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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡr43RUiipNS
Rafael “Rafe” Santino.
A woman who taught girls how to smile through violation.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKJPT1Rb4h7
A man who built a dynasty on the backs of bleeding talent.
Mia had buried monsters before.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2WdmghpkcD
But these two were the architects.
And the girl they created…8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnZbRFEZspZ
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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHtb18SJ73I
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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡztdiqtG72k
Wiped her tears.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMIYbPzbKTE
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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYQauEDStBN
Removed the soft smile.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcBdOFt5Pgz
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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEPockhvnXE
Used.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeXYmY85l7M
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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKd1oXZLTwk
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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡonSWqFkjKF
No witnesses.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡI9MT2EgoGU
Just ink.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8wykx39XMV
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…”8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBRzE5Skj1I
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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOS7z66kqJY
She packed her things.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaQZSKYQG8U
Deleted her socials.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVc7JPbaHIc
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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP7av1bFYwb
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.”
