Chapter 111
Aria's POV
Devon's hand traced the curve of my waist, sending electric currents through my body as we remained on the floor where we'd fallen. The plush carpet cushioned us as his gray eyes locked with mine, intensity radiating from his gaze.
"Do you really want to continue?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
His lips curved into that rare smile that transformed his stern features. "Perhaps," he murmured. "Or perhaps I just wanted to make sure you didn't suffer a concussion when you fell."
Just as quickly, his smile vanished, replaced by that cool, aristocratic mask. He untangled himself and stood, extending a hand to help me up.
"Your ex-fiancé has been safely escorted home," he stated, straightening his tie. "He won't be troubling you tonight."
I winced as I accepted his help, my bandaged wrist throbbing in protest. My ribs sent sharp stabs of pain through my torso with each breath. "Thank you for handling that situation."
Devon reached for his suit jacket. "I don't particularly care for verbal gratitude, Aria."
The implication hung between us, heavy and unmistakable. He expected more tangible forms of thanks—a thought that both irritated and intrigued me.
After he left, I leaned against the door, exhaling slowly. Devon Kane was proving just as dangerous as Ethan Blake, perhaps more so—because with Devon, I was starting to forget why I should keep my guard up.
My phone's ring interrupted my thoughts. My father's name on the screen made me tense immediately.
"Hello, Father," I answered neutrally.
"Aria," he said, his tone clipped. "I need you at the house. Now."
"It's late, and I've had a long day—" I glanced down at the bandage on my wrist, knowing I should be resting.
"This concerns Harper Group shares," he interrupted. "Your mother's shares. I suggest you make time."
My interest piqued despite my reluctance. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."
As I gathered my things, I couldn't shake the feeling I was walking into another trap. But if this truly concerned my mother's legacy, I couldn't ignore it.
---
The Harper family mansion stood imposing against the night sky. I barely had one foot in the foyer when I felt Victoria's cold stare from the living room, where she sat perched on a French settee.
"Well, look who finally remembered she has a home," Victoria remarked, her voice dripping with false sweetness. Her eyes briefly flicked to my bandaged wrist, but showed no sympathy.
I refused to engage with her obvious provocation. Victoria took a sip from her teacup, then grimaced.
"What is this?" she demanded, glaring at Elsa. "It's revolting."
Elsa's hands trembled slightly. "I prepared it exactly as you requested, ma'am."
"Well, it's awful. Make it again. Keep making it until you get it right."
I felt anger flare at Victoria's treatment of Elsa, who had served our family—my mother—for thirty years.
"Compared to tea, I suggest you pay more attention to your daughter. How's Scarlett doing on social media these days?" I asked casually, leaning against the doorframe to ease the pressure on my injured side. "I noticed her follower count took quite a hit after that... unfortunate video leaked."
Victoria's face tightened almost imperceptibly before she coldly directed me to my father's study.
As I approached the grand marble staircase, a ghostly figure appeared at the top. Scarlett stood there, her normally vibrant features haggard and pale, dark circles shadowing her eyes as she gripped the banister.
"Don't think you've won," she hissed, her voice raspy. "This game between us—it's not over."
I straightened my spine, meeting her hostile gaze with cool detachment. "Comparing myself to you would be stooping too low, Scarlett. I'm not interested in your games."
Her knuckles whitened against the banister before she wordlessly stepped aside.
Father sat behind his massive mahogany desk when I entered his study. He didn't look up until I was seated.
"I've decided to transfer fifteen percent of Harper Group shares to you," he stated without preamble.
"Twenty-five percent," I countered. "Plus a seat on the board."
My father's eyebrows rose. "Fifteen percent now, with an additional five upon your thirtieth birthday. No board seat until then."
"Twenty percent now, with the board seat," I maintained eye contact, refusing to blink first.
My father's expression hardened. "Your mother would be disappointed. She wanted this family to remain harmonious."
The mention of my mother from his lips ignited something fierce within me. "Don't you dare use her name to manipulate me," I said quietly. "Not when you replaced her with Victoria before she was even cold in her grave."
"Watch your tone," he warned.
"Or what? Tell me—what exactly happened in the weeks before Mom died? Because I'm starting to piece together some very interesting information."
My father's face flushed with anger, but suddenly he clutched at his chest, his breathing becoming labored.
"Dad?" My anger transformed to concern as I rushed around the desk, ignoring the sharp pain in my ribs.
He gestured weakly toward a drawer. "Pills... left drawer."
As I searched frantically for his medication, I noticed a false bottom in the drawer—something my father clearly hadn't intended for me to see. Finding the pills, I helped him take one with water from a nearby decanter.
Once recovered, he coldly ordered me to leave. I hesitated, torn between concern and frustration, before quietly closing the door behind me.
Instead of heading downstairs, I detoured to the master bedroom. I entered without knocking and walked directly to Victoria's closet.
Using my good hand, I opened her jewelry box, finding the diamond earrings my father had given her for their first anniversary—earrings that had once belonged to my mother.
I pocketed them, wincing as the movement jarred my injured ribs. Then I reached for her favorite perfume—a custom-blended scent that cost $3,000 per ounce. With gritted teeth, I removed the cap with my left hand and poured the contents into the sink. Each twist of my body sent shards of pain through my ribs, but the satisfaction overrode the discomfort.
Victoria burst in just as I was finishing. Her face contorted from shock to rage. "You psychotic bitch!" she screamed, lunging toward me.
"If you ever mistreat Elsa again, it won't be just a bag next time." I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "I see the marks on her arms, Victoria. I know what you've been doing."
Her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in fury.
"I'm moving back in," I announced. "Effective immediately."
In the kitchen later, I could clearly see the fading bruise on Elsa's cheekbone that makeup couldn't fully conceal.
"You shouldn't have done that, Miss Aria," she whispered, wringing her hands. "She'll be furious."
"Let her be," I replied, gently taking her weathered hands in mine. "Elsa, you don't have to stay here. I can help you find another position."
Elsa's eyes filled with tears. "I promised your mother. Before she died, I promised I would stay until you were married and settled."
Her words struck me like a physical blow. This woman had endured years of abuse out of loyalty.
"Then I'm staying too," I decided, squeezing her hands. "I'll move back in a few days. Victoria won't touch you again, I promise."
Elsa's expression held both gratitude and worry. "It won't be easy for you, Miss Aria."
"I know," I said softly. "But neither am I."