Chapter 142
Aria's POV
My father stood in the center of our luxurious living room, his posture rigid with fury as he gripped his tablet so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Victoria still knelt before him, her carefully applied mascara now creating dark rivers down her cheeks.
"When," my father's voice was dangerously quiet, "did I, William Harper, sink so low that I need my wife to sell her body to handle scandals? Wouldn't that just create more scandals?"
Victoria's hands trembled as she reached for him. "William, please, I swear I didn't know he would suddenly kiss me! It was just a business meeting to handle the situation with Scarlett and Ethan. I was trying to protect our family!"
I leaned against the banister, a rush of satisfaction warming my chest. For years, I'd watched Victoria manipulate my father with her tears and trembling voice. Now he was finally seeing through her act—or at least beginning to question it. I pressed my lips together to suppress the smile threatening to form.
"If I'm lying," Victoria continued, placing a hand over her heart, "may God take away my title as Mrs. Harper forever."
I noticed the flicker of doubt in my father's eyes and felt my satisfaction drain away, replaced by a familiar bitterness. Four years of marriage had conditioned him to believe Victoria's tears. The pattern was so predictable it made me sick—her tears, his hesitation, her triumph.
Victoria seized on his momentary weakness, pulling out her phone with shaking fingers. "I'll prove it to you," she said, dialing a number and putting it on speaker. "Leila? Could you please tell William what happened at the hotel yesterday?"
As her assistant's voice filled the room with a carefully crafted explanation, I dug my nails into my palm. Of course Victoria had prepared for this. The woman was nothing if not thorough in her deceptions.
When the call ended, Victoria looked up at my father with wounded eyes. "You heard it yourself, William. I was only asking for his help. Leila is the assistant you personally selected for me—she wouldn't lie to you."
Scarlett chose this moment to rush in, clinging to my father's arm. "Daddy, please forgive Mom. She did nothing wrong!"
For once, my father didn't immediately melt at Scarlett's touch. Instead, he turned to her with unexpected anger. "If you and the Blake boy hadn't created this mess, your mother wouldn't have needed to beg others for help!"
A surge of vindication rose within me. Finally—finally!—my father was directing some of his anger at his precious Scarlett.
Scarlett's eyes immediately welled with tears. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I promise I'll never do anything like that again."
I considered my options as I watched them. The folder of evidence on my laptop contained much more damaging information—proof that could destroy Victoria completely. My finger twitched, eager to deliver the final blow, but I forced myself to wait. Timing was crucial in this game we were playing.
Finally, my father spoke. "Victoria, starting tonight, you'll move to the Madison Park apartment. Until I get to the bottom of this, you are not to return home." His voice hardened. "And if I discover you've lied to me, you'll never set foot in a Harper home again."
I quietly ascended the stairs, a cool sense of accomplishment settling over me. About twenty minutes later, I heard the distinctive purr of a luxury car pulling away from the house. One battle won.
When I came downstairs for dinner, Scarlett was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes puffy but filled with accusation.
"It was you, wasn't it?" she hissed, blocking my path.
I ignored her, turning to Aisha. "Is dinner ready? I'm famished."
Scarlett grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my skin. "Why would you do this?"
I tried to pull away, my patience wearing thin. After years of watching her take everything that was mine—my father's love, my mother's house, even Ethan—her touch felt like acid on my skin.
"You're just like your mother," she spat. "A home-wrecker."
The words hit me like a physical blow. My mother—kind, gentle Elizabeth Harper—had never broken anything in her life except her own heart loving a man who forgot her the moment she was gone. White-hot rage flooded through me. The slap echoed through the foyer, leaving a perfect red imprint of my hand on her left cheek.
Scarlett shrieked in outrage, and I delivered another slap to her right cheek, creating symmetrical marks. My hand stung, but the pain felt cleansing.
"Next time you want a face, don't take mine," I said, my voice unnervingly steady despite the anger coursing through me. "And if you ever mention my mother again, what happens next will make this look like a gentle caress."
Scarlett stepped back, genuine fear replacing the affected victim pose she usually adopted. Good. It was time she learned her place in this house.
Dinner that evening was a solitary affair. My father had locked himself in his study, and Scarlett was hiding in her room. The spacious dining room felt unusually peaceful as I savored each bite. For the first time in years, the air in the Harper mansion felt breathable.
Later that night, I spread the Harper Group business files across my desk. If I was going to take my rightful place in the company, I needed to understand its inner workings completely.
The wall clock showed 2:30 AM when I finally sneezed—a sign my body was demanding rest. As I prepared for bed, my phone pinged with a message from Sophia. Curious about what would prompt my friend to text at this hour, I opened the attachment.
The moment the image loaded, I felt a strange tightness in my chest. On my screen was a photo of Devon Kane with a woman in a red dress. They were at what appeared to be a nightclub, the woman leaning toward him intimately, feeding him a drink. Most shocking of all was the rare smile playing at the corner of Devon's lips—an expression I'd never seen him direct at anyone else. Had his gunshot wound healed? Why did he appear in a nightclub?
"Are you and Kane over?" Sophia's follow-up message read.
I stared at the image, unable to look away. My mouth went dry. The woman was beautiful—elegant, confident, everything I tried to be. And Devon... Devon was looking at her intently.
My fingers tightened around my phone until my knuckles turned white. I tried to swallow but couldn't past the lump in my throat. Why did this bother me so much? Devon and I had an arrangement—a business transaction. Nothing more.
I tried to type a casual response to Sophia, but my fingers trembled over the keyboard. I deleted several attempts before giving up.
Setting the phone down, I pressed my palms against my eyes. The strange hollowness spreading through my chest caught me completely off guard. This uncomfortable feeling—was it jealousy? No, it couldn't be. That would mean I cared about Devon beyond our arrangement.
I picked up my phone again, studying the woman's face, trying to memorize every detail. The way she leaned toward him. The intimacy in her posture. The answering warmth in Devon's expression.
"It doesn't matter," I whispered to the empty room, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. "He can do whatever he wants. This isn't real."