into her spider web."

I stared at her, my tears slowing. It was one thing for me to feel it, but to hear Aria, in her absolute, unwavering certainty, lay it all out so plainly was like a splash of cold, clarifying water. She had seen it from the start. "You sound like you’re about to hunt her down with a crossbow."

"Don’t tempt me." Aria wiped a tear from my cheek with her thumb. "Adrien may be your fortress, Isa. But I’m your sword. Together? No one don’t stand a chance."

The words hit deeper than I wanted to admit. My lips trembled into something that almost felt like a smile.

She pushed a stack of napkins towards me. "Wipe your face," she commanded, her tone softening slightly, shifting from avenger to commander. "We are not going to let that creature ruin the structural integrity of this magnificent pizza. Retribution is a dish best served cold, but this masterpiece is not."

I did as I was told, sniffling and dabbing at my eyes until I felt marginally more human. Aria watched me, her expression unreadable for a moment before she picked up her slice again.

"So," she said, her voice back to a more normal. "Adrien. He’s the one who...?"

I nodded, swallowing. "He got there just in time. He took care of it. Of them." The memory of his face when he’d burst through that door—the sheer, murderous rage and guilt—sent a shiver through me. It was terrifying, and yet, it was all for me.

"Oh, Isa..." Her voice broke, raw with tenderness as she hugged me. "I swear to God, if i am not assured that Adrien would’ve already taken care of them, I would’ve hunted her and those bastards down myself."

I laughed. "That’s what I said too."

Aria pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. "Listen to me. You are still the strongest, most beautiful pain-in-the-ass best friend I’ve ever had. And I’ve got you. Always. Don’t think about it no more, you hear me? Not while we have this glorious, defiant monument to joy in front of us." Aria gestured grandly at the pizza, her anger momentarily transmuted into fierce determination. "Let them rot in whatever hell Adrien undoubtedly crafted for them. Your job right now is to eat this pizza, drink this magnificent wine, and remember that you are safe. And you are loved."

A fresh wave of tears pricked my eyes, but these felt different—not of terror or betrayal, but of overwhelming relief and comfort. Aria wasn’t just a friend; she was a force of nature, a protective whirlwind in human form. Her words, blunt and unvarnished, were exactly what I needed. No gentle platitudes, just an order to survive and reclaim joy.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice still thick. I took another gulp of the deep red wine. The "Queen’s Ruby" was starting to work its magic, a warm, fuzzy blanket spreading through my veins.

Aria leaned back, a steely glint in her eyes. "And do not, for one second, let that incident diminish you. It was an attack, Isa, not a reflection of your worth or strength. It was a vile act by a vile person, and it has been dealt with. Now, we reclaim our day. We reclaim our appetites. We reclaim us." She picked up her own pizza slice, taking an almost ceremonial bite. "Now, less talk of villains and more talk of... well, winding off."

I give her a suspicious look. "Define wind off."

Aria’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, the glint in her eyes intensifying. "Oh, darling, ’wind off’ is a multifaceted jewel in the crown of self-care. It’s a symphony of forgetting, a ballet of indulgence, a... a complete and utter repudiation of all things unpleasant." She paused, taking another sip of her wine, drawing out the suspense.

"It starts," she continued, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "with finishing this glorious pizza – every single crumb, mind you. We shall leave no evidence that sorrow ever dared to darken our palates. Then, we shall embark on a quest for─" she stopped talking.

Her eyes narrowed, tracking something over my shoulder. I turned, but saw nothing except the bustling crowd—a young couple on an awkward first date, a boisterous family celebrating a birthday.

"A quest," she repeated, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper as she leaned forward again, "for release."