Chapter 109
Aria's POV
"It seems you two were talking about me."
Devon's voice made both Sophia and me freeze. I felt heat crawl up my neck, remembering Sophia's warning about "intimate activities" and my casual dismissal. Devon leaned against the doorframe, his gray eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin warm. Behind his composed exterior, I noticed the dark circles under his eyes had deepened, suggesting his sleep troubles had returned in my absence.
"You caught me," I admitted, trying to sound light while my heart picked up pace. "How long were you standing there?"
"Long enough." A ghost of a smile touched his lips before vanishing. His gaze lingered on my face a moment longer than necessary. "Preston Scott's family wants to meet with you about a settlement. They're waiting at the police station."
I raised my eyebrows, surprised not by the meeting but by Devon's personal involvement. "And you're personally delivering this message because...?"
"They contacted me." His gaze swept over the half-packed bag on my bed, then returned to my face with a flicker of concern he quickly masked. "I figured you'd want to know immediately."
I glanced down at my hospital gown, then at the clothes Sophia had brought. My wrist throbbed beneath its cast, and standing too quickly had sent a dull ache through my ribcage. I felt vulnerable, unprepared.
"I just got discharged," I said, studying the subtle tension in his jaw. "I'm not exactly in peak condition for a confrontation."
Devon nodded once, already turning to leave. Then I had a thought.
"Would you come with me?" The words escaped before I could analyze them. I didn't want to examine why his presence felt necessary. "As moral support?"
Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, followed by what looked almost like satisfaction—before he nodded. "I'll wait outside while you get ready."
He settled in a corner chair, attention immediately drawn to his phone. Though his face remained impassive, I noticed how his eyes occasionally glanced up to check on my progress. I exchanged a meaningful look with Sophia, who helped me dress more quickly.
Twenty minutes later, we were in Devon's Aston Martin, gliding through Manhattan traffic. The silence between us felt weighted. I was acutely aware of his hands on the steering wheel, the controlled rhythm of his breathing.
"Preston's wife Claudia will be there," Devon finally said, his eyes never leaving the road. "She's quite influential in Boston society circles."
I turned toward him. "Is that supposed to intimidate me?"
His mouth quirked slightly. "If you're scared, you can always hide behind me."
Something fluttered in my chest at his words—not fear, but an unfamiliar warmth at the offer of protection. I straightened my shoulders. "I'm not that fragile, Mr. Kane."
Devon's gaze dropped deliberately to my bandaged wrist before returning to the road. "When it comes to self-torture, you're actually quite brave."
His observation hit uncomfortably close to home. I turned toward the window, watching Manhattan's skyline slide past, feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with my injuries.
When we arrived, a well-dressed middle-aged woman approached us immediately. Her makeup was flawless, but couldn't hide the anxiety in her eyes. Before I could react, she dropped to her knees in front of me.
"Miss Harper, please forgive my husband," she pleaded, tears streaking her cheeks. "For the sake of my son's future..."
Devon stepped forward, positioning himself slightly in front of me. I noticed his shoulders tense, his stance protective. His voice, when he spoke, carried a cold authority that brooked no argument.
"Mrs. Scott, this isn't the place for theatrics."
I placed my hand gently on Devon's arm, stepping forward. My decision was already made, and I wouldn't hide behind him, no matter how tempting.
Claudia glanced at Devon before turning her attention back to me. "My son is about to enter law school. This will ruin his prospects. My husband is willing to compensate for all damages if you'll just provide a letter of forgiveness."
I took a deep breath, feeling Devon's hand rest lightly against my lower back, his touch both supportive and possessive. I spoke clearly, maintaining direct eye contact with Claudia.
"Mrs. Scott, men should face the consequences of their actions. I'm willing to discuss this reasonably, but I won't be manipulated by emotional appeals."
I kept my voice steady, my expression resolute. "You've mistaken me for someone who carries that particular burden of guilt. I don't."
Under Devon's unwavering stare, Claudia finally stood, smoothing her skirt with trembling hands. She agreed to continue our discussion inside, her posture defeated.
As we approached the entrance, I limped noticeably, each step sending pain through my healing body. Without warning, Devon bent and lifted me into his arms. His movements were gentle despite their decisiveness.
"What are you doing?" I gasped, startled by the sudden contact. His arms felt secure around me, his chest solid against my side.
"Mmm, that sound is quite appealing," he murmured against my ear, his breath warm. "You should try it in bed sometime."
Heat flooded my face at the intimate suggestion. "Put me down," I whispered urgently, though my arms had already instinctively wrapped around his neck. "We're in public."
Devon ignored my protest, carrying me through the station lobby. I felt officers' curious glances. Mortified yet strangely content, I buried my face against his shoulder, breathing in his scent—expensive cologne layered over something uniquely him that I'd grown to recognize even with my eyes closed.
In the mediation room, Claudia renewed her plea, her voice pitched to convey concern. "Miss Harper, we're prepared to offer two hundred thousand dollars in compensation if you'll sign a letter of forgiveness."
I straightened in my chair, my expression composed. "Mrs. Scott," I replied evenly, "your husband isn't my relative. Why should I forgive him? He drove drunk, hit my car, and tried to flee. This isn't about money."
Devon sat beside me, watching. From the corner of my eye, I caught his subtle nod of approval. I felt a small surge of confidence as I detailed my losses with precision: my Porsche worth nearly one hundred thousand, plus medical expenses and emotional damages.
"I'm only asking for what I'm owed—one hundred thousand is sufficient," I stated firmly, my voice clear and business-like. "But I won't provide a letter of forgiveness. That's not negotiable."
Claudia attempted persuasion once more, her voice taking on a desperate edge. I maintained my position, expression unwavering, until finally I rose to leave, my movements deliberate despite my injuries.
"If these terms don't satisfy you, you can contact my lawyer."
As I turned away, I caught Devon studying me. His expression had shifted from the cool assessment I was accustomed to seeing in business settings to something deeper—admiration mixed with dawning understanding. For the first time since I'd met him, I felt I'd earned a respect from Devon that transcended our arrangement, and the realization sent an unexpected warmth through my chest.