Chapter 220
Aria's POV
"Thank you for stopping by, Ms. Stevens," I said, keeping my voice even. "But I don't need anything. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
Her smile froze for a moment, a flash of displeasure crossing her features before she recovered her composure. "Devon's mother insisted I check on you. She's very concerned about your condition."
She trailed her fingers across the balcony table, touching Devon's paperweight and lighter with a familiarity that stirred something uncomfortable in my chest. "She's always stubborn and insists on doing things her own way. Dev is just like her in this regard," she said, emphasizing the nickname.
I registered her deliberate use of the intimate form of his name, noting how she watched for my reaction as I poured myself a glass of water. My shoulder throbbed with the movement, but I kept my face expressionless.
"Would you care for something to drink?" I asked, my tone neutral.
She stepped closer, invading my personal space. "Aren't you the least bit curious about Dev and me? About our history?"
I met her gaze directly. "Not curious. If you've come to discuss that with me, Ms. Stevens, I'm not particularly interested."
Her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her designer purse. "Eleanor would like you to know that you should be more sensible about your position," she said, her voice hardening. "Devon's marriage to the Stevensens is practically settled. If you insist on clinging to him, things could become quite unpleasant for you."
The pain in my shoulder intensified suddenly, and I felt blood drain from my face. Despite this, I kept my eyes steady on hers, refusing to reveal weakness.
"If Devon wishes me to leave, I'll go immediately," I said calmly. "You don't need to convince me separately. Without Devon's permission, I wouldn't dare leave on my own."
I turned and walked toward the bookshelf, signaling my desire to end our conversation. My heart beat faster than I wanted to admit, but I would not give her the satisfaction of seeing me unsettled.
Mandy followed me inside, clearly unwilling to relinquish her mission. "Devon left so suddenly to meet a woman who's very important to him," she said, her voice laced with insinuation.
My mind flashed to Devon's departure—the gentle press of his lips against my forehead, his fingers lingering against mine slightly longer than necessary. My hand trembled slightly as I reached for a book on the shelf, but I kept my expression carefully neutral.
"Ms. Stevens, are you always this talkative?" I asked, turning to face her. "Very often, when people say too much, they just end up sounding foolish."
Her elegant posture stiffened instantly, the polished facade cracking to reveal something harder and colder beneath. She stared at me with naked contempt before smoothing her expression and turning to leave without another word.
After the elevator doors closed behind her, I sank onto the couch, switching on the television without really watching it. My thoughts circled relentlessly around what she'd said. Who was this "important woman" Devon had gone to see? Why hadn't he mentioned her? I tried to convince myself that it didn't matter, that our arrangement was purely transactional, yet the question persisted.
Emily, Devon's housekeeper, brought in a tray with tea and my medication. "Mr. Kane instructed me to remind you about your medication schedule," she said quietly.
"Did Mr. Kane mention when he'd be back?" I asked, trying to sound casual despite the tightness in my chest.
"He didn't specify, Ms. Harper," she replied. "Just that I should attend to your needs during his absence."
I reached for my phone and called Devon, but the call went straight to voicemail. Something cold settled in my stomach as I set the phone down.
An hour later, my phone rang. Ryan's name appeared on the screen.
"Aria, I found something about Scarlett," he said, his voice urgent. "She's been spotted at Crystal Lounge in Miami. South Beach area."
I sat up straighter, ignoring the sharp pain in my shoulder. "When?"
"Last night. I've got the exact address." He paused. "But Aria, that place isn't exactly safe. You shouldn't go alone."
I glanced down at my bandaged shoulder, then at the silent phone that held no messages from Devon. "Thank you, Ryan. I'll be careful."
After ending the call, I moved to the guest room where my belongings were stored. Each movement sent pain radiating from my wound as I carefully packed a small overnight bag. The medication had taken the edge off, but every reach and turn served as a reminder of what had happened on the yacht.
Emily appeared in the doorway, concern evident in her expression. "Ms. Harper, are you leaving? Mr. Kane specifically instructed—"
"My friend has an emergency," I interrupted, forcing a reassuring smile despite the pain. "I need to help her. I'll be back soon."
As I zipped my bag closed, I knew I was taking a risk—with my health, with my arrangement with Devon, perhaps with something I wasn't ready to name. But if there was a chance to discover what Scarlett was doing in Miami, I had to take it. Whatever "important woman" occupied Devon's time now, I had my own priorities.
I took one last look at my silent phone before slipping it into my purse, my decision made.
---
The airport terminal buzzed with the usual chaos of travelers rushing to gates, families saying goodbyes, and business people glued to their phones. I checked mine for the dozenth time as I waited at the gate for my flight to Miami. Still nothing from Devon.
I sighed, slipping the phone back into my purse. The screen's emptiness left a hollow feeling in my chest. I had expected angry calls, demands for explanation, maybe even his security team tracking me down. The complete radio silence felt worse somehow—like I wasn't even worth the effort of his anger.
"Now boarding zones one and two for flight 1857 to Miami," the gate agent announced.
As I moved toward the boarding line, a tall man in dark sunglasses brushed past me, his shoulder colliding with my wounded one. White-hot pain shot through me, stealing my breath and nearly sending me to my knees.
"Sorry," he muttered, not even breaking stride.
I steadied myself against the wall, breathing through gritted teeth until the worst of the pain subsided. My fingers trembled as they hovered protectively over the wound from the yacht incident. It was still far from healed, and the collision had torn at the barely-closed skin beneath my bandage.
Once on the plane, I settled into my first-class seat and accepted a glass of water from the flight attendant, swallowing one of the painkillers the doctor had prescribed. The tension in my jaw slowly relaxed as the medication began to work. As passengers continued boarding, I spotted him—the sunglasses man—settling into a seat several rows behind me. Throughout the flight, I caught him glancing in my direction multiple times. My stomach tightened each time our eyes met, and I quickly looked away.
Just coincidence, I told myself. But the cold prickle along my spine suggested otherwise.