Chapter 127
Aria's POV
Devon gently caressed my face, his expression suddenly becoming unreadable. "Let's go back outside. I need to change," he said, his voice flat.
I exhaled with relief, sliding out of his bed and leaving his bedroom. The vulnerability I'd shown moments ago by admitting I needed his protection had been difficult, but his tender response had made me feel both exposed and secure.
When Devon emerged minutes later, his demeanor had completely transformed. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes cold with a distant anger that clearly wasn't directed at me but seemed to consume him nonetheless.
"I have to go out," he announced, barely glancing at me as he adjusted his platinum cufflinks with sharp, agitated movements. "You can stay if you want. Tell the housekeeper if you need anything to eat."
Before I could respond, he strode toward the elevator, his posture rigid with tension.
"Is Mr. Kane okay?" I asked the housekeeper when she noticed my confused expression.
She sighed, a knowing look crossing her face. "His father is very angry. The young master will likely be dealing with family matters all night." She trailed off, shaking her head slightly. "He probably won't be back tonight."
I felt a pang of concern. Whatever was happening with Devon's family clearly overshadowed whatever connection we'd shared just moments ago. I gathered my things, deciding not to linger in his apartment alone.
Back in my apartment, I checked my phone for the dozenth time. I'd sent Devon three messages since leaving his place—nothing demanding, just checking if he was okay after his abrupt departure. Three hours later, I still hadn't received a reply.
I stood by the window overlooking the twinkling lights of distant Manhattan, debating whether to call him. Would that seem too desperate? Too needy? I placed my phone down, then picked it up again, this cycle of hesitation making me feel pathetic.
"When did I become this person?" I whispered to the empty room. "Waiting for a man's response like my existence depends on it?"
With a frustrated sigh, I tossed my phone onto the couch and headed to the shower, determined to wash away these unwelcome feelings of dependency.
---
The next day, I went to work at the company as usual. After a day of tidying up by the housekeeping staff hired by Sofia, my company was almost back in order. Then Rex walked into my office so casually.
"Ms. Harper," he said, placing a check on my desk. "Three hundred thousand dollars. Consider it a gift."
I stared at the check, then back at him, keeping my expression carefully neutral despite my racing heart. "I don't accept gifts from strangers, especially not ones with suspicious origins."
Rex smiled thinly. "About what happened at your office the day before yesterday," he continued. "My employer would like to consider the matter settled."
"Would he?" I leaned forward, maintaining eye contact. "I don't recall agreeing to any settlement."
"Look, Ms. Harper," Rex shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable with my refusal to play along. "Let's be practical. You want this problem to go away; we want to avoid unnecessary complications."
"What I want," I said, "is information about the loan Victoria Ross Harper supposedly took out using my mother's signature."
His eyes narrowed. "I can't discuss clients."
"Then we have nothing to discuss at all," I replied, sliding the check back toward him. "And I'll be speaking with the FBI about forged loan documents and criminal intimidation tactics."
The silence stretched between us, a battle of wills I refused to lose.
"Fine," he finally said. "But this doesn't come from me."
What followed was a detailed account of Victoria's financial desperation—over five million dollars borrowed at exorbitant interest rates, payments increasingly late. Most interestingly, the money hadn't been transferred to Victoria directly, but to someone named Eugene Foster.
"Who's Eugene Foster?" I asked, memorizing the name.
Rex shrugged. "Not my department. I just collect."
After he left, I sat back in my chair, the pieces beginning to fit together. Victoria's desperation, the forged documents, the threats—they all pointed to something larger than a simple cash flow problem.
I immediately called Garrett Morgan.
"I need everything you can find on Eugene Foster," I told him. "And his connection to Victoria Harper. Focus on financial transactions, possible business partnerships, and any personal relationship."
"This related to the mother's death angle?" Garrett asked.
"Possibly. I think Victoria may be involved in something bigger than just financial fraud. The money trail might tell us what."
"I'll start digging. Give me a few days."
As I hung up, a sense of purpose replaced my earlier dejection. Victoria had been playing a long game; it was time I started playing mine.
---
Three days later, armed with Garrett's preliminary findings, I made my decision. If Victoria was desperate enough to forge documents, I needed to be where I could watch her every move. It was time to move back into the Harper family mansion.
The house looked exactly as I remembered—imposing stone facade, perfectly manicured lawn, an atmosphere of chilled formality. Inside, I found my father reading The Wall Street Journal in the living room, Victoria pouring him tea.
"Victoria," I greeted with a practiced smile. "Daddy."
My father lowered his newspaper, his expression cool. "What are you doing here?"
"I missed you," I said, injecting a playful tone into my voice while my eyes remained calculating. "Can't a daughter come home to spend time with her father?"
Victoria's smile tightened almost imperceptibly as she placed the teacup in front of my father. "Your room is as you left it," she said smoothly.
My father returned to his newspaper without another word, the dismissal clear. But I'd expected nothing less. This wasn't about family reconnection; this was war.
Upstairs, Aisha was dusting my old bedroom. Her face lit up when she saw me.
"Miss Aria! It's so good to have you back."
"It's good to see you too, Aisha." I closed the door behind me. "How have things been here?"
She glanced nervously at the door before answering. "Not good. Those expensive jewelry pieces and artwork your mother collected—they've disappeared. And Victoria fired Lucy last week, accused her of stealing."
I nodded, the pieces falling into place. Victoria wasn't just using forged documents to access my inheritance; she was liquidating existing assets to cover her mysterious debts.
"Don't worry, Aisha. I'm staying for a while."
That night, lying in my childhood bed, I checked my phone again. Still no response from Devon. Had he tired of me already? Was he busy with new business ventures, new social obligations? Or was there something more concerning behind his silence?
I calculated that I'd known Devon Kane for only about two or three months, but it felt like years with everything that had happened. The intensity of our connection—or whatever it was—made his sudden silence all the more jarring.
With a frustrated sigh, I set my phone aside. Devon Kane was a puzzle I couldn't solve tonight. Victoria Harper, on the other hand, was becoming clearer by the day.
Later that day, I joined my father and Victoria for dinner. They'd already started eating without me, a small but deliberate slight.
"Richard Brown's mother called today," Victoria announced, delicately cutting her salmon. "Poor Richard was in a car accident yesterday. Nearly lost use of his arm. We should visit the Browns as a family."
My father nodded absently, his attention focused on his plate.
"How unfortunate," I murmured. What did he expect after groping me? He deserved what he got.