Chapter 257
Aria’s POV
"I wasn't—" The denial stuck in my throat. "I really did have plans with Sophia."
"Did you?" Devon's gray eyes bored into mine. "Because from where I stood, she had no idea about any plans. And tonight you ran to that bathroom like you were about to throw up your guts."
My heart hammered. I couldn't tell him. Not about the pregnancy, not about the clinic I'd almost visited. This secret was mine, at least until I figured out what it meant. Until I decided if this baby would be my greatest weakness or my only real connection to him.
I shifted closer, letting my hand drift to his collar. "I'm fine, Devon. Really."
"Don't." His fingers caught my wrist, firm but not painful. "Don't try to distract me."
He stood abruptly, pacing to the window and back. The city sprawled below us, a million lights that somehow made his penthouse feel more isolated.
"Sophia clearly had no idea about any meeting," he said, his voice clipped. "And tonight you ran to the bathroom like—" He stopped, jaw tight. "What makes you think I'm easy to fool, Aria?"
"I don't—"
"I've built an empire on reading people's lies." He stopped at the foot of the bed, looking down at me with an expression caught between fury and something that might have been hurt. "Don't insult my intelligence."
Heat pricked behind my eyes. I blinked it back, refusing to let him see me cry. "If you already think I'm lying, why bother asking?"
His expression flickered—softened for just a second—before the cold mask slammed back into place. "Because I want to hear the truth from you. Not find it out myself."
"There's nothing to tell!" The words came out too loud, too desperate. "Why can't you just trust me?"
"Trust?" He laughed, bitter and sharp. "You're asking me for trust while lying to my face?"
The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything unsaid. My hand drifted to my stomach, hidden beneath the comforter.
I'm protecting both of us, I wanted to say. I'm protecting this tiny life that shouldn't exist.
Instead, I lifted my chin. "You're the smartest person I know, Devon. The most powerful. If you really think I'm hiding something, I'm sure you'll find out."
He stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in those gray depths. When he spoke again, his voice was low, dangerous.
"If I find out you're lying to me, Aria..."
"Then I'll cut out my own tongue." The words came out defiant, reckless. "Happy?"
Devon didn't answer. He turned and walked out, the door closing behind him with enough force to make me flinch.
I collapsed back against the pillows, tears finally spilling hot down my cheeks. My hand pressed against my lower abdomen, where our child—his child—was growing.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to the empty room, to the tiny cluster of cells that would become a person. "I'm sorry I can't be stronger."
---
The next hours crawled by. I lay in Devon's bed, listening to the sounds of him working in his study—keyboard clicks, low phone conversations that filtered through the walls. Each sound was a reminder that he was close, that he was thinking, analyzing, putting pieces together.
What will he do when he finds out?
The thought circled my mind like a shark. Would he demand I get rid of it? Would he see it as leverage, a way to control me more completely? Or worse—would he simply walk away, cutting me loose like he'd cut loose every other complication in his carefully ordered life?
I touched my lips, remembering my stupid threat. Cut out my own tongue. As if I could joke my way out of the biggest secret of my life.
If my mother were alive, what would she tell me? Elizabeth Harper had been strong, graceful, unshakeable until Victoria poisoned her from within. Would she tell me to run? To fight? To choose the baby over everything else?
At three AM, the study light finally clicked off. I heard Devon's footsteps in the hallway, heard them pause outside my door. My breath caught.
Knock. Please knock.
But he didn't. After an endless moment, his footsteps continued to the master bedroom. A door closed.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing sleep to come, but my mind kept spinning, spinning, spinning until exhaustion finally dragged me under.
---
Morning came too soon. I woke to sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows and Devon's side of the bed empty, sheets cold.
He'd left without waking me.
I should have felt relieved. Instead, disappointment sat heavy in my chest as I dressed in yesterday's clothes and made my way to Harper Group's offices.
Work. I could lose myself in work. I could pretend everything was normal, that I wasn't carrying the secret that could destroy everything we'd built together.
But sitting at my desk, staring at the "New Product Line Proposal" document on my screen, the words blurred into meaningless shapes. All I could think about was the baby.
Six weeks. At six weeks, the heart starts beating.
My hand drifted to my stomach. "If I tell him," I whispered, "will he want you? Or will he think I trapped him?"
Devon's words echoed in my memory: "I can only sleep when you're beside me."
Maybe that meant something. Maybe if I told him about the pregnancy, he'd see it as a reason to keep me close, not push me away. Maybe—
Don't be stupid. My rational mind cut through the wishful thinking. He'll think you're trying to trap him. Eleanor Kane will make sure of that.
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands, opened a private browser, typed: "abortion clinics manhattan discreet."
The results loaded. Professional websites promising privacy, compassion, same-day appointments.
My finger hovered over the "Schedule Consultation" button.
The phone rang.
I nearly dropped it. The number wasn't saved, but I recognized it—I'd seen it flash across Devon's screen enough times to know.
Eleanor Kane.
My thumb hit "accept" before I could think better of it.
"Hello?"
"Miss Harper." Her voice was crisp, cold, unmistakable. "We need to talk."
Every muscle in my body went tight. "About what, Mrs. Kane?"
"About my son. About your... arrangement." A pause, weighted with meaning. "I'm downstairs."
I crossed to the window. Three floors below, a black Rolls-Royce idled at the curb. As I watched, the rear window lowered, and I caught a glimpse of silver hair, a sharp profile.
"I'm working right now," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "This isn't a good time."
"Then I suppose I'll have to come up." Eleanor's tone could have frozen the Hudson. "I'm sure you wouldn't want your employees overhearing certain... indelicate details about your relationship with my son."
My free hand dropped to my stomach, protective instinct surging through me.
Did she know?
"Five minutes, Miss Harper. If you don't come down, I'll send my driver to escort you. I'm sure that would make quite a scene."
The line went dead.
I stood frozen, staring at my reflection in the window. Pale face. Dark circles under my eyes. And somewhere beneath my ribs, my heart racing with a fear I couldn't name.
Eleanor Kane was downstairs, demanding a meeting.
And I was carrying her grandchild.
God help me.