Chapter 287
Aria's POV
I sat alone in Devon's bedroom three days after the wedding, the ancient key heavy in my palm. Afternoon sunlight caught the sapphire embedded in its ornate surface, casting blue shadows across my wedding ring. Twenty-five. Mom wanted me to wait until I turned twenty-five to open the safe deposit box. But sitting there, I understood—she wasn't asking me to wait out of caution. She wanted me strong enough to face whatever truth lay inside.
Strong enough to fight William Harper.
My fingers closed around the key. I reached for my phone.
"I want to open the safe deposit box," I said when Devon answered. My voice came out steadier than I felt. "I don't want to wait anymore."
Silence stretched between us for three heartbeats. Then his low voice filled my ear: "I'll be there in thirty minutes."
Devon's hand found mine as we walked through Chase Manhattan's marble lobby. The weight of his wedding band pressed against my fingers—solid, real, grounding. A security officer escorted us to the private vault, our footsteps echoing in the hushed corridor.
"No matter what's inside," Devon murmured, squeezing my hand, "I'm here."
I nodded, my throat too tight for words. The officer left us alone in the small room. Box EH-1987 waited on the table, silver and unassuming. My mother's initials were engraved on the corner: E.H.
Elizabeth Harper.
The key turned smoothly, as if it had been waiting all these years. Inside, several manila folders lay stacked with careful precision. I reached for the one marked Stock Transfer with trembling hands.
"Oh my God." The document blurred as tears sprang to my eyes. "Devon, this is—"
"Thirty percent of Harper Group." His voice was clinical, controlled, but I heard the underlying tension. "Transferred to you one week before her death. Notarized, witnessed, completely legal."
My mother had given me the weapon to fight back. She'd known. She'd known something was wrong.
I set the document aside and picked up the next folder. The moment I opened it, my blood turned to ice.
Photographs. William and Victoria, wrapped around each other on a Chicago street corner. Her hand on his chest, his lips near her ear. The timestamp read November 2018—when Victoria was supposed to be just Mom's assistant. Before the cancer. Before everything fell apart.
"There's more." Devon's jaw tightened as he flipped through bank statements. "He was transferring money to her account. Large amounts. This wasn't just an affair, Aria. This was—"
"Planned." The word came out as barely a whisper. "They planned it. All of it."
My hands shook so violently I almost dropped the third folder. Devon steadied me, but I had to see. I had to know.
"DNA Paternity Test Results.
Alleged Father: William Harper
Child: Scarlett Rose (Harper)
Probability of Paternity: 99.97%
Date: October 15, 2021"
Two months before Mom died.
The room tilted. Devon caught me, pulling me against his chest as a sob tore from my throat. "She found out," I gasped. "Mom found out Scarlett was his daughter. That's why—that's why they—"
I couldn't finish. The words were knives in my chest.
All these years. Four years of living under the same roof as my mother's murderers. Four years of calling Scarlett my stepsister when she was actually my half-sister. Four years of my father choosing her over me, because she was his. His real daughter. His secret.
Devon held me tighter, his voice rough in my ear. "What do you want to do?"
At the bottom of the box, one more envelope waited. My name in Mom's elegant handwriting.
My hands steadied as I opened it.
“My darling Aria,
If you're reading this, it means my worst fears have come true. I discovered William's affair with Victoria six months ago. I've learned that Scarlett is his biological daughter—conceived during one of his "business trips" to Miami, raised in secret until Victoria maneuvered her way into our lives.
I confronted William three weeks ago. He begged for forgiveness, promised to end it. But I see the way Victoria looks at him. I see her calculating eyes. She won't let him go. She won't let me stand in her way.
I've been feeling ill lately. The doctors say it's stress, but I know better. Victoria makes my tea every morning now, insists on it. I've started pouring it down the sink when she's not looking.
I wanted to give William a chance to do the right thing. But I realize now—if something happens to me, you'll need more than love to survive. You'll need power.
The stock transfer gives you leverage. The evidence in these folders gives you justice. Use them, baby girl. Don't let them destroy you the way they destroyed me.
Be stronger than I was. Be ruthless if you have to be. And know that I love you—always have, always will.
Mom”
The letter fell from my numb fingers. Devon picked it up, his eyes scanning the words. When he looked at me, something cold and deadly flickered in his gray gaze.
"What do you need from me?"
I wiped my tears, feeling something hard and sharp crystallize in my chest. The grief was still there—God, it was an ocean threatening to drown me—but underneath it, fury burned white-hot.
"A press conference." My voice came out flat, emotionless. "I want the best lawyers. The best PR team. I want to schedule it as soon as possible."
Devon's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "How soon?"
"This week." I gathered the documents, my movements precise now. Controlled. "I want all of New York to know exactly what William Harper is. What he's done."
Devon pulled out his phone, already typing. "Marcus will coordinate with our legal team. I'll have our PR specialists draft talking points. We'll need—"
"No." I caught his wrist. "I don't want talking points. I want to show them everything. The photos. The bank transfers. The DNA test. I want the truth on display for everyone to see."
His eyes searched mine. "That will destroy your family's reputation. Harper Group's stock will tank. Are you prepared for that?"
I thought of Mom's handwriting. Be stronger than I was.
"I'm prepared to burn it all down if I have to."
Devon's expression shifted—pride mixed with something darker, more possessive. He cupped my face in his hands. "Then we'll give your mother justice."
As we left the bank, I sent two text messages. One to Sophia: I need your help. Press conference. Details to follow. The other to Diana Thornton, Mom's lawyer and witness to the stock transfer: Time to tell the truth.