Chapter 8
Aria’s POV
Something in me snapped. Maybe it was the accumulated stress of the day, or maybe it was the last frayed thread of my patience finally breaking, but suddenly I was done playing nice.
"Listen carefully," I said, my voice low but clear enough to carry to his friends who were watching with amused expressions. "What I wear is not an invitation. It's not a statement about my availability or a commentary on what I'm 'looking for.' It's fabric on my body, which, by the way, doesn't require your approval or attention."
The man's smile faltered, but he recovered quickly. "No need to be a bitch about it."
"And there it is," I continued, feeling a strange surge of satisfaction. "When a woman doesn't respond to your advances, she's a bitch. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe—just maybe—your approach is the problem? Did your mother never teach you how to respect women, or were you raised to believe we exist solely for your entertainment?"
By now, several other passengers were watching the exchange. Someone was holding up a phone, likely recording. Great. Just what I needed—to go viral for a subway confrontation after the day I'd had. But I couldn't stop myself.
"Next time a woman tells you she's not interested, try saying 'Sorry to bother you' and walking away. It's really not that complicated."
The man muttered something under his breath and rejoined his friends, who were suddenly fascinated by the advertisements on the subway walls. When my stop came, I stood and walked out with my head held high, ignoring the whispers that followed me.
It wasn't until I was safely inside my Brooklyn apartment that I allowed myself to exhale fully. I kicked off my heels with relief, leaving them where they fell in the entryway, and went straight to my freezer for an ice pack. The right side of my face still throbbed from where my father had slapped me earlier.
I pressed the ice pack to my cheek and collapsed onto my couch, too exhausted to even make it to the bedroom. My phone rang almost immediately. I glanced at the screen—my father. For a moment, I considered ignoring it, but some masochistic part of me hit the accept button.
"What?" I answered flatly.
"Aria." My father's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "I want to apologize for my behavior this afternoon."
I said nothing, waiting. William Harper didn't apologize unless he wanted something.
"I lost control," he continued. "It was inappropriate, and I'm sorry."
"Is that all?" I asked, knowing it wasn't.
There was a brief pause. "How are you? Did you get home safely?"
"Why do you care?" My voice was cold.
"Despite what you think, Aria, you're still my daughter. I worry about you."
"That's rich," I laughed without humor. "You've got a funny way of showing concern."
Another pause, longer this time. "There's something we need to discuss. Your mother's key."
And there it was—the real reason for the call.
"What about it?" I asked cautiously.
"I'd like you to bring it to me," he said. "It's caused enough problems in this family."
"It's mine," I replied firmly. "Mom left it to me with specific instructions."
"Aria," his voice hardened, the brief moment of paternal concern vanishing, "you're playing with fire. That key and whatever it opens could destroy relationships you don't fully understand."
"Are you threatening me?"
"I'm trying to protect you," he insisted. "But if you won't listen to reason, then consider this: either bring me the key by the end of the week, or reconcile with Ethan Blake. The merger between our companies is too important to be derailed by your emotional outbursts."
I nearly choked on my outrage. "Are you serious? You want me to marry a man who's sleeping with my step-sister?"
There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line.
Without waiting for his response, I hung up.
My hands were shaking as I set the phone down. I walked to my bookshelf and carefully moved aside a worn copy of "Pride and Prejudice" to reveal a small hidden compartment in the wall behind it. Inside lay a velvet pouch containing the antique key my mother had left me. I removed it carefully, running my fingers over the intricate design and the small gemstone embedded in its handle.
"When you turn twenty-five, open the envelope," she had told me on her deathbed. "Not before."
I had one year until my birthday. One year before I could discover what secret this key protected. I was increasingly convinced it had something to do with Victoria, my stepmother. The timing of my mother's illness had always seemed suspicious to me, deteriorating rapidly after Victoria had joined Harper Group as PR director.
I carefully returned the key to its hiding place. Tomorrow was another day, and I needed to focus on saving my company. The confrontation with my father could wait, as could the mystery of my mother's key.
Just as I was about to drag myself to bed, my phone rang again. This time, it was Marianne Blake, Ethan's mother. I hesitated before answering. Marianne had been my mother's best friend in college, and she'd always been kind to me, even after Elizabeth's death.
"Marianne," I answered, trying to keep the exhaustion from my voice.
"Aria, darling," her warm voice came through the speaker. "I hope I'm not calling too late. I just spoke with Ethan."
"Marianne, if you're calling about—"
"No, no," she cut me off gently. "I'm not trying to play mediator. What my son did was inexcusable. I called to apologize on his behalf, though I know that means little."
I sighed, sinking back onto the couch. "It's not your fault."
"He's confused, Aria. He made a terrible mistake with Scarlett. He swears it was just once."
"Marianne, please," I said quietly. "I can't do this right now."
"I understand, dear." She paused. "I also called because... well, I realized what tomorrow is. Five years since we lost Elizabeth."
My throat tightened. In the chaos of the past few days, I had nearly forgotten tomorrow was the anniversary of my mother's death.
"I was wondering if you'd like to visit the cemetery with me," Marianne continued. "Elizabeth would want us to be together on this day."
Despite my exhaustion, I couldn't refuse. "Of course. What time?"
"Would three o'clock work? I could pick you up."
"I'll meet you at your house," I replied, not wanting to subject Marianne to the trip to Brooklyn. "Around two-thirty?"
"Perfect," she said softly. "Try to get some rest, Aria. Elizabeth would be so proud of the woman you've become."
As I hung up, I wasn't so sure my mother would be proud. I'd made a mess of everything—my relationship, my business, and now I was starting to wonder if my revenge against Ethan had been worth it. The only thing I knew for certain was that I needed to salvage what I could of my professional life.
I fell into a restless sleep, still in my red dress, too exhausted to even change.