Chapter 56
Aria's POV
The chaos was immediate. The pyramid of champagne glasses collapsed in a spectacular cascade, sending crystal and liquid spraying across the marble floor. Gasps and exclamations filled the air as guests jumped back to avoid the deluge. Servers rushed forward with towels and dustpans, their practiced efficiency suggesting this wasn't the first champagne disaster they'd handled at Pantheon.
I stood frozen, the weight of Ethan's ring suddenly heavy on my finger as I watched Devon's broad shoulders disappear through the doorway. The moment felt symbolic somehow—the carefully constructed façade I'd been building shattered as completely as those champagne flutes.
"What an asshole," Ethan muttered beside me, his hand possessively gripping my waist. "That's going to cost him."
I forced a smile, though my eyes remained on the door. "It was probably an accident."
"Like hell it was." Ethan's fingers dug deeper into my side. "Kane doesn't do anything by accident."
Before I could respond, Ethan steered me away from the mess, toward a quiet corner of the room. The remaining guests had already begun gossiping, their voices a symphony of speculation and judgment. I caught fragments of conversation—"jealousy," "rivalry," "hostile takeover"—as we moved through the crowd.
Once we were relatively alone, Ethan's expression darkened. He leaned in close, his cologne suddenly cloying and overwhelming.
"Aria, listen to me," he said, his voice low and intense. "Stay away from Devon Kane. He clearly has designs on you."
I arched an eyebrow. "Designs?"
"Don't play innocent. I've seen how he looks at you." Ethan's eyes narrowed. "He wants what's mine. Always has, since business school. But he won't get it this time."
The possessive language made my skin crawl, but I kept my expression neutral. "I'm hardly a corporate asset to be acquired, Ethan."
"Of course not, baby." His tone softened, though his eyes remained hard. "I'm just saying he's dangerous. Kane Technologies has been trying to move into fashion tech, and Blake Fashion would be a perfect acquisition. He'll use any means necessary—including you."
Before I could respond, Christopher Quinn—one of Ethan's college friends—approached us with two fresh glasses of champagne. "There's the golden couple! Don't let Kane's little tantrum ruin the night." He handed us each a glass, then called out to the room: "Everyone! A proper toast to the future Mr. and Mrs. Blake!"
Just like that, the awkward moment was smoothed over with wealth and alcohol—the universal solvents of high society problems. Ethan's friends gathered around, glasses raised, momentarily forgetting the shattered crystal still being swept up in the center of the room.
Ethan's grip on my waist relaxed as he slipped back into the role of gracious host. He introduced me to several fashion industry heavyweights, presenting me as "the woman who will help take Blake Fashion into the digital era." Each introduction was punctuated with "my fiancée" or "my future wife," as if repetition could make the lie more convincing.
"Aria Harper," a silver-haired woman in Chanel said, clasping my hand. "I remember when you were just a little thing at your mother's gallery openings. Elizabeth would be so proud to see you finally getting your happily ever after with Ethan."
I smiled through gritted teeth. "Thank you."
"We all knew it was just a matter of time," another woman chimed in, this one dripping in diamonds that probably cost more than my company's quarterly revenue. "The way you always looked at him—even as teenagers. So devoted."
The champagne suddenly tasted bitter on my tongue. I took another sip anyway, needing the liquid courage.
"To Aria," someone called out, "for finally getting what she's always wanted!"
"To the future Mrs. Blake!"
"To perseverance paying off!"
I raised my glass mechanically as toast after toast followed, each one more nauseating than the last. They all painted the same picture: poor, lovesick Aria, who had finally managed to catch New York's most eligible bachelor. If only they knew the truth—that I was here to destroy him, not marry him.
"Finally got what you always wanted, didn't you?" Ethan whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "You should thank me. I've made you the envy of every woman in this room."
I turned to him with a practiced smile, one that didn't reach my eyes. "Oh, Ethan," I said softly. "This is just the beginning."
He mistook my meaning for affection and kissed me possessively in front of everyone. I endured it, thinking of the evidence gathering on my nanny cam, thinking of Devon's words: "Don't accept a gilded cage when you've only just begun to spread your wings."
"Another round!" Christopher announced, signaling to a server.
What followed was a blur of toasts and congratulations. Each time I tried to set down my glass, someone would press another into my hand. Ethan kept his arm firmly around me, playing the devoted fiancé to perfection. I noticed he barely drank, while ensuring my glass was never empty.
By my fourth—or was it fifth?—glass, the room had begun to spin slightly. The diamond on my finger caught the light from the crystal chandeliers, sending prismatic rainbows dancing across the walls. I stared at them, mesmerized, as conversations flowed around me.
"I think my fiancée needs some air," Ethan eventually announced, his voice sounding distant through the champagne haze. "The excitement's been a bit much."
There were knowing chuckles and suggestive comments that I chose to ignore. Ethan's arm around my waist felt less like support and more like a restraint as he guided me toward the elevator.
"My purse," I murmured, realizing I'd left it on a chair.
"I'll have someone bring it up," Ethan replied smoothly. "You need to rest."
I wanted to protest but found my usual sharpness dulled by alcohol. The champagne had been stronger than I'd realized, or perhaps I'd had more than I thought. I found myself in the elevator, watching the numbers climb as Ethan punched in a code for the top floor.
The VIP suite was opulent, exuding that distinctly masculine atmosphere that screamed old money—dark woods, leather furniture, and subtle lighting that flattered every surface.
I made my way to a velvet sofa and sank into it gratefully. "You should go back to your guests," I said, slipping off my heels. "I just need a few minutes."
"They can wait," Ethan replied, loosening his tie. He walked to a cabinet and retrieved a crystal decanter. "Nightcap?"
I shook my head, already regretting the champagne. "No, thank you."
He poured me a glass of amber liquid anyway, offering it to me. "To my beautiful fiancée," he said, a gleam in his eyes I didn't particularly like. "Just a sip, to help you relax."
I took a hesitant sip, the liquor burning my throat. Ethan sat beside me, his hand sliding to my thigh. "You were perfect tonight," he said, fingers tracing small circles on my bare knee. "Everyone loves you."
I summoned my most convincing smile, the one I'd practiced in the mirror for situations exactly like this. "It was a lovely evening. Thank you for the... surprise proposal."
"Mmm." He reached out to touch my face, his fingers tracing my jawline. "You know, when you're tipsy, you're even more beautiful. Your cheeks get this lovely flush." His gaze turned heated, voice dropping lower. "I bet you're that same shade of pink all over, aren't you?"
I shifted slightly, creating distance between us. "I should freshen up before we go back down."
"No rush." His hand moved to my neck, then lower, to the top button of my blouse. "We have the suite for the entire night."
The alcohol in my system made everything slightly delayed—my recognition of his intent, my response, my rising alarm. I watched his fingers work at my button as if they belonged to someone else.
"Ethan," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "We should get back to your birthday celebration."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "This is my celebration." The top button came undone. His hand moved to the second. "My fiancée, my birthday, my rules."