Chapter 217
Aria's POV
I woke to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the steady beeping of monitors. Sunlight streamed through half-drawn blinds, illuminating a room that was decidedly not a standard hospital setup—the walls were painted a soft cream, adorned with tasteful abstract art, and the furnishings spoke of money and discretion.
When I tried to move, pain lanced through my shoulder, a stark reminder of the bullet wound. I winced, blinking away the remnants of what felt like days of sleep.
"You're awake."
I turned toward the voice, surprised to find Devon Kane sitting beside my bed. His usually immaculate appearance was slightly disheveled—his black shirt wrinkled, dark shadows beneath his eyes. Something in his expression seemed different, less guarded.
"The fever broke," he said, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard it.
"Where am I?" My voice came out raspy, my throat painfully dry.
"Private medical facility in Miami." Devon reached for a glass of water on the nightstand, his movements careful as he helped me take a sip. "You've been in and out of consciousness for nearly thirty-six hours."
I studied his face, searching for the cold businessman I was accustomed to, but found instead a man who looked as though he hadn't slept in days. Before I could process this unfamiliar version of Devon, the door opened and Marcus entered, his expression shifting from concern to relief upon seeing me awake.
"Mr. Kane, I apologize for the interruption." Marcus glanced between us, hesitating. "There's an urgent matter at the family residence that requires your attention. Your mother has arranged for Ms. Stevens to meet with you there today."
Devon's face immediately darkened, the momentary softness vanishing. "Tell the driver to prepare the car." He stood, straightening his jacket with practiced precision, once again the powerful CEO I recognized.
He turned to me, his voice now businesslike. "I need to handle some family matters. Rest. I'll return quickly."
As Devon reached the door, I noticed the slight stiffness in his movements, a reminder that he too had been injured during our island ordeal. For a brief moment, I felt an unexpected urge to ask him to stay—a sentiment that startled me enough that I remained silent as he left.
After he departed, Marcus approached with a covered bowl that released a rich, herbal aroma when he removed the lid.
"Mr. Kane arranged for this to be prepared for you," he explained, setting it on the bedside table. "A special medicinal chicken soup from a Chinese master in New York. He had it flown in this morning."
I stared at the soup, then at Marcus, unable to hide my surprise.
"Kane never does this sort of thing for anyone," Marcus added, his voice lowered conspiratorially. "Not even when his mother was hospitalized last year."
I took a tentative sip, the complex flavors warming me from the inside. "Thank you."
Marcus hesitated, then said, "Ms. Harper, I was wondering if you might... speak to Mr. Kane about Lucas."
"Lucas?"
"The security guard who failed to properly check the yacht. Mr. Kane has had him... disciplined for three days. I thought perhaps you could intercede."
I set down the spoon, my expression hardening. "The man's negligence nearly got me killed, Marcus. I'm not a saint. I won't ask for leniency for someone who couldn't be bothered to do his job properly."
Marcus nodded, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "A wise choice, Ms. Harper. Kane respects strength, not mercy." He moved toward the door, then paused. "By the way, that soup? He personally called the practitioner at four in the morning to arrange it. I've never seen him do that for anyone—not even family."
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Devon's POV
I flew home on a private jet and entered the main study at the family estate to find Connor sitting in a wheelchair, his face pale and drawn. My father, Arthur Kane, stood by the fireplace, imposing in his tailored suit despite his advanced age.
"You've gone too far this time, Devon," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "Family does not punish family to this extent. Have you forgotten the Kane code?"
I laughed, a harsh sound that felt bitter in my throat. "How surprising that you suddenly remember that particular rule, Father. Where was your concern for the family code when Connor drugged my drink and tried to steal the quantum chip patents?" I felt my eyes narrow as rage bubbled beneath my composed exterior. "Or when he hired men to sabotage my yacht?"
Father's expression tightened, but before he could respond, he was interrupted by a coughing fit. A servant quickly appeared with his medication and water.
I watched him dispassionately. "Don't try to manipulate me with marriage arrangements or family obligation, Arthur. Kane Technology is mine—I built it, not the family. And I choose who I allow into my life."
I turned to leave, ignoring his renewed coughing. As I strode through the hallway, my mother intercepted me.
"At least stay for dinner, Devon," she said, her voice carefully modulated. "Mandy Stevens is waiting in the blue room. She's been looking forward to seeing you."
I felt my jaw tighten. When I entered the dining room minutes later, I immediately noticed Mandy Stevens wearing a fitted black slip dress, her hair styled in loose waves that mimicked Aria's natural curls. She'd even drawn a beauty mark near her collarbone—an obvious attempt to copy Aria's distinctive feature.
"Devon," she breathed, rising from her seat. "I've missed you terribly."
I stared at her with glacial eyes. "I don't have time for this ridiculous charade." I turned to my mother, who had followed me into the room. "I won't be staying for dinner."
Outside, Mandy rushed after me, slipping into my Maybach before I could prevent it. "I thought we could spend some time alone," she said, her voice dropping to what she clearly intended as seductive.
I started the engine and pulled away from the estate, gradually increasing speed until the needle approached 120 mph. Mandy's flirtatious smile faded as she clutched the door handle, her face paling.
"Are you enjoying our time alone, Ms. Stevens?" I asked, my voice arctic as the car hurtled down the private road.
When I finally stopped at a gas station fifteen minutes later, Mandy stumbled out and vomited into a nearby bush. I tossed her a packet of tissues from the car.
"Next time you attempt to impersonate someone, Ms. Stevens, consider plastic surgery first," I said, driving away without a backward glance. My only thought was returning to Miami to ensure Aria's safety and recovery.