The Thorne Heiress Unveiling Shadow novel Chapter 4

Humiliation burned in Aria's cheeks, hot and bitter. The quiet little mouse, the shadow she had tormented for years, had dared to bite back. And she had done it with such cold, cutting precision.

Stung and furious, she refused to let that be the final scene. Evelyn wouldn't get the last word. Aria would reassert her dominance. She would make Evelyn an object of public pity, a laughingstock for their entire social circle, and she would do it in a way that was both modern and brutal.-

Aria pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. This wasn't an impulse. It was a calculated act of revenge.

With a tap, she started an Instagram Live stream.

A title flashed across the top: "Saying a Sad Goodbye to the Fake Sutton Heiress"

The viewer count immediately began to climb. 100. 500. 1,000. Her followers, always thirsty for drama, were pouring in.

"Hey guys," Aria began, her voice thick with manufactured sadness, a single tear tracing a perfect path down her cheek. "I'm here with Evelyn... she's leaving us. Mom and Dad tried so hard, but... well, some things just aren't meant to be. I tried to give her a gift, but she just threw it back in my face."

She flipped the camera around, showing Evelyn's back as she descended the main staircase, canvas bag in hand.

Tiffany and Brittany, having heard the commotion, rushed to join the stream, flanking Aria like cruel handmaidens. "Aria, you're too good to her," Brittany whispered loudly enough for the phone's microphone to catch it.

They followed Evelyn outside, into the crisp Manhattan night. The doorman, accustomed to the family's dramas, kept his face a mask of professional neutrality. Aria kept the camera fixed on the vehicle waiting at the curb.

Aria, you are so sweet to be worried about her! You're an angel!

Poor girl, her life is literally over. She's going to the trash heap.

The comments scrolled by, a torrent of mockery and condescending pity. Aria's friends snickered behind their hands, watching the spectacle with undisguised glee. This was better than any reality show. They were all convinced they were witnessing the final, pathetic downfall of Evelyn Thorne. The fake heiress being hauled away like trash, sent back to the obscurity she was born into. The world was laughing, and Aria was conducting the orchestra.

Evelyn didn't look at them. She simply walked to the passenger side of the rusty truck. The driver, a man in a worn baseball cap and flannel shirt, got out and opened the door for her—a strangely courteous gesture that seemed out of place. He gave her a subtle, respectful nod that was lost in the shadows, unseen by the phone's camera.

She got in, her expression unreadable, as if she were stepping into a limousine. The door shut with a rusty groan.