Chapter 14: The Girl Who Watched It Burn
The last two names on Mia’s list didn’t hide in shadows.
They stood at the center of everything.
Solene Arriaga.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuYMCibBHrG
Rafael “Rafe” Santino.
A woman who taught girls how to smile through violation.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ83ZPXEYlgw
A man who built a dynasty on the backs of bleeding talent.
Mia had buried monsters before.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTl5arb8DvZ
But these two were the architects.
And the girl they created…9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeJh71w54Ps
was done being a survivor.
She was ready to be the storm.
Solene first.
The queenmaker.
Once called “Tita Sol” by every fresh-faced girl desperate to matter.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWLuexdgopU
She taught them poise. Silence. Submission disguised as grace.
She told Mia, “Use what you have. That’s how women win.”
Mia remembered how she smiled after her first coerced scene.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6niU9uweDR
Wiped her tears.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRk8gMTnPq9
Called it “a rite of passage.”
So when Mia booked a private consultation under a fake name, Solene welcomed her with open arms.
Until she took off the wig.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡruzJIrtEny
Removed the soft smile.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYm4EvyruWS
Let her real face show.
Solene’s expression curdled.
“You,” she whispered. “Mia.”
“No,” Mia said coldly. “You don’t get to name me anymore.”
She dropped a folder on the table.
Photos. Audio. Testimonies.
Girls Solene coached.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMSxQnZm1sO
Used.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjSJwOVoLIG
Discarded.
“I want a confession,” Mia said. “Public. Step down. Donate your shares to a survivor fund. One week.”
Solene tried to laugh.
“Sweetheart, no one cares. The audience forgets.”
Mia leaned forward, her voice like a blade.
“But victims don’t.”
And as Mia walked away, Solene finally understood:
This wasn’t blackmail.
This was judgment day.
Then there was Rafe.
The first cut.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa9R67hI11U
The signature that sealed her fate.
She hadn’t spoken his name in years.
But he lived in her bones.
The first man who made her believe she had no choice.
“Sign here. You’re about to live the dream.”
No cameras.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTJO7zVJjsc
No witnesses.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEH3qCYRC3e
Just ink.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdOnIjkNxxW
And control.
Now, Mia stood at his door.
No disguise. No weapon.
Just a recorder. And her memory.
Rafe opened the door. Older. But still venom in a velvet suit.
“Mia,” he smiled. “I wondered when you’d come home.”
“This was never home.”
Inside, he offered wine. She didn’t touch it.
Instead, she showed him the drive.
“Proof. Witnesses. Receipts. I could go public. Or…”9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAxk2rC6qTy
She leaned in, “You tell the truth. Just once. To me.”
He smirked.
“Truth is subjective.”
But as the sedative hit his veins, his mask slipped.
“You all wanted it. Fame. Power. I gave it to you.”
Mia said nothing.
She let him fade—conscious, but powerless.
And whispered,
“I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to let the world watch you rot.”
Then she left the door open.
Let the light pour in.
And for the first time, he was the one exposed.
By morning, everything was online.
Solene’s confession.
Rafe’s unraveling.
The names. The dates. The faces.
The world didn’t look away this time.
Mia didn’t wait for applause.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrdN1lY5XDU
She packed her things.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBp3AlAtFqg
Deleted her socials.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6cYT8kPrAN
Vanished.
But not alone.
In a seaside town far from the city, Mia sat on a weathered porch, watching the tide erase footprints.
Clark sat beside her, typing into a laptop.
He was writing again.
But this time, the story wasn’t fiction.
He looked at her.
“Do you want people to know it was you?”
Mia shook her head.
“No. Let them think it was divine justice. A storm. A curse.”
He nodded.
She closed her eyes.
She didn’t need fame.
She didn’t need redemption.
She just needed silence.
And for once—it was hers.
Somewhere in Manila, a statue of the Virgin Mary stood in the studio’s hallway.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2WnZh064fY
At her feet, a paper flower made of ash remained.
No one remembered who left it.
But every girl who walked past whispered something:
ns216.73.216.12da2“Whoever she was… she saved us.”
