Chapter 114
Aria's POV
A striking blonde woman glided into the penthouse with the ease of someone who'd been there countless times before. Her gaze, sharp and assessing, swept over me before settling on Devon with familiar warmth.
"Dev!" she exclaimed, her voice honeyed with affection. "I brought those financial projections you asked for, plus croissants from that little French bakery you love."
My chest tightened at the casual intimacy in her voice. The nickname "Dev" sounded foreign yet familiar, like she had rights to a version of him I hadn't encountered. I watched Devon's expression, searching for signs of pleasure or annoyance at her arrival.
She placed an elegant leather portfolio and a small bag on the counter before approaching Devon, air-kissing both his cheeks. I noticed the Cartier watch glinting on her wrist, her tailored suit speaking of wealth and status. This wasn't some random business associate—this was someone who knew his preferences, someone with established access to his private world.
Devon's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. His shoulders stiffened as he stepped back from her greeting, creating distance. "Mandy. I wasn't expecting you."
His tone was controlled but cooler than his usual business voice. I felt a small, unwelcome flutter of relief at his less-than-enthusiastic reception.
"Clearly," she replied, her gaze sliding back to me with renewed interest. "I didn't realize you had... company."
The way she said "company" made my skin prickle with discomfort. Her eyes performed a subtle assessment, categorizing me from head to toe, silently questioning my presence in Devon's space.
"Mandy Stevens," she said, extending a manicured hand toward me, her posture transforming into that of a hostess. "And you are...?"
"Aria Harper," I replied, my tone deliberately cool as I shook her hand briefly. "I don't believe we've met before."
"No, we haven't," she confirmed, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "I'm usually quite familiar with Dev's... associates."
Who was this girl to him? Another possible marriage partner? The connection made my stomach tighten with an emotion I refused to name as jealousy.
"I should get going," I said, reaching for my purse. "Mr. Kane has a visitor now, and I have meetings to attend."
Devon's eyes darkened at my sudden formality, his brow furrowing slightly. "Aria—"
His voice held a note of protest I hadn't heard before, and for a moment, I thought he might ask me to stay.
"Would you like to stay for breakfast?" Mandy interrupted, positioning herself slightly between us. "I brought enough for three."
Her tone was pleasant, but the gesture was territorial—she was establishing herself as someone comfortable enough to offer hospitality in Devon's home.
"No, thank you," I replied, already moving toward the door. "I have a meeting at my office."
I felt Devon's eyes on me as I left. When I glanced back, I caught an expression of frustration cross his face, his hand half-raised as if to call me back, before he dropped it to his side. The moment passed quickly, but the image stayed with me as the elevator doors closed.
In the descending elevator, I pressed my fingers to my temples, surprised by the intensity of my reaction. My heart beat too fast, and an uncomfortable hollowness spread through my chest. Why did seeing another woman in his space affect me this way? Our arrangement was purely transactional—I had no claim on Devon Kane outside our agreed terms. Yet the thought of him sharing breakfast with Mandy after I'd spent the night in his bed left me feeling oddly betrayed.
---
Back at my Brooklyn office, I collapsed onto the sofa, irritation simmering beneath my skin. I picked up my phone, checked for notifications, then set it down again. No messages from Devon. I did this twice more before forcing myself to stop.
I opened the Anderson account proposal, staring at the same paragraph for five minutes without absorbing a single word. My mind kept replaying the scene in Devon's apartment—the way Mandy had called him "Dev," the familiar way she moved through his space. I kept wondering what happened after I left. Did they enjoy those croissants together? Did Devon explain who I was, or did he let her assume whatever she wanted?
"Earth to Aria," Sophia's voice broke through my thoughts during our video call. "You've been staring at the same page for five minutes. What's going on?"
"Nothing," I replied too quickly. I straightened in my chair, trying to look focused. "Just thinking about the campaign direction."
Sophia's skeptical expression told me she wasn't convinced, but she mercifully returned to discussing color palettes for the new client's brand identity. Throughout the morning, I found myself glancing at my phone whenever it was silent for too long, then feeling annoyed at myself for hoping to see Devon's name on the screen.
By afternoon, my mood had soured further when my father's name flashed across my phone. I considered ignoring it but answered on the fourth ring.
"Aria," William's voice held an unusual conciliatory tone. "I've been thinking about our conversation."
My spine straightened. William Harper never willingly discussed giving up control.
"I'm listening," I replied cautiously.
"I'm prepared to consider giving you a portion of the shares," he continued, "and possibly a position as marketing director for Harper Group."
"What's the catch?" I asked, suspicion prickling along my skin.
"No catch. Join us for dinner at Le Bernardin this weekend. Just family."
The restaurant name triggered an immediate red flag. Le Bernardin was William's preferred venue for business negotiations, not family discussions.
"I'll check my schedule," I replied noncommittally.
"Saturday at seven," he said, his tone shifting back to its usual authoritative cadence. "Don't be late."
After hanging up, I stared at the phone. William's sudden flexibility regarding my mother's shares was completely out of character. This was undoubtedly another trap. Yet as I set the phone down, I realized I'd checked again for messages from Devon. Nothing. The silence bothered me more than it should have.
---
Saturday evening found me approaching Le Bernardin with extreme caution. I'd chosen a conservative navy dress—professional enough for business, appropriate enough for family dinner. The moment I stepped inside, however, I knew my instincts had been correct.
At the table sat not just my father and Victoria, but also Mrs. Brown and her son Richard—a venture capitalist in his thirties.
"Aria, darling!" Victoria exclaimed with excessive warmth, rising to embrace me. "Our eldest daughter has finally arrived."
I stiffened at her touch, noting how she emphasized "eldest daughter" for Mrs. Brown's benefit. Richard's gaze traveled over me with naked assessment, his smile calculating rather than warm.
"She's even more striking than her photographs," Mrs. Brown commented in a stage whisper to Victoria. "Though perhaps a bit too vividly pretty for traditional tastes."
My father approached, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. "Aria, you remember the Browns. Richard has just acquired three new tech startups. You two will have so much to discuss."
I turned to my father, a tight smile fixed on my face. "I'm afraid I can only stay briefly. I have a client meeting at eight-thirty."
Victoria's hand clamped around my wrist. "Don't be silly, dear. Why rush off? You've only just arrived."
"And I need to speak with you about those shares," my father added pointedly. "After dinner."
I glanced at the exit, weighing my options. Creating a scene would only play into their hands. One hour of enduring this ambush seemed the lesser evil compared to jeopardizing my chance at my mother's shares.
"Fine," I conceded, sliding into the chair Richard eagerly pulled out for me. "I'll stay for dinner."