Chapter 22
Aria’s POV
Sunlight streamed through the partially opened curtains, slicing across my face and pulling me from a deep, dreamless sleep. I blinked, disoriented, before recognizing the luxurious suite at The Pinnacle. I was still fully dressed in yesterday's clothes, though someone—Devon—had removed my shoes and tucked me under the covers.
The bathroom door opened, and Devon emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist. Water droplets clung to his chest and shoulders, his dark hair damp and tousled. Despite having seen him like this before, the sight still made my breath catch.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his jaw was set in a hard line. He looked like he hadn't slept well, despite his claims that he only found rest when I was beside him.
"You were quite the disappointing companion last night," he said, his voice flat as he moved to the closet. "Passing out before I even arrived."
I sat up slowly, my head throbbing slightly from the whiskey I'd consumed. "I wasn't feeling well," I said, running a hand through my tangled hair. "Did you... did we...?"
Devon gave me a cold look as he pulled clothes from the closet. "No, Ms. Harper, we did not. I have standards about consent, despite what you might think of me." He disappeared back into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.
I looked down at myself, still fully clothed in yesterday's outfit, and felt a confusing mix of relief and disappointment. I checked my phone—it was just past 8 AM. I needed to get back to my father's house, change, and head to the office.
By the time Devon emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through emails on my phone.
"I have meetings all morning," he said, not looking at me as he gathered his watch and wallet from the nightstand. "There's breakfast in the dining area if you want it." Without waiting for a response, he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.
I sat there for a long moment, staring at the closed door. Whatever had prompted Devon to summon me here last night, it clearly hadn't been for the reasons outlined in our contract. And now, he seemed almost angry that nothing had happened between us.
Men, I thought with exasperation, were impossible to understand.
---
I let myself in with my key, hoping to slip upstairs to my old room without encountering anyone. No such luck.
"Aria," Victoria's voice came from the sitting room, cool and controlled as always. "How nice of you to finally grace us with your presence."
I turned to see my stepmother seated on one of the antique French sofas, a cup of tea in her manicured hand. She was already dressed for the day in a pale blue Chanel suit, her blonde hair swept into a perfect chignon.
"Good morning, Victoria," I replied, my voice neutral. "I'm just here to change clothes."
"Your father was quite concerned when you didn't come home last night," she said, setting her teacup down with a delicate clink. "It's becoming quite a pattern with you, isn't it? These unexplained absences, staying out all night..." She sighed dramatically. "It's not good for the family's image, Aria. People talk."
A surge of anger rose in my chest. The photo of her and my father from years ago flashed in my mind again.
"Oh, I'm sure they do," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Just like they talked when you married my father mere months after my mother's death. That didn't seem to concern you then."
Victoria's perfect composure slipped for just a moment, her eyes widening slightly before she regained control. "That was different. Your father—"
"My father needed someone to warm his bed, and you were conveniently available," I cut in, my voice sharp. "Tell me, Victoria, do you think New York society hasn't been laughing at the Harper name ever since you wormed your way into it? The PR director marrying the boss after his wife's tragic death? It's practically a cliché."
Victoria stood, her face flushing with anger. "How dare you speak to me like that in my own home?"
"Your home?" I laughed, the sound brittle. "This was my mother's home. You're just occupying it." I started toward the stairs, then paused, turning back to her with a cold smile. "And Victoria? I'd be careful about throwing stones when it comes to family image. You never know what secrets might come to light."
I didn't wait for her response, climbing the stairs with deliberate slowness, feeling her eyes boring into my back. In my room, I quickly changed into fresh clothes, my hands shaking slightly. The confrontation had been satisfying, but dangerous. If Victoria suspected I knew something about her past with my father, she might become even more of a threat.
---
The Brew House café in SoHo was busy with the late morning crowd of freelancers and creative types when I arrived. Ryan was already there, his tall frame sprawled casually in a chair at a corner table. He stood as I approached, greeting me with his trademark easy smile.
"Aria," he said, giving me a quick hug. "Twice in one week—I'm feeling special."
I smiled despite myself. Ryan had a way of lightening any mood, one of the reasons he'd been a staple at parties throughout our college years. We'd grown up in neighboring townhouses on the Upper East Side, our families friendly but not close. Unlike many of our peers, Ryan had never treated me differently after my mother died and Victoria moved in.
"Thanks for meeting me on such short notice," I said, sitting across from him.
Ryan shrugged. "Any excuse to see New York's most beautiful marketing genius." His eyes twinkled. "And now that you've finally dumped Ethan's sorry ass, maybe I can finally ask you out properly."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help smiling. "Always the flirt, Ryan."
"Not flirting if it's true," he countered, leaning forward. "Half the guys in our circle have been waiting for you to realize Ethan was a waste of your time." He studied my face, his expression turning more serious. "But something tells me this isn't a social call. What's up, Aria?"
I took a deep breath. "I need a recommendation for a private investigator. Someone discreet, thorough, and not easily intimidated."
Ryan's eyebrows shot up. "Planning to catch Ethan in another compromising position? Because I think you already have enough evidence there."
I shook my head. "It's not about Ethan. It's... something else. Something personal."
Ryan leaned back, studying me with newfound interest. "This sounds serious."
"It is," I admitted, not wanting to reveal too much, even to Ryan. "Can you help me?"
He nodded slowly. "I know someone. Old family friend who transitioned from NYPD to private work. Very discreet, very thorough." He pulled out his phone. "I'll text you his information."
"Thank you," I said, relief flooding through me.
Ryan put his phone away and took a sip of his coffee. "Speaking of Ethan, though... he's been quite the sad sack on Instagram lately. All moody black and white photos and cryptic quotes about regret and second chances." He made a face. "It's pathetic, really."