Chapter 283
Aria's POV
The black Aston Martin roared away from the Kane estate, gravel crunching beneath the tires as Devon accelerated down the winding driveway.
Inside the car, silence pressed down like a physical weight.
I stole a glance at Devon. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His breathing came in sharp, ragged bursts, chest heaving beneath the tailored shirt that now bore traces of dust and tension. Yet his face held an eerie calm—the hollow stillness that follows a violent storm.
I wanted to say something, anything, but words felt inadequate. My mind kept replaying the scene—Devon's voice when he spoke of Connor setting the fire, of Evelyn losing her ability to walk, of the family's cold indifference.
I finally understood the source of that profound loneliness in his eyes.
It wasn't the detachment of a privileged son born into wealth. It was the defense mechanism of someone betrayed by those who should have protected him most.
"Devon..." I ventured softly.
"Don't." His voice came out raw, barely controlled. "Please. Not now."
I bit my lip and nodded. Slowly, I reached out, hesitantly placing my hand over his where it rested on the gear shift.
Devon's body went rigid for a moment. But he didn't pull away. After several seconds, he turned his palm upward, threading his fingers through mine and gripping tight.
The car merged onto the highway, autumn scenery blurring past the windows. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass, warming our joined hands with surprising gentleness.
I studied his profile—the taut line of his jaw, the compressed set of his lips, the barely perceptible tremor of his eyelashes. My heart clenched as if someone had wrapped a fist around it.
He'd been carrying this alone all this time. From his teens until now. Facing the family's indifference alone. Bearing the guilt over Evelyn alone. Fighting his battles in the business world alone...
And I, until today, had only glimpsed the surface of the wounds beneath his armor.
---
By the time we reached the Manhattan apartment, dusk had settled over the city.
Devon parked the car but didn't immediately exit. Instead, he leaned back against the driver's door, tilting his head to stare at the concrete ceiling of the underground garage, drawing deep breaths.
I opened my own door and walked around to his side.
"Devon," I said quietly.
His eyes remained closed. "Give me a minute."
I didn't speak, just stood beside him. I could hear him struggling to regulate his breathing, could feel the emotions churning beneath his controlled exterior, ready to detonate.
One minute passed.
Devon opened his eyes. The rims were slightly red. He looked at me and forced his mouth into what might have been meant as a smile. "Let's go up."
In the elevator, neither of us spoke. I noticed Devon staring at our reflection in the polished doors, his gaze distant and vacant.
"Ding."
The elevator opened. Devon stepped out, and I followed.
Once inside the apartment, Devon walked directly to the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning his back to me. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the sofa, then stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders drawn tight with tension.
"Devon..." I approached slowly.
"Aria." He spoke suddenly, still facing away, his voice trembling noticeably. "Are you... afraid of me?"
I froze. "What?"
Devon turned gradually. His eyes had grown redder, gray irises swimming with unshed tears he refused to let fall.
"Today..." His voice roughened. "I held a gun on my own father. I threatened the family butler. I said those... those things..." He inhaled sharply. "Do you think I'm terrifying? Do you regret coming with me?"
My heart twisted painfully.
I finally understood—this man who commanded respect in boardrooms, who could calmly interrogate prisoners and discharge a weapon without hesitation, was worried I would fear him. Leave him.
"Why would I be afraid of you?" My voice caught slightly. "Because you have such a painful past?"
Devon looked away, unwilling to let me see the moisture in his eyes. "It's not just pain... it's... guilt. It's hate. It's..." He paused for a long moment. "I don't know how to describe it."
"Then don't describe it." I stepped directly in front of him, forcing him to meet my gaze. "Devon, you should have told me sooner."
"Told you what?" Devon's laugh was bitter. "That my brother tried to kill me? That my family abandoned someone who saved my life for the sake of their reputation? That I'm a complete failure who couldn't even protect a ten-year-old girl?"
"How old were you then?" I challenged.
Devon blinked. "...Fifteen."
"A fifteen-year-old child." I gripped his hands. "Devon, it wasn't your fault. It was their fault. Connor's fault. Your parents' fault. The entire Kane family's fault—but not yours."
Devon's tears finally broke free. He spun away, unwilling to let me witness his breakdown, but his shaking shoulders betrayed everything.
"When Evelyn lost her legs..." His words came in fragments. "I watched her in that hospital, and she was still trying to comfort "me", saying 'It's okay, Devon, at least you're safe.'" His voice cracked. "She was only ten... She could have been an exceptional ballet dancer. She could have had a brilliant future... But because of me, she lost everything."
"And my family..." Devon used the back of his hand to swipe at his face. "They gave her money, then sent her away. As if... as if they were disposing of an inconvenient object. My mother said 'This is for her own good, staying with the Kanes would only make her more miserable.' My father said 'We've done all we can, this is the best arrangement.'"
He turned back, eyes filled with shattered anguish. "And I could do nothing. I was fifteen, with no money, no power, didn't even dare to resist—because I was afraid they'd take back even that pittance of compensation for Evelyn."
My own tears spilled over. I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms tightly around him.
Devon's body went stiff for one second. Then he crumpled, burying his face against my shoulder. His frame shook with suppressed sobs from deep in his throat.
"I failed her..." he choked out. "For twenty years, I've used every means to compensate—the best doctors, the best rehabilitation equipment, the finest wheelchairs in the world... But I can never give her back the legs that could dance."
I held him tighter, one hand stroking his back, the other cradling his head. "Devon, you've done more than enough. You don't need to carry this forever."
"But I can't let it go." Devon's voice was muffled against my shoulder. "Every time I see her in that wheelchair, I remember that summer... I remember her helplessness in the flames, the blood on her legs, I remember..." His voice grew more ragged. "I remember Connor playing innocent in front of my parents."
My heart felt as if it were being torn apart. I finally completely understood—Devon's hatred of Connor, his coldness toward the family, his guilt over Evelyn—these emotions had been tangled around him for twenty years.
"So you needed to remove them from your life permanently," I said softly. "Because every time you saw them, you remembered."
Devon nodded, still pressing his face to my shoulder.
We stood embraced by the floor-to-ceiling windows for a long time. The sunset's afterglow streamed in, stretching our shadows across the floor.