Chapter 88
Aria's POV
Devon's collar was loosened just enough to suggest casual confidence, but his stance radiated quiet threat. "I heard Mr. Harper was known as quite the gentleman on the Upper East Side. Apparently, 'gentleman' now includes intimidating one's daughter in public corridors. How educational."
My father's face reddened. "I said, this doesn't concern you, Kane. Harper family business doesn't need outside interference."
I watched the exchange from behind Devon's broad shoulders, feeling strangely protected by his presence. My heartbeat, which had been racing moments ago, began to steady. The warmth of his back was just inches from me—a wall between me and my father's fury.
My phone vibrated in my hand. When I glanced down, the headline made my blood run cold: "BREAKING: Harper Hampton Beach House Engulfed in Flames—Arson Suspected."
The ground seemed to tilt beneath my feet. I pushed past Devon, ignoring my father's calls as I rushed toward the exit.
"Aria!" my father shouted after me.
Devon's voice cut through the air like ice. "You shower your stepdaughter with affection while treating your biological daughter like this? That's the Harper family way? Perhaps that's worth a media story of its own."
I didn't wait to hear my father's response.
---
Standing on crowded Fifth Avenue, my trembling fingers repeatedly tapped the rideshare app, but each attempt returned "No cars available." Tears threatened as I watched another video of orange-red flames consuming my mother's beloved white Victorian house—the only piece of her I had left.
A sleek black Bentley glided silently to the curb beside me. The rear door opened, and Devon leaned out. "Get in. I'll take you to the Hamptons."
I hesitated for a heartbeat, then glanced back to see reporters spilling from the hotel entrance. Without another word, I slid into the leather seat.
Inside the car, I frantically refreshed social media feeds, each new angle of the fire making my fingers whiter around my phone. The silence was thick enough to touch, broken only by the occasional urgent tap as I switched between platforms.
Devon watched me from across the cabin, our bodies carefully distanced despite the enclosed space. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than I'd ever heard it. "Drink some water. Breathe."
He extended a bottle, and I accepted it without meeting his eyes.
From a hundred yards away, I could see my mother's beloved white house being devoured by flames. The world spun around me as firefighters stretched yellow tape across the property entrance.
Before I fully registered what I was doing, I was running toward the burning structure. I'd barely made it past the first responder vehicle when strong arms caught me from behind, locking around my waist.
"Let me go!" I screamed, clawing at Devon's forearm. "My mother's things are in there!"
"And you want to join them?" His voice was low and firm against my ear. "The structure could collapse any minute. Is tomorrow's headline worth your life?"
I struggled against his hold, tears streaming freely down my face. "That's all I had left of her! Everything she owned, everything she loved—it's burning right in front of me and you're just standing here!"
In my hysteria, I bit down on his arm. Devon winced but didn't release me, only adjusted his grip to pull me further from danger.
"Marcus," he commanded into his phone, "contact the fire chief. Ask if anything can be salvaged from the master bedroom on the second floor. Jack, have the helicopter on standby—we might need medical support."
As he issued directives with practiced efficiency, I felt my resistance weakening. Then a wall collapsed with a thunderous crash, sending sparks cascading into the night sky. A sound escaped me—half sob, half animal wail—and my knees buckled beneath me.
---
Devon half-carried me back to the car, his arm supporting most of my weight as I moved in a daze. He directed the driver to return to Manhattan, then settled me into the seat.
I curled into myself, silent tears tracking down my cheeks. I tried to hide them, ashamed of appearing weak, especially in front of him.
Devon offered a crisp handkerchief. "It's okay to cry. No one here but me."
I looked up, suddenly suspicious through my grief. "Why are you always there when I'm at my worst? Are you following me?"
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "Perhaps I'm just skilled at rescuing people from disasters." But something more complex flickered behind his eyes.
He pulled out his phone. "Marcus, I need you to obtain all surveillance footage around 27 Beach Road in Hampton. Focus on vehicles entering or leaving the area in the two hours before the fire."
I stared at him, surprised by his initiative. A strange warmth spread through my chest despite everything—the realization that he was already investigating, already working to find answers.
Devon's Manhattan penthouse was exactly what I'd expect—minimalist, expensive, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city skyline. I hesitated at the doorway, unwilling to step inside despite having nowhere else to go.
"You have somewhere better to be?" Devon asked, loosening his tie. "The bathroom has clean towels. You need rest."
I wavered, exhaustion pulling at every muscle. "I should go to a hotel."
Devon raised an eyebrow. "Where reporters are likely waiting? At least three gossip sites are tracking your movements tonight."
He walked toward a glass bar cabinet. "Do you need a drink? Or I can have someone prepare tea."
I nodded, finally stepping inside. The idea of returning to my apartment, which Victoria and Scarlett knew the location of, felt suddenly unsafe. The idea of a hotel full of curious staff and possible reporters felt worse.
"You can take the guest room," Devon offered, his voice carefully neutral. "I'll be in my study if you need anything."
I surprised myself with my response. "Could you... just stay here? I don't want to face the nightmares alone."
For once, Devon Kane seemed genuinely caught off guard, and in that unguarded moment, I saw something I'd never noticed before—a flash of vulnerability behind those steel-gray eyes.