Chapter 83
Aria's POV
After the security escorted Scarlett out, I threw myself into work, desperate for the familiar rhythm of campaign planning and client calls to drown out the chaos of my personal life. For hours, I moved from one task to another, barely registering as the afternoon sun shifted to early evening shadows across my office floor.
When Melanie handed me my phone with an apologetic look, I realized I'd been so absorbed I hadn't even noticed it buzzing.
I stared at my phone screen, watching as Marianne Blake's fifth message appeared within the hour. The latest one was more direct than the previous attempts at small talk: [Was the Ethan news your doing?]
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. After successfully exposing Ethan and Scarlett's affair and weathering the media storm that followed, I'd gained a certain clarity. Devon's influence had made the negative stories about me vanish overnight, but Scarlett's pregnancy announcement added a new layer of complexity to an already tangled situation.
I typed my reply with cool precision: [Was I being blacklisted by the press your doing?]
Marianne's response? Complete silence. I smiled grimly. In the business of protecting family interests, my former almost-mother-in-law—who had also been my mother's college friend—would cut ties without hesitation.
"Ms. Harper, Blake Fashion Group just put our spring campaign on hold," Melanie announced from the doorway, her expression strained.
"Reach out to Hermes about moving up our timeline," I replied, my voice steady despite the pounding in my temples. "And see if Sophia can join me for the Vogue digital meeting tomorrow."
Melanie nodded and closed the door just as my phone rang. The caller ID displayed "George Blake."
"This is a surprise," I answered, keeping my tone neutral.
"Aria, dear," his voice was uncharacteristically warm, "this unfortunate situation has gotten out of hand. Perhaps we could meet? I believe I can help with your father's financial troubles. Blake Group is still willing to invest in Harper Media—with the right mediator."
I closed my eyes briefly, seeing through his thinly veiled attempt. "I'm afraid my father doesn't need my mediation now, Mr. Blake." Without waiting for his response, I ended the call.
The office fell silent again as I gathered my things. Devon had messaged earlier, an invitation to his lakeside home in the Emerald Cove district. After the week I'd had, the prospect of an evening away from Blake family drama seemed like oxygen to a drowning woman.
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The setting sun cast golden hues across the modern glass structure as my Uber pulled up to Devon's lakeside home. Unlike his Manhattan penthouse with its steel and concrete minimalism, this place seemed warmer, more personal—all clean lines and natural materials blending with the landscape.
Devon opened the door himself, no staff in sight. His gray eyes held an unreadable glint as they took me in.
"You're punctual," he said, stepping aside to let me enter.
The interior was breathtaking—soaring ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the tranquil lake beyond. Everything spoke of understated luxury, from the custom furniture to the abstract paintings I recognized as originals from artists whose exhibitions I'd attended.
"This is... unexpected," I admitted, accepting the whiskey he offered. "I didn't know you had a place out here."
"There's a lot you don't know about me," Devon replied, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "You can go prepare while I finish something upstairs."
He gestured toward a hallway before climbing the floating staircase, leaving me slightly confused. Prepare what? I assumed he meant freshen up before dinner.
I wandered down the hallway, finding several closed doors before locating what appeared to be a guest bathroom. After quickly touching up my makeup, I approached a uniformed woman who seemed to be arranging flowers.
"Excuse me, could you tell me where the master bedroom is?" I asked. "I need to prepare for dinner."
Her eyebrows rose slightly, but she directed me upstairs. "Second door on the right, Ms. Harper."
The master suite was magnificent—minimalist yet sensual, with a massive bed and views of the water. I hesitated only briefly before stepping into the adjoining bathroom. The marble shower beckoned, and I reasoned that "preparing" in Devon Kane's world likely meant looking immaculate for whatever evening he had planned.
Twenty minutes later, wrapped in his black silk robe, I descended the stairs. The scent of his cologne clung to the fabric, enveloping me as I followed the sound of voices toward what I presumed was the dining room.
I froze in the doorway. Seated in the living room were Christopher, Noah, and a stunning blonde who could only be Caroline. All three turned to look at me, conversations halting abruptly.
Christopher's eyes brightened noticeably. "Devon," he called out, his gaze never leaving me, "you finally decided to introduce us to the beauty you've been hiding?"
My cheeks burned as I clutched the robe tighter. Caroline would surely be furious finding another woman in her fiancé's robe. To my surprise, she merely offered an elegant wink, as if we shared some secret.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind me, and then Devon was there, his expression momentarily surprised before settling into its usual controlled mask. Without a word, he moved to my side, discreetly adjusting the collar of the robe higher around my neck, his fingers lingering longer than necessary.
"Come with me," he murmured, leading me back toward the stairs, his hand possessive at the small of my back.
The moment his bedroom door closed behind us, he turned to me, eyes narrowed. "I meant for you to prepare appetizers in the kitchen, not take a shower."
My eyes widened in horrified realization. "Oh my God," I whispered, mortification washing over me. "I thought—"
His finger pressed against my lips, silencing my explanation. "Though I must admit," his voice dropped lower, "I prefer this misunderstanding."
His hand traveled from my face to my neck, his thumb stroking the pulse point that betrayed my racing heart. The air between us grew heavy, charged with a tension that had been building since our last encounter.
"Caroline is downstairs," I whispered, my eyes darting toward the door.
Devon moved closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Don't mention her," he said, his fingers easily untying the robe's belt, letting the silk part slightly. "Right now, I only want to focus on you."
His lips captured mine in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened. His fingers threaded through my damp hair, massaging my scalp as he pulled me closer. A shiver ran through me as my hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, feeling the tense muscles beneath his shirt.
"You know," Devon murmured between kisses, "I've wanted to do this for a long time." His hand slid to my waist, drawing me against him.
I felt the heat of his body through his shirt, tilting my head back to give him better access as his lips moved to my neck. His hands roamed my body, each touch igniting my skin. Our breathing quickened, becoming synchronized as our heartbeats pounded loud enough to fill the quiet room.
Devon slowly guided me toward the bed, his movements careful yet determined, giving me space to stop if I wished. Instead, I deepened our kiss, my fingers working at the buttons of his shirt, eager to feel his skin against mine.
As we fell onto the bed together, Devon propped himself above me, his eyes searching mine, filled with both desire and concern. "Tell me what you want, good girl."
My gaze was hazy with wanting, my hand caressing his cheek. "I... I want you," I whispered. In that moment, there was nothing but pure attraction and longing between us.