Aria woke earlier like usual. It had rained overnight, and the air smelled fresh when she cracked her window open. She stood for a long moment, inhaling the coolness that swept in, her chest expanding with a surprising sense of calm.
She ate her breakfast. After finishing her tea and slipping into comfortable leggings and a loose sweatshirt, she laced up her sneakers. The mirror caught her eye as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. Her reflection wasn't the same fragile, brittle woman she remembered from weeks ago. There was color in her cheeks now, a slight glow in her skin. She wasn't fully there yet—but she was becoming.
The gym was quiet at this hour, only a few early risers moving from machine to machine. Aria felt a flicker of pride when she walked past the treadmills, no longer intimidated. She wasn't the same Aria who had felt self-conscious under the fluorescent lights. This time she claimed her space, running steadily, earbuds in, letting music drown out her thoughts.
After a solid workout, she stretched, wiped her brow, and smiled faintly at her reflection in the mirror wall. She could see it now: the faint curve of muscle in her arms, the healthier roundness in her face. And when she stepped on the scale in the locker room, her breath caught.
Five kilos.
She had gained five kilos since she'd begun eating properly, taking her vitamins, and caring for herself. The number blinked up at her, and she laughed aloud, startling the woman next to her. She didn't care. She wasn't laughing out of mockery—it was pure, bubbling relief.
She had been terrified for so long, terrified of shrinking into nothing, terrified that her body reflected the fragility inside her. But now—now she was climbing back. Seven kilos more and she would stand at fifty-five, the weight she had once held without thought, a version of herself that had seemed impossibly far away.
She left the gym with a smile tugging at her lips, her steps light. And she knew who she wanted to share this with. She called Lila.
---
Lila met her at their usual café, the place where the windows were lined with plants and the air smelled faintly of coffee and cinnamon. Her friend was already there, curled in a corner booth, a latte steaming in her hands.
"You look radiant," Lila said as soon as Aria slid into the seat opposite her.
"I have news," Aria replied, grinning despite herself. She leaned forward, lowering her voice as though the number were a secret meant only for the two of them. "I gained five kilos."
Lila's face lit up, her smile wide and genuine. She reached across the table to squeeze Aria's hand. "Aria, that's incredible! You've been working so hard. I can see it—you look stronger."
Aria felt her throat tighten with emotion. "I didn't think it would ever happen. But now, seven more kilos and I'll be back at fifty-five."
"You'll get there," Lila said firmly. "And you'll look amazing, but more importantly—you'll feel amazing. And I'll be right here cheering you on girl."
The warmth of those words spread through Aria like sunlight. For so long, she had felt utterly alone. But here was Lila, steadfast, celebrating her small victories as though they were monumental.
They spent nearly an hour talking. She told Lila about the tea with her mother, about the confrontation that had left her shaken but also strangely liberated.
"She'll never understand me," Aria said at last, staring down at her untouched muffin. "I don't think she even wants to. She just wants… a doll. Something perfect she can show off."
Lila reached across again, her eyes steady. "Then stop trying to make her understand."
How simple it sounded when Lila said it. How impossible it still felt.
After coffee, Lila tugged her toward the salon across the street. "We're doing this," she insisted, ignoring Aria's half-hearted protests.
"I don't need—"
"Yes, you do," Lila interrupted. "We need a day for ourself. Trust me."
So Aria let herself be guided into the warm, fragrant salon, where the hum of dryers and the soft chatter of stylists created an almost cozy atmosphere. She sank into the chair, surrendering as the stylist began working oil into her hair, massaging her scalp.
It felt… decadent. To sit here and allow someone to care for her, to let her body relax into the touch. She closed her eyes, nearly drifting off as the conditioner seeped into her strands. By the time her hair had been trimmed, blown out, and styled, she barely recognized herself. Her locks gleamed, falling in soft waves around her face.
Lila squealed. "You look like you walked straight out of a magazine. Stunning."
Aria laughed, shaking her head. "You're exaggerating."
"No, I'm not. And you're not leaving without nails."
"Lila—"
"Red. Trust me."
Despite herself, Aria gave in again, watching as her nails were shaped, buffed, and painted a deep, vibrant crimson. When they were done, she flexed her fingers in the light. She had never chosen such a bold color before—it felt too loud, too visible. But looking at them now, against her pale skin and delicate hands, she found herself smiling.
They finished the day with dinner, the two of them laughing over pasta and wine, the kind of easy companionship that felt like balm on an open wound. At one point, Lila leaned closer, her tone dropping conspiratorially.
"So… I met someone."
Aria's eyes widened. "What? When? Who?"
Lila grinned mischievously. "Not telling yet. It's new. But—I have a date tomorrow night."
Aria gasped, delighted. "You kept that from me this whole time?"
"I wanted to wait until it felt real," Lila admitted. "But it does. I don't know… there's something about him."
Aria leaned back, smiling. "I can't believe you wouldn't even give me a name."
"Not yet," Lila said firmly, though her blush betrayed her excitement. "But when I do—you'll be the first to know."
---
By the time Aria returned to the mansion, the night was heavy, the air cool against her skin. She carried with her the faint scent of salon oils and the brightness of her red nails, a small reminder that she was not invisible.
She slipped through the grand doors quietly, the house cloaked in shadow. But as she passed the hallway leading to the kitchen, a low voice caught her ear.
Her voice was hushed but clear, carrying just enough that Aria could make out the words. "She hasn't come home yet… No, not since this afternoon. Yes, I'll let you know as soon as she does."
Aria's blood ran cold. Henry.
Darcy was reporting to Henry. Every move, every absence—passed along like data in some unspoken surveillance.
The phone clicked shut, and Darcy turned. For a split second, her eyes widened as she saw Aria standing in the doorway, her expression hard as stone.
Aria stepped forward, her voice low but sharp. "How long?"
Darcy blinked. "Mrs. Aria, I—"
"How long have you been reporting everything I do to Henry?" Aria demanded, her nails biting into her palms.
Darcy's mouth opened and closed. "It's my duty—"
"Your duty is to this household, not to spy on me like I'm some child who needs monitoring," Aria snapped. Her chest rose and fell, fury blazing hot through her veins. "Every step I take, every breath—I suppose he knows it all, thanks to you?"
Darcy flinched under her glare, but did not answer.
"That's what I thought," Aria said bitterly. She turned on her heel, her pulse pounding. The weight of betrayal pressed on her shoulders, but so did something else—resolve.
She snatched her bag from the console table, her movements sharp. "If Henry wants a report, he can get it from me directly. Is he still in the office at this time?"
Her heels echoed across the marble floor as she stormed out, the heavy front doors slamming shut behind her.