Chapter 144
Aria's POV
I felt a stab of something I refused to name. Jealousy? Ridiculous. Devon Kane wasn't mine to be jealous over.
"Why do you have this photo of Devon? Are you at the club right now? What's their relationship?" I texted Sophia, my fingers moving before my brain could catch up.
Her reply came quickly: "Let's talk tomorrow at the office. Get some rest and don't overthink it."
Don't overthink it? Easy for her to say. I stared at her message, realizing Sophia must still be at the club at this hour. Probably with some date she hadn't mentioned. That would explain why she had access to these photos and why she was being so evasive. I decided not to press further—her love life was her business.
But the photo of Devon still burned on my screen. I wasn't supposed to care who Devon spent his evenings with. Our arrangement was purely professional—a business transaction. The fact that my stomach clenched at the sight of him smiling at another woman was... inconvenient. Unprofessional.
And yet I couldn't stop wondering who she was. What made her special enough to earn one of Devon's rare smiles? Why was he at a club when he should be recovering from his wound? Questions I had no right to ask buzzed through my mind.
I tossed my phone aside and buried my face in my pillow, but sleep refused to come. After twenty minutes of restless tossing, my phone pinged with a text message.
"Where are you?"
Devon Kane. Just seeing his name sent an electric current through me. My heart rate quickened as I picked up the phone, reading his message twice.
I decided not to respond. Whatever club escapades he was enjoying, I wanted no part of them. My phone began to ring—his call. I watched it until the screen went dark again, my finger hovering over the answer button but never pressing it. Seconds later, another text arrived:
"Answer your phone, or I'll come knock on your door. Waking your family seems inappropriate."
The threat was clear. I rushed to the window, my heart hammering. There, parked outside the Harper mansion, was Devon's Maybach, Marcus standing stoically beside it. The sight of that car—knowing Devon was inside it—sent a rush of conflicting emotions through me: irritation, anticipation, and something warmer I didn't want to acknowledge.
Quickly, I changed into jeans and a cashmere sweater, then crept downstairs, careful not to wake anyone. The house felt eerily peaceful after tonight's drama with Victoria. I slipped outside into the cool night air, closing the door softly behind me.
Devon was leaning against his car door, his suit jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened, eyes slightly red. The scent of expensive whiskey mingled with unfamiliar perfume as I approached—the same perfume I'd detected on the woman in red from the photo. My stomach tightened.
"I thought you were dead, not answering messages," he said, his words slightly slurred. His gaze was intense despite the alcohol, those gray eyes focused entirely on me.
"To what do I owe this late-night visit, Mr. Kane?" I kept my voice cool, ignoring the flutter in my stomach and the jealousy gnawing at me. Who was that woman? Why did her perfume linger on his clothes?
Devon stepped forward suddenly, backing me against a pillar. His face lowered toward mine, his breath warm against my cheek. I turned my head, avoiding his kiss.
"Someone might see us here."
"So you are angry," he said with a cold laugh, his eyes narrowing as he studied my expression.
"I wouldn't dare be angry with you, Mr. Kane." The words came out more bitter than I'd intended.
Without warning, he pulled me toward the car. Marcus opened the door, and Devon practically shoved me inside before sliding in after me. His movements were less coordinated than usual, betraying how much he'd had to drink. As the car pulled away from the curb, Devon leaned his head back against the seat. The harsh lines of his face softened, and within minutes, his breathing had deepened, and his head slumped onto my shoulder.
I stared at his sleeping face, noticing how the perpetual furrow between his brows had smoothed out. The weight of his head against my shoulder felt strangely right. His hand found mine in his sleep, fingers intertwining with an intimacy that seemed unconscious. I remembered what Marcus had once mentioned about Devon's insomnia—how he rarely slept peacefully. Yet here he was, sleeping like a child beside me.
Part of me wanted to wake him, to ask about the woman in red, to demand explanations I had no right to. But another part—the part that felt the steady rhythm of his breathing against my side—couldn't bring myself to disturb him. The vulnerability he showed in sleep was something rare and precious. Whatever jealousy I felt dissolved slightly as I watched him rest.
"Take us to Mr. Kane's apartment," I instructed Marcus quietly.
When we arrived at Devon's luxury building, Marcus helped me guide a half-conscious Devon into the elevator. The weight of him against me, the warmth of his body—it was both burden and comfort. Once inside his apartment, I realized Devon's skin was burning up.
"He's running a fever," I told Marcus, pressing my palm against Devon's forehead. The heat radiating from him alarmed me. "Call a doctor."
While Marcus made the call, there was a sharp knock at the door. Marcus's face drained of color.
"It's Mrs. Kane," he whispered urgently.
"His mother?" I felt panic rise in my throat. Meeting Devon's mother while helping her drunk, feverish son into bed wasn't exactly how I'd imagined our introduction.
"Quick—hide in his bedroom," Marcus urged, practically shoving me through the door. "Don't make a sound."
I slid under Devon's massive bed just as I heard the apartment door open and the distinctive click of expensive heels across the marble floor. My heart pounded so loudly I was certain it would give me away. From my hiding spot, I could see only feet and the lower portion of the room, but it was enough.
"Is the infection back?" Eleanor Kane's voice was crisp with concern as she entered the bedroom. "Devon, why won't you rest properly?"
I watched her perfectly manicured feet move around the room as a doctor examined Devon. The infection in his abdomen wound had flared up again, causing the fever. I found myself wondering about that wound—another mystery about Devon I wasn't privy to.
"This family has been sick for too long," Eleanor sighed, her voice heavy with meaning that I couldn't fully grasp. She spoke briefly with the doctor about Devon's medication before leaving in a flurry of quiet fury.
As I lay there under the bed, I realized how little I knew about Devon's life—his family, his past, even his current injuries. The woman in the nightclub photo was just one small piece of a larger puzzle. Somehow, that thought made me feel both better and worse.
After everyone had gone, I crawled out from under the bed, my joints stiff from lying on the hard floor. I stood, brushing dust from my clothes, and startled the doctor who was still organizing his medical bag.
"Will he be alright?" I asked, nodding toward Devon's sleeping form.
"The fever should break by morning," the doctor replied, eyeing me curiously. "Are you his..."
"Business associate," I supplied quickly, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. "We have a contract."
Marcus returned after escorting Eleanor out. "You should go home if you need to, Ms. Harper. I'll stay with him."
I nodded, understanding the dismissal. Devon was vulnerable now, and I wasn't family or even a real girlfriend. I was just... temporary. The thought sat uncomfortably in my chest as I gathered my purse.
The ride back to the Harper mansion was quiet. Marcus kept his eyes on the road, and I kept mine on the passing city lights, trying not to think about Devon's fever or the way his hand had held mine in sleep. Or the woman in red who had made him smile. The silence of the car gave me too much space to wonder, to worry.
I returned to the Harper mansion just as dawn was breaking over Manhattan. The golden light spilled across the foyer as I stepped inside, illuminating the space where just hours ago, Victoria had knelt before my father, pleading her innocence.
As I moved toward the stairs, I heard Scarlett's voice from the living room.
"Daddy, can Mom come home for my birthday? The party won't be complete without her."