Chapter 175
Aria's POV
Minutes passed without response. My jaw tightened as I placed the phone down on my desk. I inhaled deeply, trying to steady my racing heart. I shouldn't have expected anything different. When it came to business, Devon Kane was ruthless and uncompromising. The warmth in his eyes when we were alone disappeared completely when work was involved.
I stared at the phone, wondering if I should go ask him directly for more detailed feedback. Marketing was my strength, but company management had always been Sophia's department. With her injured and dealing with family issues, I felt uncomfortable bothering her now. I rubbed my temples, feeling suddenly alone with this responsibility.
My phone vibrated again. My heart jumped, but it wasn't Devon. The name on the screen made my stomach clench: Marianne Blake.
"I need to talk to you. About Ethan." her message read.
I frowned, my finger hovering over the screen. A strange mixture of old affection and new wariness washed over me. This woman had once been like a second mother to me, before her son shattered my heart.
"Sorry, I don't have time," I typed back quickly, then set my phone aside.
A feeling of unease settled in my chest, making it difficult to focus on the documents before me. What could Marianne possibly want to discuss about Ethan now? Why reach out after everything that had happened?
The afternoon dragged, my mind oscillating between Devon's dismissive response and Marianne's unexpected message. By six, exhaustion weighed heavily on my shoulders. I gathered my things, forcing a polite nod to the security guard as I pushed through Harper Group's glass doors into the cooling evening air.
I stopped abruptly, my breath catching.
Marianne Blake stood beside my car. I barely recognized her. Her usually immaculate appearance was disheveled—hair uncombed, clothes wrinkled. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her lips were pressed into a thin line of distress.
"Aria," she stepped forward, her voice cracking slightly. "Please. Just one hour."
I shifted my weight, deliberately keeping distance between us. I addressed her as "Mrs. Blake" instead of "Marianne," the formal name feeling strange on my tongue after years of affectionate familiarity.
"I'm really very busy," I said, my voice deliberately cool even as I noticed her hands shaking slightly.
Desperation flashed in her eyes—a look I'd never seen on this proud woman before. "Please. Just one hour. It's about Ethan."
I studied her face, noticing the smudged mascara, the redness around her eyes. Something was seriously wrong. My instincts told me to walk away, but curiosity and a lingering sense of obligation kept me rooted to the spot. Against my better judgment, I nodded curtly.
"One hour. Not a minute more."
Relief washed over her face. "Thank you," she whispered. "We'll take my car. My driver can bring you back afterward."
I followed her to the black Mercedes parked nearby, my steps measured and cautious. As we settled into the backseat, I noticed her hands fidgeting with her wedding ring—a nervous habit I remembered from years ago. She instructed her driver to head for the Lincoln Tunnel, her voice steadier now that she'd gotten what she wanted.
The silence between us felt thick and uncomfortable. I kept my gaze fixed on the passing buildings, acutely aware of how much distance had grown between us.
"That bastard..." she muttered suddenly, staring out the window. "Ethan's been hurt. Badly."
My pulse quickened, and I turned to look at her. Her profile was rigid with tension.
"What happened?" I asked, Pretending not to know that Ethan's injury was related to Devon.
"He's in a coma," she said, her voice breaking on the last word. She swallowed hard before continuing. "The doctors aren't sure if he'll wake up. And if he does... they say he might be... a vegetable."
I felt my face freeze into a mask of neutrality even as shock rippled through me. I hadn't expected this. Whatever I'd thought Marianne wanted to discuss, it wasn't this.
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said carefully, measuring each word. "But I don't understand what this has to do with me."
Marianne didn't respond, her gaze fixed on something distant. I noticed we'd entered the Lincoln Tunnel, leaving Manhattan behind. As we emerged, I began to pay closer attention to the road signs, noting with growing unease that we were heading toward a more remote area of New Jersey. The familiar skyline of the city receded in the rearview mirror.
My heart rate increased. "Where are we going, exactly?" I asked, keeping my voice casual as I unlocked my phone screen, positioning my thumb near the emergency call button.
Marianne remained silent, her breathing shallow. When she finally turned to face me, her expression had hardened, her grief momentarily eclipsed by something darker.
The car turned onto a winding road, trees thickening on either side. Darkness was settling in, making the unfamiliar surroundings even more disorienting. I glanced at the location markers on my phone, watching with growing alarm as the blue dot moved farther from civilization.
The car slowed, turning onto a gravel driveway that led to a secluded lake house. As we came to a stop, I watched Marianne's face transform. The composed mask cracked entirely, revealing raw pain underneath.
"It has EVERYTHING to do with you!" she suddenly screamed, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap. "You know exactly what happened, don't you? You had your new boyfriend Devon Kane do this to him!"
The accusation hit me like a slap. I stared at her, genuinely stunned. The elegant socialite who had once taught me how to properly hold a teacup had transformed into someone I didn't recognize—a creature of pure grief and rage.
"I didn't," I shook my head, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what you're talking about."