Chapter 199
Aria's POV
Having instructed Garrett to keep investigating the Blake family matter, I remained in my car for almost twenty minutes, drumming my fingers restlessly on the steering wheel.
The revelation that my own father was conspiring with my ex-fiancé's family to undermine me shouldn't have surprised me. Yet somehow, it still cut deep. I'd gotten what I wanted—Victoria was gone, and I'd moved back into the Harper mansion. But what was the point of reclaiming my place in a house where my father plotted against me?
I made my decision and started the engine. Within thirty minutes, I'd packed two suitcases with essentials. No one questioned me as I carried them downstairs and loaded them into my car. The Harper mansion had never felt like home since my mother died anyway.
The drive to Devon's building passed in a blur. Devon had given me a key during our second month together—a practical decision, he'd claimed at the time, nothing more. I wondered what he'd say if he knew I was using it to essentially move in without his knowledge or permission.
The elevator ride to the top floor gave me time to question my choices. Was I really going to Devon Kane for help? The man who'd started as a business arrangement and somehow become... what exactly? My lover? My protector? A man who seemed to want me yet kept me at a calculated distance?
It was only then that I realized his apartment looked somewhat different than it had a few months earlier. The minimalist design and expensive furnishings were still there, but something had changed. As I walked through the entryway, my eyes caught sight of a silk scarf—my scarf—draped casually over a chair. Floor-to-ceiling windows still showcased the glittering Manhattan skyline, but the space no longer felt completely unlived in.
I placed my suitcases by the door and moved toward the kitchen, surprised to find it stocked with my favorite brand of tea and the dark chocolate I'd mentioned liking weeks ago. Opening the bathroom door revealed even more surprises—women's toiletries arranged neatly beside the sink, the lavender bath salts I'd used during my last visit, and a new bathrobe in my size hanging on the door.
These weren't just random female items; they were specifically things I'd used or mentioned in passing. Had Devon been collecting them with each of my visits? Or had he deliberately purchased them with me in mind? The thought that he might have been preparing for my eventual return sent an unexpected warmth through me.
The cold, showroom-perfect penthouse had subtle touches of... me. It was still undeniably Devon's domain, but these small concessions to my presence softened its edges, transforming the space from merely impressive to surprisingly intimate.
I settled at the dining table with my laptop, spreading out the documents Garrett had given me earlier. Three meetings between my father and the Blakes in two weeks. A coordinated effort to push me out of Harper Group. I needed to know more, particularly about Marianne Blake's involvement. My mother's former best friend was now actively working against me—I needed to understand why.
After hours of work, hunger finally drove me to the kitchen. Devon's refrigerator contained exactly what I expected: premium ingredients, barely touched. I settled for making instant ramen from my emergency purse stash, eating it directly from the pot while staring at the city below.
"Breaking and entering now, Ms. Harper?"
Devon's voice startled me so badly I nearly dropped my chopsticks. He stood in the entryway, his suit jacket draped over one arm, tie loosened, eyes fixed on me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"I have a key," I replied, trying to sound casual while standing in his kitchen eating instant noodles.
"Yes, for emergencies." His gaze drifted to my suitcases by the door. "Moving in seems a bit presumptuous, even for you."
I set down my ramen. "I need a place to stay temporarily and some help getting information. The Blake family is working with my father to undermine me at Harper Group."
"And here I thought you might have missed me," he said, dropping his jacket on a chair. "What about your boy Reed? No room at his place?"
The unexpected mention of Calvin Reed caught me off guard. "What does Calvin Reed have to do with anything?"
Devon's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "You tell me. My sources say you've been getting quite cozy with the Reed Group CEO."
I felt my cheeks flush with irritation. "If by 'cozy' you mean 'secured a major contract for Harper Group,' then yes. It was purely business."
"Nothing is purely business with you, Aria." Devon moved closer, and I caught the faint scent of his cologne. "You have a way of mixing pleasure into everything you touch."
"That's rich coming from you," I snapped, immediately regretting how defensive I sounded. "Look, if me being here bothers you—"
"I didn't say that." He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine. "But hearing you've been spending time with other men... it makes me feel a bit uncomfortable."
The Chinese word slipped out so naturally that it took me a moment to process. When I did, I couldn't help but laugh. "Did you just say I make you feel uncomfortable?"
His expression darkened. "Is that funny to you?"
"No, it's just... unexpected." I steadied myself against the counter. "I didn't think you cared who I spent time with when we're not together."
Devon stepped forward until mere inches separated us. "You should know better by now."
The air between us crackled with tension. I couldn't tell if he was angry or aroused—perhaps both. After a moment, he abruptly turned and walked toward his bedroom.
"Stay if you must," he called over his shoulder. "But we're not finished discussing this."
Ten minutes later, he emerged from his walk-in closet holding what appeared to be a silk nightgown. The deep midnight blue fabric shimmered under the apartment's soft lighting.
"Put this on," he said, extending it toward me.
"I brought my own clothes."
"Consider it your apology for making assumptions about my feelings." His tone left no room for argument.
I took the garment, its cool silk sliding between my fingers. "I need to shower first."
"Don't take too long."
In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection as steam filled the mirror. The woman looking back at me seemed different somehow—more determined, yet more vulnerable. I showered quickly and slipped on the nightgown, which fit perfectly, as if it had been made specifically for me.
When I emerged, Devon was waiting in bed, his back against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. He looked up, his eyes darkening as they traced the silk clinging to my curves.
"You weren't this shy when you first approached me at the Pinnacle," he remarked, setting his phone aside.
I crossed my arms over my chest. "That was different."
"Was it?" A small, knowing smile played at his lips. "So between us, who shouldn't be feeling uncomfortable about whom?"
I felt my defenses crumbling. "Devon—"
"Come here," he commanded softly.
I moved to the bed, hesitating at its edge. He reached for me, pulling me down beside him with surprising gentleness.
"You're an enigma, Aria Harper," he whispered against my hair. "Always calculating, always planning your next move. What am I to you? Another piece on your chessboard?"
Before I could answer, his lips found mine in a kiss that was both possessive and questioning. His hands moved over the silk covering my body, and I felt myself responding despite my earlier resolve to keep boundaries clear.
Later, as we lay tangled in his sheets, I noticed something remarkable. Devon's breathing had steadied, his face relaxed in sleep. The perpetually tense set of his shoulders had softened, and the furrow between his brows had smoothed out.
I'd heard that Devon suffered from chronic insomnia—that he rarely slept more than three hours a night. Yet here he was, deeply asleep beside me, one arm still draped possessively across my waist.
As I watched his chest rise and fall in the dim light filtering through the curtains, a startling thought occurred to me: perhaps Devon needed me for more than just the physical release our arrangement provided. Perhaps, in some strange way, I gave him something no one else could—the ability to truly rest.