Chapter 239
Aria's POV
I lifted my head from Devon's chest, my tears still wet on my cheeks. "What did he say? Victoria's unconscious?"
Devon nodded, his expression shifting to business-like efficiency. "What happened?" he asked Lucas.
"She collapsed after her... confession," Lucas replied, his eyes briefly flicking to me. "Medical team is on the way."
I pushed myself to my feet, feeling oddly calm despite the storm raging inside me. My mother had been murdered, and my father—the man who had raised me, who had held my hand at my mother's funeral—had helped. The knowledge should have crushed me further, but instead, I felt a strange clarity emerging through the grief.
"What's her condition?" I asked, surprised by how steady my voice sounded.
Lucas looked uncertain. "Vital signs stable, but unresponsive. Possibly shock-induced syncope."
"What do you want to do with her?" Devon asked me, his voice quiet but firm.
I met his gaze. This was a test of sorts, I realized. Not just of my resolve, but of who I was becoming. The old Aria would have panicked, would have let someone else decide. But that woman was gone, dissolved in the acid bath of betrayal.
"Send her to a private medical facility," I said after a moment. "Under guard. I want to know the second she wakes up."
"And then?" Devon pressed.
"Then we'll deal with her confession. And my father." The last two words tasted bitter on my tongue.
Devon studied me, then nodded once. "Lucas, arrange transport to Artemis. Full security detail, no visitors except medical personnel."
"Yes, sir."
"And Lucas," I added before he could leave, "make sure the recording of her confession is backed up. Multiple copies."
A ghost of a smile touched Devon's lips as Lucas nodded and departed. "Thinking ahead," he observed. "Good."
The medical team arrived quickly, their movements efficient as they stabilized Victoria and transferred her to a stretcher. I watched them work, feeling oddly detached, as if I were floating somewhere above my body.
When they'd gone, Devon guided me to his private office down the hall. The space was spartan but luxurious—dark wood, leather furniture, and a wall of windows overlooking Manhattan's skyline. Night had fallen while we were in the interrogation room, and the city glittered below us like a spill of diamonds on black velvet.
Devon pressed a glass of water into my hands. "Drink," he said, and I complied automatically. The cold liquid helped ground me back in my body.
"You should sit," he suggested, but I shook my head.
"If I sit, I might never get up again."
He moved behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders, strong and steadying. "You did well in there. Like a goddamn avenging goddess."
A bitter laugh escaped me. "Is that what I looked like? Because I felt like I was drowning."
"No one would have known." His thumbs worked small circles at the base of my neck, easing tension I hadn't realized I was carrying. "What will you do now?"
I stared out at the city, at all those lights representing millions of lives continuing as normal while mine had just been shattered. "I need to face my father. Tonight."
Devon's hands stilled. "Are you sure that's wise? William Harper is a dangerous man, especially when cornered."
"So am I," I said quietly. "He needs to know that I know. That I have proof. That everything changes tonight."
Devon turned me to face him, his expression unusually serious as he brushed away a lingering tear from my cheek with his thumb. "I can come with you."
The offer surprised me—not just the words, but the sincerity behind them. Devon Kane wasn't a man who made himself available as emotional support. This was... different.
"No," I said after a moment. "This is something I need to do myself. But thank you."
He nodded, respecting my decision in a way my father never had. "Call me when it's done. No matter what time."
"I will."
Devon's driver took me back to the Harper family mansion. The house looked exactly as it always had—grand, imposing, perfect. How strange that nothing outside reflected the rot within.
Elsa met me at the door, her eyes widening at my appearance. I must have looked a wreck, despite my attempts to fix my makeup in the car.
"Miss Aria," she said softly. "We weren't expecting you tonight."
"Is my father home?"
She nodded, then lowered her voice. "He's been in a terrible mood all evening. Maybe tomorrow would be better?"
I gave her a sad smile. "There's no better time for this, Elsa. Sometimes families need to face the truth, no matter how painful."
Her expression clouded. "The truth can be a heavy burden, Miss Aria. Between father and daughter, there's no wound that can't heal with time."
"Even murder?" I asked softly.
Elsa's face went slack with shock. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, unable to find words.
I patted her arm gently and moved past her toward my father's study. Each step felt like I was walking toward my own execution, but I forced myself to continue. The weight of my mother's last journal pressed against me from inside my purse, a talisman of truth against my father's inevitable lies.
Outside his door, I paused, hearing him moving around inside. The smell of his cigars wafted from beneath the door—he only smoked when agitated. Taking a deep breath, I knocked once, then entered without waiting for permission.
William Harper looked up from his tablet, his face clouding when he saw me. He sat behind his massive desk, surrounded by the trappings of his power—awards, photographs with politicians, expensive art. Smoke hung in the air despite the sophisticated ventilation system.
"Aria," he said, his voice clipped. "I'm busy."
"I know what you did." The words came out calmer than I expected.
He frowned, setting down his tablet. "What are you talking about?"
Instead of answering, I pulled out my phone and played Victoria's confession, watching his face as his wife's voice filled the room: "Where do you think I got such rare heavy metals? I had no connections, no way to access something like that. But your father did."
The color drained from his face as the recording continued. When it ended, he surged to his feet, hurling his crystal whiskey glass against the wall where it shattered spectacularly.
"That conniving bitch!" he snarled. "She's lying! You're going to believe her over your own father?"
I stayed perfectly still, letting his rage wash over me. "I have more than her word. I have Mom's journals describing her symptoms. I have records of your bank transfers to a chemical supplier that specializes in the exact metals found in Mom's system during her autopsy."
That last part was a bluff—I didn't have the bank records yet—but his reaction confirmed it. William's eyes widened fractionally before narrowing again.
"You've been investigating me?" he demanded, rounding the desk to tower over me. "Your own father?"
"Someone had to seek justice for Mom."
"Your mother was sick!" he shouted. "She died of cancer!"
"The cancer came after months of unexplained symptoms," I countered. "After Victoria had been making her special tea for nearly a year."
"This is absurd," he scoffed, but I could see sweat beading on his forehead. "You have no proof."
"Then why are you sweating, Dad? Why did you just destroy your office at the mere suggestion?" I gestured to the whiskey and glass shards. "Innocent people don't react like that."
He moved closer, his voice dropping dangerously. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Just like your mother. Always questioning, never accepting."
"Did you kill her?" I asked directly, looking into the eyes that matched my own. "Did you help Victoria poison my mother?"
His hand moved so fast I didn't see it coming. The slap cracked across my face, snapping my head to the side. Pain bloomed hot and sharp, but I refused to flinch or cry out. Slowly, I turned back to face him.
"That's answer enough," I said quietly.
William's face contorted with rage. He lunged for my phone, but I was ready, stepping back and holding it away. "It's too late," I told him. "The recording is already backed up. Multiple copies, multiple locations. Including with my lawyer."