Chapter 234
Aria's POV
I stood in front of the floor-length mirror in Devon's penthouse, fingers lightly tracing the platinum and diamond necklace adorning my neck. Morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching the diamonds and scattering light across the room. Something felt wrong. This wasn't the ruby necklace Devon had spent ten million dollars on at last night's auction.
Devon emerged from the bedroom, impeccably dressed in a tailored gray suit. He moved behind me, his arms encircling my waist as he studied our reflection. I felt his breath warm against my neck, creating an intimacy I wasn't ready to acknowledge.
"Do you like it?" His voice was low against my ear, with an unusual softness that made me wonder what he was thinking.
"It's beautiful. Thank you," I replied with a smile, carefully concealing my confusion. I met his gaze in the mirror. "I just thought..."
"Thought what?" His fingers traced along the necklace, eyes intensely focused. There was something protective in the way he touched the diamonds, as if ensuring they were perfectly positioned against my skin.
"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. I decided against mentioning the ruby necklace for now, though questions multiplied in my mind.
Devon's expression softened, a rare occurrence on his usually stoic face. His eyes held mine a moment longer than necessary. "I have several meetings, but I want to come home early tonight." He pressed a kiss to my forehead, lingering there. "Stay here and wait for me, will you? This is our home."
That word—home—made my heart skip. The possessive way he said "our" stirred something deep inside me, a longing I hadn't felt before. Before I could respond, his phone rang. He released me, his expression immediately transforming back to the cold business titan. He answered and stepped out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the unfamiliar weight of diamonds against my skin.
The next morning, I was checking emails on my phone when a message from Calvin Reed appeared. «Interested in joining me for lunch? I have some new ideas for the Harper-Reed collaboration.»
I was about to decline when a second message arrived with an attached photo. My breath caught in my throat. In the image, Devon was fastening the "Ruby Tears Collection" around the neck of a dark-haired woman. She stood with her back to the camera, but I could see her elegant posture and slender neck clearly as Devon leaned in.
What froze me wasn't just seeing the ruby necklace on someone else—it was Devon's expression. His eyes held an intensity I'd never witnessed before, focused and almost reverent. There was none of the clinical detachment he showed with Caroline, none of the irritated tolerance he displayed with Mandy. With this dark-haired woman, his face had softened into something genuine. His hands appeared to caress rather than simply fasten the clasp.
My stomach tightened into a knot. I'd seen Devon interact with countless women at events, maintaining his cold, professional demeanor with everyone. But this photo captured something different—something real. The realization sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.
My fingers trembled slightly as I typed a response to Calvin: «Thank you for the invitation, but I already have plans today. Please contact Anna directly about project details.» I set the phone down and pressed my palms against the cool countertop, willing my heartbeat to slow.
Later that afternoon, I was preparing to take a bath when I felt a breeze—Devon had returned early. He stood in the bathroom doorway, his tie loosened, eyes traveling over my form with an intensity that made my skin warm despite my unease.
"I thought you'd be back later," I said, pulling my robe tighter, suddenly conscious of my vulnerability.
Devon approached from behind, arms wrapping around me, his chin resting on my shoulder. Our eyes met in the mirror, and I noticed the slight darkness beneath his, evidence of his claimed insomnia. "Was I too rough last night?" he asked, his eyes searching mine.
I avoided his gaze, thoughts of the photo still fresh in my mind, the image of his hands on another woman's neck overlaying the present moment. "Devon, I've been thinking I should move back to my Brooklyn apartment."
His arms immediately tightened around me, his eyes sharpening. The change was immediate—from gentle to alarmed in a heartbeat. "No." The word was simple but carried unmistakable authority and something else—fear?
"We have an arrangement, but that doesn't mean I have to live here," I countered, turning to face him. "I have my own life, my own space."
Devon's expression shifted, something vulnerable flickering across his features. The mask of control slipped momentarily. "I can't sleep," he admitted quietly, the words sounding as though they were pulled from him against his will.
"What?"
"Without you here, I can't sleep." Irritation colored his voice, as though admitting this weakness angered him. His jaw tightened. "You've forgotten, haven't you, Aria?"
Before I could respond, his lips claimed mine in a demanding kiss that felt like both a punishment and a plea. When he finally pulled away, his composure had returned, walls rebuilt as if they'd never fallen.
"We're having breakfast out this morning," he announced decisively. "It's time New York saw us together."
The next morning, I stood in Devon's massive closet, running my fingers over designer clothes—all purchased for me, each perfectly tailored to my measurements and taste. I selected a cream suit dress with nude heels, examining myself in the mirror. The diamond necklace glittered at my collarbone, beautiful but somehow wrong, like it belonged to someone else.
Whatever Devon's motives were, I couldn't deny his generosity. The question was, what did he really want from me? And who was the woman with the ruby necklace?
"Are you ready?" Devon called from outside, impatience edging his tone.
"Almost," I replied, spraying a hint of perfume on my wrists, armor for whatever the day might bring.
In the Bentley, Devon focused on emails, occasionally frowning at his screen. His fingers moved rapidly across his phone. I studied his profile, noticing the fatigue beneath his usually cold demeanor. The shadows under his eyes seemed darker today. I remembered his confession about sleeping only when I was near, and felt a strange twist in my chest—concern mixed with a power I hadn't realized I held.
"You seem busy," I ventured. "We could have breakfast another day if you need to handle work."
Devon looked up, his gray eyes meeting mine directly. Something shifted in them—gratitude, perhaps? He placed his phone into his suit's inner pocket. "Work is never finished, but I won't cancel our time together for it."
At Eleven Madison Park, we were escorted to a semi-private area with views of Madison Square Park. The table was already set with an exquisite breakfast—truffle scrambled eggs, wild blueberry pancakes, fresh fruit, and handcrafted croissants, alongside two glasses of orange juice.
"Eat whatever you like," Devon said, naturally pulling out my chair, his hand brushing my back in a gesture that felt oddly possessive and protective simultaneously.
I smiled weakly, my stomach knotted from the photo Calvin had sent. The image of Devon's gentle hands fastening the ruby necklace kept replaying in my mind. I managed only a small sip of orange juice, then pushed food around my plate with a fork.
Devon noticed immediately. "You usually eat more at this hour." His eyes narrowed slightly, assessing me with the same intensity he applied to business problems.
"Just... work stress," I lied, unable to meet his gaze.
After breakfast, Devon's phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression turning serious.
"I need to handle this," he said, genuine regret in his voice. "There's a system issue at the company. Lucas will take you back to your office."
He stood, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead, his hand lingering on my shoulder. "I'll pick you up tonight. Don't let anyone else take you anywhere, understand?"
I nodded, watching his retreating figure, tall and commanding as he strode away. As I waited for the car, a woman approached—tall, elegant, with chestnut hair and calculating eyes.