Aliana Rayleigh Drovane

Aliana’s nails dug into the wooden handle of the axe, her knuckles pale and trembling with restrained fury.

The night air was sharp and biting, but she didn’t feel it. The heat boiling in her chest burned hotter than anything the cold could touch. Each step down the quiet suburban street echoed in her ears, heavy and purposeful, as though the pavement itself bent beneath her rage.

She could still see it. That cursed image.

John’s arm wrapped around another woman’s waist. His lips pressed against her cheek.

Smiling.

Not the half-hearted smirk he used to give Aliana, not the lazy grin she had to pry from him after hours of devotion, but something genuine. Something warm.

Her stomach twisted violently, bile stinging the back of her throat. He had promised her that smile. He had sworn it was hers. How dare he hand it off to someone else, like everything she had given him meant nothing?

The axe dragged along the sidewalk with a dull scrape, the grating sound breaking the silence of the sleeping neighborhood. Sparks of hate lit up in her chest every time she replayed the scene in her mind.

She imagined the look on that woman’s face when she tore John away—wide-eyed, trembling, finally realizing she had stolen something that was never hers to begin with.

Aliana stopped at the porch, staring at the quiet house before her. Her thumb traced the dull edge of the blade, her breath coming out in short, frantic bursts that fogged in the cold.

This was it. The final wall. The last barrier between her and what was rightfully hers.

Knocking would be too kind. He didn’t deserve that courtesy.

She raised the axe high, lips stretching into a grin far too wide, far too sharp, and slammed it down.

CRACK.

The sound was perfect—like bones shattering under her hands. A laugh tore from her throat, raw and unrestrained, bubbling into the night. Splinters scattered across the porch as she swung again, harder this time, the door groaning with each impact. Every strike carried a memory she could not stand to bear. John pulling her close. John whispering to her. John walking away.

“Im coming in, John!,” she hissed, voice shaking. “Once I get through this door, everything will be perfect again. Just you and me, like before.”

Her body trembled with adrenaline as the door split further, nearly giving way beneath her rage. Just a few more swings and she would have him. She could almost feel his throat beneath her fingers, almost see the panic in his eyes as he realized he could never escape her.

One more swing. Just one more—

Then, the door finally gave way.

The wood burst open with a sharp crack, splinters scattering across the floor. Aliana stepped inside, her chest heaving, her fingers trembling around the axe handle. But as her gaze swept across the room, something gnawed at her. The furniture was wrong. The colors were wrong. Even the air smelled different—faintly clean, unfamiliar, not at all like John.

Still, she dismissed the thought with a frantic laugh under her breath. Of course it feels strange. 'He’s hiding her here. He’s covering his tracks. He knows I’d find him, and he thinks he can trick me. Silly, silly John.'

She raised her voice, sharp and ringing against the broken walls.

“John! Where are you?”

Her words bled with venom, but beneath it was a twisted lilt of affection—like a lover calling her darling home.

Then, she heard footsteps.

Aliana’s heart leapt, her pulse quickening with unholy joy. Her lips curled into a trembling grin, eyes wide, shimmering with madness. 'At long last, he had no place to run. No more stolen smiles, no more lie—'