Chapter 110
Aria’s POV
The cool night air hit my face as Devon and I exited the police station. Claudia Scott's desperate pleas for forgiveness still echoed in my ears, but I hadn't wavered. I'd refused to provide her husband with a "letter of forgiveness" and instead secured proper compensation for my car and medical expenses. The defeat in her eyes as she finally signed the settlement agreement gave me an unexpected satisfaction.
"You handled that beautifully," Devon said beside me, his gray eyes reflecting something I'd never seen before—admiration. His voice was softer than usual, almost making me wonder if this was the same ruthless businessman I'd come to know.
"Thank you," I replied, attempting a casual tone despite the persistent ache in my wrist. "Turns out I'm pretty good at dealing with entitled people."
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "Need a ride home?" he asked, his eyes briefly scanning my injured form.
I considered refusing, but it was late, and my injuries made public transportation challenging. More importantly, I wasn't eager to face my tangled thoughts alone. "If it's not too much trouble."
Without another word, he gracefully opened the door to his understated yet luxurious Bentley. I slid into the leather seat, enveloped by the familiar scent—expensive cologne layered over something uniquely him.
As we drove through Manhattan's glittering streets, I found myself stealing glances at his profile—the strong jawline, the straight nose, the slight furrow of his brow as he concentrated on the road. The city lights played across his features, creating a mesmerizing interplay of shadows and light.
"See something interesting?" Devon asked suddenly, eyes still focused ahead.
I felt heat rise to my cheeks at being caught, but instead of the deflection I'd normally offer, a surprising honesty took over. "Just admiring the view," I answered softly, my voice carrying both playfulness and unexpected sincerity.
Devon turned briefly, surprise flashing in his gray eyes before his lips curved into a genuine smile I'd rarely witnessed. "Glad you're finally admitting it," he replied, his voice lighter than I'd ever heard it.
I laughed, feeling something tight in my chest suddenly loosen. This was our first truly relaxed exchange—no contracts, no terms, no business deals shadowing our interaction. Just two people sharing a moment.
When we reached my Brooklyn apartment, Devon didn't simply bid me goodnight. He circled the car to open my door and help me out, then signaled his driver to wait. I looked at him questioningly.
"I'll see you upstairs," he stated with unexpected firmness.
"What's wrong?" I asked, noticing the alertness in his eyes as he scanned the area.
He didn't answer, just placed his hand lightly at the small of my back, guiding me toward the elevator. His touch was feather-light yet somehow anchoring, a protective presence I hadn't realized I needed. In the small elevator, the scent of his cologne and the warmth radiating from him made my pulse quicken. I sneaked a glance at his profile, finding his jaw tense as he stared straight ahead.
When the elevator doors opened, the heavy smell of alcohol and cigarettes assaulted us. Under the dim hallway lights, a familiar figure sat slumped against my apartment door, surrounded by empty bottles.
Ethan Blake.
My former fiancé, the man I once thought I'd spend my life with, now drunk and disheveled, his shirt wrinkled and his gaze unfocused.
"Finally home, my dear Aria," he slurred, looking up at me with an emotion I couldn't quite identify. "I've been waiting for two whole days."
Devon instantly moved in front of me, his shoulders tensing as he created a protective barrier. I felt a surge of both security and anger—how dare Ethan wait for me here after his betrayal with my stepsister?
"What happened to you?" Ethan asked, wobbling as he stood up, his eyes landing on my bandaged wrist. His pretended concern made my stomach turn.
"None of your business," I replied coldly, fumbling for my keys.
Ethan suddenly laughed, a hollow, almost manic sound. "You know what? Scarlett lost the baby," he announced, his voice echoing in the hallway. "I made her do it. She doesn't deserve to have my child. Only you should bear my children, Aria."
His words exploded like a bomb in the quiet hallway. Though I'd already learned about their relationship from my private investigator, hearing it directly made me dizzy with disgust.
"You make me sick," I whispered, my hands trembling as I continued searching for my keys.
Ethan stumbled forward, only to be blocked by Devon's arm. "That's enough," Devon said, his voice glacial, danger flashing in his gray eyes.
Ethan's gaze dropped to Devon's hand—to the emerald ring I'd occasionally captured in social media posts months earlier. Recognition dawned in his eyes. "So it's you," he hissed. "You've been fucking him all along, you whore."
Without thinking, I reached for Devon's hand, silently confirming my choice with the gesture. Devon glanced at me with brief surprise before tightening his grip around my fingers, his warmth spreading from my hand through my entire body.
"Mr. Blake, I suggest you leave now," Devon's voice carried undeniable authority. "Next time, I won't be so polite."
Ethan glared at us, anger and defeat warring in his bloodshot eyes. After an awkward silence, he finally turned and staggered away, his steps unsteady, his silhouette pathetic against the hallway light.
We entered my apartment and locked the door. I released a shaky breath, suddenly feeling weak-kneed with relief. Devon scanned the room, his eyes still watchful. "Would you like me to arrange security for you?"
"Not necessary," I smiled, shaking my head. "I can handle Ethan." I studied Devon, intrigued by tonight's shift in his demeanor—the concern in his eyes seemed genuine, making me wonder about its source.
As I attempted to walk toward the kitchen, a wave of dizziness and pain from my ribs made me lose my balance. I instinctively grabbed Devon's tie. We both tumbled onto the soft living room carpet, his arm quickly moving to protect my head.
Now we were inches apart. I could feel his breath against my cheek, smell the intoxicating blend of expensive cologne and his natural scent. I looked up into his gray eyes, finding them filled with complex emotions—concern, possessiveness, and barely restrained desire.
"Sorry," I said softly, making no attempt to move away.
Devon's lips curled upward. "Are you sure that wasn't intentional?" he teased, though his eyes remained intensely serious.
A wave of courage surged through me. I lightly hooked my arm around his neck. "What if it was?" I whispered.
Devon's eyes instantly darkened as his hand slid to my waist. "Then I might just become the beast everyone thinks I am," he murmured.