Chapter 200
Aria's POV
The morning light filtered through Devon's floor-to-ceiling windows, gently pulling me from sleep. I reached across the bed, finding only cool sheets where Devon's warmth should have been. He'd already left. A small pang of disappointment flickered in my chest, though I quickly pushed it away. I shouldn't expect anything more.
I winced as I sat up, my body tender from last night's activities. My throat felt raw, and when I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I couldn't help but notice the constellation of marks decorating my neck and collarbone. Devon had been particularly... thorough. I traced one mark with my fingertip, memories of the previous night sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Anna's name flashed on the screen.
"Ms. Harper, I'm sorry to disturb you so early, but there's a situation at Harper Group," she said, her voice tense. "Your father has canceled the nine o'clock meeting and instructed security not to allow you into the conference room."
I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. The initial shock quickly gave way to a familiar burning anger that settled low in my stomach. "Of course he did," I replied, my voice steady despite the rage building inside me.
"Everyone's confused. The employees are already arriving, and—"
"Tell everyone to meet at the coffee shop across the street from the building," I interrupted, already moving toward the closet where I'd hung a spare outfit. "The one with the blue awning. We'll hold the meeting there."
"But what about—"
"My father can sit alone in his empty conference room." My voice hardened, the words coming out with icy precision. I gripped the phone tighter, surprising myself with the intensity of my resolve. "And Anna? This is the last time William Harper interferes with my work. I'm done playing his games."
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The coffee shop wasn't ideal for a business meeting, but the investors seemed amused by the improvisation rather than put off. I kept my presentation concise, focusing on the digital marketing strategies that had secured the Reed Group contract. Throughout the meeting, I felt the tension radiating from the attendees—loyalty to William battling with recognition of my results.
I watched their faces carefully, noting the shifting expressions, the sideways glances. Some still saw me as William's rebellious daughter, while others were beginning to see me as a force in my own right. The power balance was shifting, however slightly.
When the last investor filed out, Anna approached, clutching her tablet to her chest.
"That went better than expected," she said cautiously.
"People follow success, Anna." I gathered my materials, feeling a small glow of satisfaction beneath my professional demeanor. "They're still uncomfortable with the situation, but they can't argue with the numbers."
"What are you going to do about your father?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.
I paused, choosing my words carefully. The question brought a wave of conflicting emotions—anger, hurt, determination, and beneath it all, a sliver of the little girl who still wanted her father's love. I pushed that weakness down. "Let's just say I'm exploring my options."
I found a quiet corner of the coffee shop and pulled out my phone. My fingers hovered over Devon's name for a moment before I began typing:
"Need security detail today. Going to speak with Marianne Blake at the hospital about my father's meetings with the Blakes. How many men can you spare?"
I stared at the message, wondering if I was crossing another line in our complicated relationship. Was I using him again? The thought made me uncomfortable, but I pressed send anyway. I needed his resources, and after last night... well, things between us were far beyond business now, weren't they?
His response came less than a minute later: "How many do you need?"
No questions about why. No attempt to dissuade me. Just that simple question. Something warm unfurled in my chest that I didn't want to examine too closely.
"Enough to make an impression. Ten would be ideal. Professional-looking but intimidating."
Three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. "Done. Marcus will call you with details. Be careful, Aria."
Those last two words shouldn't have affected me the way they did. I read them twice before slipping my phone back into my purse, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach.
My phone vibrated with an incoming call. Marcus. I stepped away from Anna to answer.
"Mr. Kane approved your request," Marcus said without preamble.
My heart rate increased slightly at what I was about to do. "I need them within the hour. Men who look capable of handling themselves, but in suits—nothing too obvious."
"May I ask why you need this level of security?"
"I'm paying Marianne Blake a visit at the hospital. According to Anna, she's been there since yesterday, watching over Ethan."
Marcus paused. "Mr. Kane asked me to remind you to be careful."
"I'm not planning anything reckless," I said, even as I felt a cold determination settling in my bones. "Just a conversation."
"Of course, Ms. Harper." His tone made it clear he didn't believe me. "The men will meet you outside Harper Tower in forty-five minutes."
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Mount Sinai Hospital's private wing exuded quiet luxury. The security Devon provided flanked me as I walked down the corridor, drawing curious glances from the medical staff. I'd instructed half to remain in the hallway while the others accompanied me into Ethan's room.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I approached the door, though my face remained a careful mask of composure. I wasn't entirely sure what I would feel seeing Ethan again—hatred, satisfaction, indifference? I took a steadying breath and pushed the door open.
I wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted me. Ethan Blake—once the golden boy of New York fashion, who stood tall and confident on red carpets—lay pale against white sheets. Tubes and monitors surrounded him. His eyes were open, though, and they widened with recognition when I entered.
"Aria," he croaked, voice barely audible.
Something shifted inside me at the sight of him so diminished. Not pity—no, I was far beyond that—but a strange, cold satisfaction that I immediately recognized and didn't try to suppress. The man who had betrayed me, who had slept with my stepsister while planning our wedding, now looked at me with naked fear in his eyes.
"Hello, Ethan." I kept my voice neutral as I approached his bed, my heels clicking deliberately on the polished floor. The security men positioned themselves by the door, their presence a silent threat.
"What... what are you doing here?" His fingers twitched against the blanket, unable to do more. A muscle in his jaw jumped, his attempt at maintaining dignity undermined by the panic in his eyes.
"I came to see your condition for myself." I studied the machines monitoring his vital signs, taking my time before looking back at him. "The doctors say you might never walk again. A shame."
His face contorted with rage, color flooding his previously pale cheeks. "This is your fault. You and Kane—" His voice shook, not with weakness but with a fury so intense I could almost feel its heat.
"Careful, Ethan," I warned softly, holding his gaze steadily. "Accusations without evidence are slander. And you've already lost so much." I didn't raise my voice, didn't need to. The power dynamic between us had irrevocably changed.
His breathing quickened, the heart monitor beeping more rapidly, betraying his emotional state. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "Get out," he hissed, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth. "Get out before I call security."
I laughed, genuinely amused by his empty threat. The sound seemed to unnerve him even more than my presence. "Look around, Ethan. I brought my own security." I leaned closer, watching his pupils dilate with fear. "And they answer to Devon Kane, not the Blake family. Not anymore."
The color drained from his face as rapidly as it had appeared. His lips parted but no sound came out. I felt a rush of something potent—not quite pleasure, but the satisfaction of finally having the upper hand. I straightened, smoothing my skirt with deliberate slowness.
"Where's your mother?" I asked. "I was told Marianne hasn't left your side."