Hell Sent Her Back

The steel door slammed shut behind me with a sound like a coffin closing.

Eleven forty-seven PM, and the snow was coming down hard, stinging my face like a thousand cold needles. Five years, seven months, and sixteen days. I'd counted every fucking one.

"Williams, don't let me catch you here again," the guard shouted after me. "Try to act like a decent person."

I clutched the paper bag with everything I owned—a broken toothbrush, three pairs of underwear, and Grandma's necklace. The cold cut through my thin release clothes, but I barely felt it.

Five years in that concrete hell had numbed me to everything except rage.

Two figures waited in the snow. Ethan Brooks, hunched in his puffer jacket, nervously rubbing his hands together. Dylan Crawford, tall and perfect in his tailored wool coat, looking like he was attending a funeral.

Which was fitting. They'd both helped bury my life.

I stopped dead when I saw them together. My chest tightened with something hot and vicious.

These two bastards—standing there like they gave a shit about me now. Like they hadn't destroyed everything I'd ever cared about.

The rage hit me so hard I almost smiled. It was pure, clean anger, the kind that could burn down cities.

Then I turned right and started walking toward the bus stop.

"Aria, please wait," Dylan's voice cut through the wind, desperate and pathetic. "We need to talk..."

I didn't slow down. "Drop dead, Dylan. Both of you."

The bus stop was empty. A metal sign told me the last bus had left hours ago.

Five years of planning this moment, and I'd fucked up something as basic as getting home. The irony was almost funny.

"Aria!" Ethan jogged up, his shoes slipping in the snow. "The buses stopped running. Let me drive you somewhere. Please."

I turned to really look at him—this piece of shit who'd helped destroy my life.

He'd gotten fat. Success suited him. While I'd been eating prison slop and fighting off psychos, he'd been climbing the ladder. Assistant District Attorney Ethan Brooks, champion of justice.

"Look at you," I said softly. "Prison was good for your career, wasn't it? Putting away that dangerous arsonist really boosted your reputation."

His face went white. "Aria, I—"

"How many promotions did my conviction get you? How many celebration dinners while I was getting the shit beaten out of me every night?"

"It wasn't like that," he whispered.

"No?" I stepped closer, close enough to see the guilt written all over his face. "When you're fucking Madison, do you ever think about the woman you destroyed to impress her family?"

Behind us, Dylan made a strangled sound. Good. Let them both suffer.

"I'll walk," I said, turning away.

"In this storm? You'll freeze to death."

The snow was getting worse. I was already soaked through.

He was right. Pride was worthless in a blizzard. Tonight, I needed to survive.

"Fine," I snapped, getting in his car. "Drive."

Ethan's Honda smelled like coffee and guilt. I sat rigid in the passenger seat while he fumbled with the heat, hands shaking. Through the rearview mirror, I watched Dylan's BMW pull away into the storm. Smart man. He knew better than to push his luck tonight.

"Aria," Ethan began carefully, "I know you hate me—"

"Hate you?" I turned to face him, and he flinched. "Hate's too small a word, Ethan. You were supposed to be my friend. We grew up in the same shithole, and when I needed you most, you sold me out."

"I didn't have a choice," he said weakly.

"There's always a choice. You chose your career over my life. You chose Madison's money over our friendship. You chose to destroy an innocent woman to climb your way up."

His knuckles went white on the steering wheel. "I'm so sorry. I want to make things right. I want to help you start over."

"Start over?" The words tasted bitter. "You want to help me, Ethan? Then tell me the truth. Admit what you really know about that fire."

His face went gray. "Aria, don't—"

"Don't what? Talk about the night Madison burned twelve people alive?"

I closed my eyes and let the memory crash over me.

The apartment building had been a death trap. Twelve families crammed into units meant for six, wiring held together with prayers and duct tape. When the fire started, it tore through the place like it was hungry.

I found Grandma on the third floor. What was left of her. The smell of burned flesh filled my lungs, seared itself into my brain. I knelt there in the ash, holding the only person who'd ever loved me, screaming until I had no voice left.

Through the smoke and chaos, I saw her. Madison, standing behind the police tape with her phone, watching my world burn.

"Twelve pieces of trash finally cleared out," she'd said, her voice carrying over the sirens. "Now Dylan won't have any more excuses to slum it with that little whore."

That's when I knew. Not suspected—knew. And I knew no one would believe trash like me over a Crawford.

I opened my eyes. Ethan was staring at me like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

"For five years, every single night," I murmured, "I dreamed I was burning. Do you have any idea what that's like, Ethan? Waking up screaming, the stench of your own flesh seared into your nostrils, knowing the bitch who did it was somewhere out there, sleeping soundly on silk sheets?"

He pulled into his apartment complex without saying another word.

His place screamed success. Law diplomas on the walls, books he'd never read, and there—displayed like a shrine—a framed photo of Madison looking angelic.

"She's beautiful," I said, picking up the frame. "Hard to believe these hands killed twelve people."

Ethan nearly dropped his coffee mug. "Aria, you can't—"

"Can't what? Tell the truth?" I studied Madison's perfect smile. "The truth got me five years in hell."

"Tell me, Ethan," I said softly, "when you're fucking her, do you ever think about the families she burned?"

His face went white. "Stop it."

"Why? Does the truth make you uncomfortable?"

The front door clicked open.

"Darling, you forgot to—" Madison stopped in the doorway, her perfect features shifting into delighted surprise. "Well, well. If it isn't our dear Aria."

She glided in like she owned the place—which she probably did. Everything about her screamed wealth and privilege.

"Welcome back to civilization," she said, extending one manicured hand. "I hope your... educational experience... taught you your place in the world."

I took her hand, squeezing just hard enough to make her eyes narrow.

"Oh, it did," I said sweetly. "I learned about survival. About patience. About recognizing my enemies."

Her smile never wavered, but I felt her hand tense. "How wonderful. Everyone should know where they belong."

"Absolutely," I agreed. "Some people belong in penthouse suites. Others in cages. And some..." I leaned closer, "some belong in hell."

For a split second, her mask slipped. Then she was all smiles again.

"Prison life must be so... draining," she said.

"Actually, it was educational. I met murderers. Learned about their methods, their motivations..." I tilted my head. "Their mistakes."

Madison's smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "Fascinating. Well, I'm sure you're exhausted. Ethan, why don't you show her where she can... freshen up?"

"I'd like that," I said. "Excuse me."

In the cramped but private bathroom, I stared at my reflection, water dripping from my face.

I'd lost at least twenty pounds. My cheekbones stuck out sharp, my eyes looked too big for my face. Burn scars wrapped around my wrists like ugly bracelets—reminders of the night Madison tried to kill me with everyone else.

I pulled out Grandma's necklace from the paper bag. Tarnished, broken, the clasp held together with stolen thread. I wrapped it around my fingers.

"I'm back, Grandma," I whispered. "I kept my promise. I survived."

I thought about Ethan's guilty face, Dylan waiting in the snow like a lost dog, Madison so confident in her power.

They thought I was broken. They thought five years had crushed the fight out of me, turned me into some pathetic victim they could pity or ignore.

They were about to learn how fucking wrong they were.

But direct revenge was too simple, too quick. They'd destroyed my life as a team—let them destroy each other the same way.

And all I had to do was pull the right strings and watch them tear each other apart.