Chapter 99
Aria's POV
The rain drummed against the windows of Devon's Aston Martin as he navigated through the flooded Brooklyn streets. He drove with purpose, already knowing the route to my apartment. My clothes clung to my skin like a second layer, my hair dripping rivulets down my neck and back. The adrenaline that had kept me going was starting to fade, leaving me trembling.
I glanced at Devon's profile, noting the tight set of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes as they flicked between the road and me. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel, revealing the anger he was containing beneath his controlled exterior. Something about his silent concern made my chest tighten with an unfamiliar warmth.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For finding me out there."
Devon's eyes met mine briefly. "You were lucky I was already on my way."
The simple statement carried weight I wasn't ready to examine. Instead, I hugged myself tighter as another shiver ran through me.
As we pulled up to the building, I felt a strange mix of relief and anxiety. The lobby felt unusually warm after the chilled rain. Devon placed his suit jacket over my shoulders, his fingers lingering slightly longer than necessary. The gesture felt protective in a way that made my pulse quicken.
"Sixth floor," I said as we entered the elevator. My voice sounded small in the confined space, and I became acutely aware of how close Devon stood, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made me look away.
When the doors opened, I fumbled with my keys, hands still unsteady. Devon waited silently, watchful. I could feel the heat of him behind me, not touching but close enough that I was conscious of every breath.
My loft greeted us with its familiar comfort: exposed brick walls, large windows, and walls adorned with photographs—mostly of my mother. Devon's eyes swept across them, his expression softening momentarily. I watched him taking in these glimpses of my past, my private world, and felt unexpectedly vulnerable.
"I need a shower," I said, breaking the silence. Water pooled beneath me on the polished concrete floor. "Guest bathroom is down the hall if you want to clean up."
Devon nodded, his eyes returning to mine. "Go ahead."
In the sanctuary of my bathroom, I finally let the tears come. The hot water washed away the rain and the fear, but not the memory of almost drowning in my car. I leaned against the tile wall, allowing myself this moment of weakness where no one could see. When the water began to cool, I stepped out, wrapped in my softest robe, and took several deep breaths to compose myself.
I found Devon standing in my living room, still in his wet clothes, studying a photograph of my mother and me at the beach house. His shirt clung to his broad shoulders, dark hair still dripping onto his collar. He turned at the sound of my footsteps, his eyes taking in my appearance with an intensity that made me self-conscious.
"You should have told me Preston threatened you before," he said, voice low and even.
I sighed, noticing the water still dripping from his hair down his neck. "You should change before you catch pneumonia."
Something flickered in his eyes—surprise at my concern. "Marcus is handling the police and lawyers. They'll need your formal statement."
"Wait here," I said, heading to my bedroom. I returned with a Brooks Brothers box, still wrapped in its original packaging. "This should fit you."
Devon's eyes narrowed as he took the box, his fingers brushing mine. "Whose is this?" His voice had dropped an octave, suddenly wary.
"It's... nothing special," I attempted nonchalance, but my eyes darted away too quickly.
He set the box down on my sofa, then gripped my wrist, backing me against the wall. His touch was firm but not painful, his eyes searching mine. "Don't lie to me, Aria."
The intensity in his gaze made my heart beat faster. I swallowed hard. "Fine. I bought it for Ethan's birthday three months ago. We were still together then."
Devon's expression darkened, his eyes cooling to steel gray. "I don't like other men's things in your home." His voice was dangerously quiet, each word precise. "It makes things feel... contaminated."
Before I could respond, he released my wrist and grabbed the box, striding to my kitchen. I watched, stunned, as he dropped it unceremoniously into the trash. The action was deliberate, possessive, invasive of my space. I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died in my throat as Devon returned to where I stood.
He backed me against the wall again, one hand coming to rest beside my head, the other tilting my chin up. His eyes held mine, searching, before he pressed his lips against mine with unmistakable intent. His kiss was demanding, claiming, and I responded despite myself, my hands moving to his damp shirt, feeling the warmth of him through the wet fabric.
The sudden ring of my phone shattered the moment. Devon pulled away, his breathing uneven as I answered, my hand trembling slightly.
"Ms. Harper? Detective Mong here. We need you to come to the precinct to formally identify Preston Scott."
Before I could reply, Devon took the phone from my hand, his fingers warm against mine. "We'll be there shortly," he said, then hung up.
"We?" I challenged, finding my voice. "I can go by myself. This is my problem."
Devon's eyes hardened. "After you nearly got killed? Don't be naive."
His assistant arrived within minutes with a fresh suit for him, and I changed into dry clothes, watching with unease as Devon moved through my space with the confidence of someone who belonged there. He examined my bookshelves, touched the spines of several volumes, picked up a small sculpture from my coffee table—all while I stood frozen, witnessing this invasion of my private world.
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At the police station, I sat in the interview room with Devon standing behind my chair. Through the glass, I could see Preston in the next room, handcuffed and glaring. My body tensed involuntarily, and Devon's hand immediately came to rest on my shoulder, warm and steady. The simple touch grounded me, and I found myself leaning back slightly into his protection.
Detective Mong walked me through the process, recording my statement and showing me footage from the building's security cameras. Devon's attorney ensured every procedure was followed correctly, dropping subtle hints about criminal and civil charges against Preston.
I noticed how the entire precinct treated Devon with deference—officers straightened when he walked by, the detective's tone shifted to respectful. His influence extended far beyond what I'd imagined, and I wondered again about the man standing behind me, his hand still resting possessively on my shoulder.
When I signed my statement, my hand trembled slightly. Devon leaned forward from behind, his chest brushing my back as his hand covered mine to steady it. The gesture was intimate, proprietary. I felt the detective's eyes shift away uncomfortably, and a flush crept up my neck.
Back in Devon's car, I finally allowed my shoulders to relax, sinking into the leather seat. "I still don't understand why Preston hates me so much."
Devon kept his eyes on the road, wipers clearing the still-falling rain. "I had him fired with a few words. His wife filed for divorce and took the kids back to her mother's. He blamed you."
I stared at him, processing the casual way he described destroying someone's life. "All because of that confrontation at his restaurant? Don't you think that was... excessive?"
"He's been causing you far more trouble than you know." Devon's voice was cool, matter-of-fact. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "No one threatens what's mine."
The possessive statement hung in the air between us. I shifted in my seat, uneasy with how it made me feel.
"My Porsche is totaled, isn't it? I hope insurance covers it."
Devon's expression softened slightly. "Don't worry about the insurance. If it doesn't cover everything, I'll take care of the difference."
"No," I shook my head firmly. "I don't need your money. I'll figure it out myself."
Devon studied me at a red light, his gray eyes searching. "Are you short on funds?"
"Compared to you, I'm practically destitute," I replied honestly, meeting his gaze. "But I still have my pride."