Chapter 167
Aria's POV
Owen Wilson—the last person I expected to see here—stood frozen in the hospital room doorway. The white lilies in his hand trembled slightly. I watched his face carefully, noting the flash of guilt in his eyes before he composed himself.
"Aria, please." Sophia's voice was weak from the hospital bed. "He's just checking on me."
"Checking on you?" I didn't take my eyes off Owen, my voice dropping dangerously low. Each word felt like ice on my tongue. "After what he did to you at Princeton? After how he humiliated you when his family decided you weren't good enough?"
The memory of Sophia crying for weeks after their breakup flooded my mind. I stepped further into the room, deliberately positioning myself between them.
Owen's face flushed. "I'm just making sure she's okay. I brought flowers." He gestured lamely with the bouquet.
"I don't need your flowers," Sophia said softly, then winced as she adjusted her bandaged arm.
I moved to her bedside, gently taking her uninjured hand. My chest tightened at how fragile she looked against the stark white hospital sheets, her usually vibrant complexion now pale and drawn.
"What happened? Why didn't you call me?" I kept my voice gentle for her, though my eyes repeatedly darted to her bandaged arm, each glance fueling my anger.
Sophia sighed. "It was an accident—"
"It wasn't an accident," Owen interrupted, stepping farther into the room. "Chloe pushed her. Sophia was just trying to help me get home. I'd had too much to drink at the engagement party, and—"
Sophia's fingers tightened around mine. "I was helping him to his car. Chloe saw us and... jumped to conclusions. She came running out screaming, pushed me, and I fell against the display case in the lobby. The glass broke. That's all."
I examined the thick bandage wrapped around her right arm, my stomach knotting at the thought of the damage beneath. "That doesn't look like 'that's all' to me."
"Twenty-seven stitches," Owen said quietly. "It could have been worse if—"
"If what? If you hadn't been such a gentleman, taking her to the hospital after your fiancée attacked her?" Each word dripped with contempt.
"Aria," Sophia cautioned, her fingers squeezing mine. "Please. I just want to forget about it."
I took a deep breath, counting silently to ten. With each number, I tried to push down the rage that threatened to overwhelm me. "Fine. I won't track down Chloe and return the favor." I turned to Owen, meeting his eyes directly. "You should go."
After Owen left, promising to check on Sophia later, I sat on the edge of her bed. My anger gave way to concern, but a cold determination settled in its place.
"You should press charges," I said, my voice softer now.
"And drag this out longer? No thanks." Sophia shook her head. "The doctor says I can leave tomorrow. I just need rest."
"I'm getting the security footage from the lobby," I said, my decision already made. I wouldn't let this slide, not when it came to Sophia. "That 'accident' isn't going unrecorded."
---
The next afternoon at Harper Group, I scrolled through emails, my mind still on Sophia in that hospital bed. The image of her bandaged arm kept intruding on my thoughts, feeding a slow-burning anger that wouldn't subside. My phone buzzed with a text from Garrett:
"Victoria. The Pinnacle Hotel. 9pm tonight."
I stared at the screen, reading the message twice to be sure. My fingers hovered over the phone, a plan forming rapidly in my mind.
I immediately dialed my father's number, consciously shifting my tone to one I rarely used with him these days—warm, almost affectionate. The sound of my own voice startled me, unfamiliar after months of cold exchanges.
"Aria?" His surprise was evident. "Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine, Dad." The word 'Dad' felt foreign on my tongue. "I was just thinking... could we have dinner tonight? Just the two of us?"
The silence stretched for several seconds. I held my breath, fingers tapping nervously on my desk. Had I overplayed? Was the shift too sudden to be believable?
"You want to have dinner with me?" Suspicion colored his voice.
"Is that so hard to believe?" I kept my voice light, masking the calculation behind it. My heart beat faster, wondering if he could sense the trap I was laying.
"No, no," he said quickly. "I'd like that very much. The Plaza at 8:30?"
"Perfect." I hung up and exhaled slowly, feeling a mixture of anticipation and the faintest flicker of guilt. I pushed the latter away. Victoria deserved this. After everything she'd done—to me, to my mother's memory, to our family—she deserved to be exposed.
---
At dinner, I played the role of dutiful daughter. I asked about his golf game. Complimented his tie. Inquired about Harper Group's latest acquisition. Each smile was calculated, yet I couldn't deny a small part of me responded to his obvious pleasure at my attention. William looked more relaxed than I'd seen him in months, the perpetual crease between his brows temporarily smoothed.
I checked my watch discreetly. 8:55 pm. My stomach tightened with anticipation, and I took a sip of water to steady myself.
My phone vibrated silently in my lap. The text read: "Actress in position."
"Dad," I said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "isn't that Victoria?" I nodded toward the window, carefully maintaining an expression of innocent curiosity.
Through the restaurant's large windows, we had a perfect view of The Pinnacle Hotel across the street. Victoria, dressed in a fitted black dress I'd never seen before, was walking briskly through the entrance. Her posture was different—younger somehow, more eager than her usual measured grace.
I watched my father's expression shift—first confusion, then disbelief, then the first flickers of suspicion. His fork paused halfway to his mouth, suspended in air as his eyes tracked Victoria's movement.
"She said she was having dinner with her sister tonight," he said slowly, his eyes not leaving the spot where Victoria had disappeared into the hotel.
"Her sister?" I raised an eyebrow, injecting just the right amount of surprise into my voice. "At a hotel?"
William's jaw tightened. A muscle twitched at his temple—the same tell I'd inherited from him when angry. He set down his fork with deliberate care. "Excuse me," he said, standing abruptly. "I need to make a call."
I watched him step away, phone to his ear, his back rigid. When he returned, his face had hardened into a mask I recognized all too well—the look he wore when business deals went south.
"She's not answering." He threw cash on the table, movements sharp and precise. "I need to go."
"Dad, wait—" I called after him, infusing my voice with concern while my heart raced with dark satisfaction. He was already striding toward the door.
I followed him across the street and into the hotel lobby, maintaining enough distance that it didn't seem obvious we were together. He approached the front desk, and I could see the tense set of his shoulders as he spoke to the clerk. His hands were flat on the counter, fingers spread wide as if bracing himself for bad news.
When he turned and headed for the elevators, I quickened my pace to catch up. "Dad, what are you doing?" I asked, arranging my features into an expression of concern.
"Going home, Aria," he snapped, jabbing the elevator button repeatedly, the gesture betraying his agitation.
"Then why are you taking the elevator?" I pointed to the hotel's grand staircase, my voice deliberately gentle. "The exit is that way."
His eyes met mine, and for a moment I saw something rare there—vulnerability. It made my chest tighten unexpectedly. The elevator arrived with a soft chime, and William stepped in. I followed, standing beside him as he pressed the button for the sixth floor.
"Room 606," I said quietly.
He looked at me sharply. "What?"
"That's where she is," I replied, my heart pounding against my ribs. "Room 606."
His eyes narrowed, suspicion overtaking the hurt. "How do you know that?"
The elevator doors opened, saving me from answering. William stormed down the hallway, finding room 606 and pounding on the door with a closed fist. I hung back, watching the scene unfold with a strange mix of satisfaction and unease.
"Coming, darling!" Victoria's voice called from inside, sultry and warm in a way I'd never heard before.
I watched my father go completely still at the sound. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come.
The door opened. Victoria's face transformed from anticipation to horror when she saw William and me standing in the hallway. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Behind her, I could see a hotel room with champagne on ice and rose petals scattered across the bed.
"William!" she finally gasped. "What are you—"