Chapter 246
Aria's POV
The digital clock on my computer showed 10:47 PM. Everyone else had gone home hours ago, leaving the entire floor of Harper Group silent except for my furious typing. The latest social media analysis report showed "#HarperScandal" and "#JusticeForElizabeth" trending nationwide, with engagement numbers climbing by the minute.
I canceled tomorrow's client meetings, redirected our content team to crisis management, and drafted three different press releases—each more desperate than the last. My eyes burned from staring at screens all day, but I couldn't stop. If I stopped working, I'd have to think about my father being led away in handcuffs, about the empire crumbling around me, about the mother whose justice had finally arrived at too high a cost.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan's skyline formed a cold, glittering backdrop that felt entirely separate from my reality. I was alone on an island of my own making, surrounded by the wreckage of my family name.
My phone vibrated against the desk. Devon's name appeared on the screen.
"Five minutes. Downstairs," he said, his voice tight with something I couldn't identify—concern masked by irritation, perhaps.
"Devon, I'm still—"
"Five minutes, Aria." He hung up before I could argue.
I gathered my things slowly, deliberately, something inside me rebelling against his commanding tone. Yet another part—a part I wasn't ready to acknowledge—felt relieved at the thought of not being alone tonight. After everything that had happened, the idea of his steady presence was oddly comforting.
The elevator descent was interminable. With each floor, I questioned what Devon was doing here, where he had been last night, and why he'd been muttering "the beams..." in his sleep before I left this morning.
When the doors opened to the deserted lobby, I spotted him immediately—tall and imposing, leaning against his black Bentley, a cigarette between his fingers. His eyes found mine through the glass doors, and I noticed something flicker in them—relief quickly masked by his usual control. He didn't move to help me, just watched as I approached, the smoke from his cigarette creating a haze around him in the cold night air.
"You're still working at this hour," he observed, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his heel. The dark circles beneath his eyes seemed more pronounced than usual, and his shoulders carried a tension I hadn't seen before.
"There's a lot to handle." I climbed into the passenger seat without waiting for him to open the door.
Devon slid into the driver's seat, his cologne filling the confined space. The familiar scent made something inside me twist with longing—not just physical, but for the stability he represented in my now chaotic world.
"Noah's fiancée invited me to be her bridesmaid," I said, breaking the silence as we pulled away from the curb. "Caroline Hayes. Isn't that strange?"
Devon's jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening slightly on the steering wheel. "What Noah and Caroline do is their business. Focus on us."
His fingers drummed against the steering wheel in a steady, irritated rhythm. He kept glancing in the rearview mirror.
"Are we being followed?" I asked, turning to look behind us.
"At least three cars," he confirmed, his voice tight. "Since the Harper Group crisis began. They've been following you constantly. Probably tabloids hoping to catch you in a vulnerable moment." His eyes flicked to mine briefly, revealing a flash of concern before hardening again. "You've become quite the valuable target."
The rest of the ride passed in tense silence. I watched the city lights blur past, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on me. By the time we reached Devon's Central Park West penthouse, I was exhausted beyond words.
Devon disappeared into his study the moment we arrived, without even removing his coat. I stood alone in the vast living room, suddenly unsure of my place here. Was I a guest? A burden? Someone he felt obligated to protect?
I made myself a simple salad in his gourmet kitchen, eating alone at the counter while scrolling through increasingly vicious headlines about my family. My appetite vanished after three bites.
Heavy footsteps announced Devon's return. He stood in the kitchen doorway, watching me with those intense gray eyes. I noticed the slight tightening of his lips as he took in my half-eaten salad.
"I can make you some pasta," I offered, gesturing to my abandoned meal. "I'm not hungry anymore."
After a long moment of silence, he nodded once. I busied myself finding ingredients, grateful for the distraction. Devon leaned against the doorframe, his gaze following my movements.
When I placed the plate of spaghetti in front of him, Devon twirled his fork expertly, taking a bite before pronouncing, "Passable." Yet he cleaned his plate completely.
"Harper Group stock fell 27% today," he stated abruptly, setting down his fork. "The board is discussing an emergency appointment for interim CEO."
I froze. "That should be me. I have the most experience with—"
"The board won't choose the daughter of the man accused of murder," he cut in, his voice clinical. "Not until the public relations disaster stabilizes."
I felt heat rising in my cheeks. "So I'm supposed to just stand by and watch everything my mother built crumble?"
"You're supposed to be careful," Devon said, his voice hardening. "Going against your father publicly was reckless enough. The paparazzi following you, people digging into your past—did you even consider the danger you've put yourself in?"
"What was I supposed to do? Let him get away with it?" I stood up, anger bubbling to the surface. "He killed my mother, Devon. Or have you forgotten that detail?"
Devon stood too, towering over me. "I haven't forgotten anything. But you confronted him alone. You should have called me first."
"I don't need your permission to seek justice for my family."
"No, you just need me to pick up the pieces when your crusade falls apart." His words were cold, but his eyes betrayed something else—fear. Not for himself, but for me.
"I didn't ask you to pick up anything," I said, my voice lower now. "I can handle this myself."
Devon stepped closer, his expression softening fractionally. "Can you? You're exhausted. You're being followed. The media is tearing you apart. And you're sitting alone in your office at nearly midnight trying to save a company that's bleeding out."
Before I could respond, my phone chimed with a notification. I glanced down to see TMZ's headline flash across my screen: "HARPER SCANDAL DEEPENS: HEIRESS THE 'TRANSACTIONAL GIRLFRIEND' OF TECH MOGUL?"
My blood ran cold as I opened the article. An anonymous "source close to both parties" claimed Devon and I had an arrangement—my companionship in exchange for financial backing and publicity. The accompanying photo showed Devon's hand on the small of my back as we entered a parking garage, the angle making our interaction seem furtive and illicit.
The article implied our relationship had begun before my father's scandal broke—suggesting I'd been disloyal to my family for personal gain all along.
"Devon," I whispered, horror washing over me. "They're saying we... that I..."
His expression didn't change. "I've seen it."
"Your reputation in Silicon Valley, with Wall Street—this could damage everything you've built." I stood up, suddenly decisive. "I should go back to my Brooklyn apartment. I won't have you dragged into my family's mess."