Chapter 33
Aria’s POV
I met her gaze steadily. "That beach house was my mother's. She wanted me to have it."
"Your mother wanted many things, Aria," Victoria replied, her voice hardening. "But she's not here anymore, is she? Perhaps it's time to stop dwelling on the past and focus on your future. A future that depends greatly on your father's goodwill."
The threat was clear, but I refused to be intimidated. "Victoria, you were an outsider who married into this family. You have no say in how Harper assets are distributed."
Her perfectly composed face flickered with anger before settling back into its usual mask. "Be careful, Aria. The line between heiress and outcast is thinner than you might think."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and followed William into the house, her back ramrod straight with indignation.
I stood in the driveway, keys to the new Porsche clutched in my hand, feeling both victorious and exhausted. The car was certainly a generous gift, but we both knew what it really was—a bribe to ensure my compliance, my father's way of paying me to accept a marriage I didn't want.
Well, I would take the car. But I had no intention of fulfilling my end of the bargain.
I slid into the driver's seat, appreciating the new car smell and the butter-soft leather beneath me. The engine purred to life with a gentle press of the start button, and I pulled out of the driveway, already reaching for my phone to text Sophia.
[Dinner at Williamsburg Social? Need to talk. It's urgent.]
Her reply came almost immediately: [Meet you there in 30.]
The sleek Porsche handled like a dream as I navigated through Manhattan traffic toward the Brooklyn Bridge. The restaurant I'd chosen was a trendy spot in Williamsburg that catered to creative professionals—far from the Upper East Side haunts where I might run into someone from my father's circle.
Sophia was already waiting when I arrived, her expression concerned as she watched me park the new car.
"Nice wheels," she commented as I approached our table on the restaurant's dimly lit patio. "I'm guessing there's a story there?"
"A bribe from my father," I confirmed, sliding into the seat across from her. "Payment for agreeing to marry Ethan."
Sophia's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, what? You're marrying Ethan now? The same Ethan who cheated on you with your stepsister?"
"God, no," I replied emphatically. "I'm just letting my father think I am while I figure out how to get out of this mess." I pulled out my phone and showed her the video I'd taken at Tiffany. "See for yourself. They're still together."
Sophia watched the video, her expression darkening. "That sleazy bastard. And your stepsister is just as bad." She handed the phone back. "So what's your plan?"
"Use this engagement to my advantage," I explained, accepting the menu from our server. "Get access to Blake resources for the company, make the connections we need, and then expose Ethan when the time is right."
"Playing with fire, Aria," Sophia warned. "The Blakes aren't people you want as enemies."
"I know," I sighed, feeling the weight of my decisions. "But I refuse to be sold off in some modern business merger disguised as a marriage. Not while Ethan is still sleeping with Scarlett behind my back."
We ordered our food, and I filled Sophia in on everything that had happened since our last conversation—the lunch at Le Bernardin, my father's threats about the beach house, and Devon Kane's demand that I meet him tonight.
"Speaking of Kane," Sophia said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "what's going on there? Is it still just business?"
I hesitated, unsure how to answer. Was it just business? The way my body responded to Devon's touch suggested otherwise, but I wasn't ready to examine those feelings too closely.
"It's complicated," I admitted finally. "The contract is essential for Stellar, especially now that I'm planning to cut ties with the Blakes eventually. But Devon is... intense. Controlling."
"But incredibly hot," Sophia added with a knowing smile.
"That's beside the point," I protested, though I couldn't help returning her smile.
"Is it, though?" Sophia asked, suddenly serious. "Look, I know you started this thing with Kane as a business arrangement, but be careful. Men like him don't compartmentalize well. If he's showing interest in you beyond the contract, there's probably a reason."
"He has an arranged marriage in the works too," I pointed out. "Some socialite named Caroline Hayes. His mother wants them to merge companies through marriage, just like my father wants with Ethan and me."
"All the more reason to be careful," Sophia cautioned. "Rich families and their business marriages—it's like we're living in some Victorian novel."
We were so engrossed in our conversation that I completely lost track of time. It wasn't until the waiter cleared our dessert plates that I happened to glance at my watch.
"Oh my God!" I gasped, nearly knocking over my water glass. "It's 7:35 already!"
"What's wrong?" Sophia asked, alarmed.
"Devon," I explained hurriedly, throwing money on the table and grabbing my purse. "I'm supposed to be at his penthouse by eight. He specifically said not to be late."
Sophia's eyes widened. "Go! I'll take care of the bill. Just go!"
I rushed out of the restaurant, cursing under my breath as I jumped into the Porsche. Manhattan traffic at this hour was notoriously unpredictable, and Devon's building was all the way on the other side of town.
"Come on, come on," I muttered as I hit yet another red light. The GPS estimated my arrival at 8:05—which was definitely late by Devon Kane standards. I took a chance on a side street, hoping to bypass some of the congestion, and miraculously found myself making up time.
I squealed into the underground garage of Devon's building at 7:55, parked haphazardly in the first visitor spot I found, and sprinted for the private elevator. My heart was pounding, partly from the rush and partly from anxiety about Devon's reaction if I was late.
The elevator seemed to take forever, and I used the time to smooth my hair and check my appearance in the mirrored walls. When the doors finally opened at the penthouse level, I hurried across the marble foyer and knocked on the double doors, trying to control my breathing.
I checked my phone: 7:58 PM. Just made it.
The doors swung open to reveal Devon standing there, dressed in dark slacks and a crisp white shirt with the top buttons undone. He held a glass of red wine in one hand, and his steel-gray eyes surveyed me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"You're late," he stated, though a quick glance at my phone showed it was exactly 7:58 PM.
"No, I'm not," I replied, holding up my phone to show him the time, still slightly out of breath from my dash. "I'm actually two minutes early."
Devon's expression remained impassive, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes as they traveled from my face down to my shoes and back up again, lingering briefly on the neckline of my blouse.
"Come in," he said finally, stepping aside to let me pass.