Chapter 54
Aria’s POV
In the parking garage, I slid into my Porsche and sat for a moment, trying to process everything. The flash of fear in my father's eyes had confirmed my suspicions—he knew something about my mother's death that he wasn't telling me. Whether he was an active participant or merely looked the other way, he was complicit in Victoria's rise to power.
I pulled out my phone and opened the files from the USB drive again, studying them with fresh eyes. There was no direct evidence linking my father to the poisoning, but that didn't absolve him of guilt in my mind.
"Even if Victoria was the one who poisoned Mom," I whispered to myself, "she did it to marry into the Harper family. Dad is the prize she was after."
The thought made me feel physically ill. My father had replaced my mother with the woman who likely killed her. How could I ever forgive that?
I started the car, the powerful engine purring to life. The beach house in the Hamptons was rightfully mine—my mother had left it to me specifically. I wouldn't let Victoria, Scarlett, or even my father take that away from me. It was more than property; it was one of the few things left that connected me to my mother.
My phone buzzed with an incoming call. I glanced at the screen, surprised to see Ethan Blake's name. I hesitated before answering, putting on my most cheerful voice.
"Ethan, what a surprise."
"Is it?" His voice held a note of hurt that I knew was manufactured. "You've been avoiding my calls since since we tried on dresses at Pierre's. Did I do something to upset you?"
I rolled my eyes, grateful he couldn't see me. "Of course not. I've just been swamped with work. The Kane campaign is taking all my time."
There was a brief silence before he continued, "Well, I was hoping you hadn't forgotten what today is."
I frowned, mentally scanning through important dates. Board meetings? Client deadlines? Nothing came to mind.
"Should I have marked something on my calendar?" I asked, keeping my tone light.
"My birthday, Aria," he said, sounding genuinely disappointed. "You used to start planning weeks in advance."
Guilt stabbed at me unexpectedly. I had forgotten, and despite everything, that felt wrong. For three years, I had meticulously planned elaborate surprises for Ethan's birthday, believing he deserved nothing but the best.
"Oh God, Ethan, I'm so sorry," I said, not having to fake the remorse in my voice. "With everything that's been happening—my father's hospitalization, work pressures—it completely slipped my mind."
"It's alright," he said, though his tone suggested it wasn't. "I just thought maybe we could have dinner tonight? Nothing fancy, just the two of us."
I hesitated, weighing my options. I had planned to spend the evening diving deeper into the evidence against Victoria, but maintaining my façade with Ethan was crucial to my longer-term plans.
"Of course," I heard myself say. "I'd love to. Where should I meet you?"
As Ethan rattled off details about meeting at Pantheon, I found myself thinking about Devon. What would he think if he knew I was having a birthday dinner with Ethan? Not that it should matter—our arrangement was business, nothing more. Yet I couldn't help wondering if he would care.
"I'll see you at eight," I said, ending the call and dropping my phone onto the passenger seat.
The moment I stepped into Pantheon, I knew Ethan had gone overboard. The private room he'd reserved was dripping with clichés—rose petals scattered across the marble floor, a towering champagne pyramid that looked like it belonged at a Vegas wedding, and soft lighting that cast everything in an unnaturally golden glow. Classical music played at a volume just loud enough to be pretentious but not so loud that it would interrupt conversation.
Ethan stood in the center of it all, surrounded by a group of his friends—the same circle of privileged heirs who had been part of our social scene for years. They were all laughing at something, their voices carrying that particular timbre of people who had never worried about money a day in their lives.
He spotted me and his face lit up with practiced enthusiasm. "There she is!" he called out, arms wide as though he were presenting a game show prize. His friends turned to look at me with curious expressions, some with genuine smiles, others with thinly veiled assessment.
I forced my lips into what I hoped was a convincing look of surprise. "What's all this? I thought we were just meeting for your birthday dinner."
Ethan approached me, taking both my hands in his. Up close, I could smell his cologne—too much of it, as always. His blond hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place, and his blue eyes sparkled with self-satisfaction.
"Aria, darling," he said loudly enough for everyone to hear, "we've already decided to get engaged, but I realized I never gave you a proper proposal. I want the entire New York social scene to know you're my fiancée."
I looked around at the elaborate setup, the expensive champagne, the audience of his friends, and felt a wave of revulsion. This wasn't about me at all—it was about Ethan's image, his status, his need to perform for others. Meanwhile, the weight of what I knew about him and Scarlett sat heavy in my chest.
"This is... unexpected," I managed, forcing warmth into my voice. The irony wasn't lost on me—here I was, about to accept a proposal from a man who was secretly sleeping with my stepsister, all while another man had somehow worked his way under my skin despite my best efforts to keep him at arm's length.
Ethan's friends watched us with interest, champagne flutes in hand, as if we were the evening's entertainment. In a way, I supposed we were.
"I know you've already said yes," Ethan continued, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a small velvet box, "but I wanted to make it official. With witnesses."
He began to lower himself to one knee, and I braced myself for the performance I would need to give. I had to seem touched, emotional, in love—everything I once was but no longer felt. It was all part of the plan, I reminded myself. Get the engagement, expose his affair with Scarlett, destroy both their reputations.
But before Ethan's knee could touch the ground, a movement at the entrance caught my eye.
Devon stood in the doorway, his powerful frame silhouetted against the club's dim lighting. His gray eyes were focused entirely on me, and even from across the room, I could feel the intensity of his gaze. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that emphasized his broad shoulders, his face a mask of controlled emotion.
My breath caught in my throat. What was he doing here?