Chapter 203
Aria's POV
I clawed at the ground, panic surging through me. "Let go of me!" My voice sounded stronger than I felt as I struggled against his grip.
His two companions moved closer, blocking any chance of escape. One of them reached for me, his fingers inches from my arm when a shadow appeared behind him.
A swift, precise movement—a fist connecting with the man's jaw—sent him crashing to the ground. The shadow solidified into a familiar form. Devon.
His movements were fluid, almost graceful in their violence. He took down the second man with a calculated blow to the sternum, then pivoted toward the third—the one still gripping my ankle. Devon's expression was terrifyingly calm, his eyes cold and focused as he methodically disabled each attacker.
When the last man collapsed, Devon turned toward me. I instinctively shrank back, still caught in the fear response.
"Don't move," he said, his voice low. "It's me."
Recognition washed through me, and something inside me broke. I scrambled to my feet and flung myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist, burying my face against his chest as tears came unbidden.
His hand moved to my back, a gentle pressure that contradicted the violence I'd just witnessed. "Marcus," he commanded over my head, "find out who sent them. Then deliver them to the police. Make sure there's sufficient evidence."
I couldn't stop trembling, couldn't control the tears that kept coming. Devon's arms tightened around me, his heartbeat steady against my ear.
"You're safe now," he murmured, the words vibrating through his chest.
He didn't give me a chance to respond, bending down to slide one arm beneath my knees and the other around my back, lifting me effortlessly. I gasped in surprise, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck for balance.
"I can walk," I protested weakly, though the throbbing in my ankle suggested otherwise.
Devon didn't answer, just held me tighter against him as he strode toward the waiting Bentley. Marcus had already opened the door, his expression impassive, as if his boss regularly returned carrying injured women.
When Devon carefully placed me on the leather seat, I felt his hesitation, a reluctance to let me go. His eyes flickered with something I couldn't read in the darkness, then he slid in beside me and closed the door.
Throughout the ride, I huddled against his solid frame, his arm protectively around me, neither of us speaking a word.
---
The elevator ride up to Devon's penthouse was silent. I leaned against the wall, exhaustion seeping through me now that adrenaline had faded. Devon stood beside me, his gaze fixed on the climbing numbers, jaw tight.
Inside his apartment, he guided me to a leather couch in the living room, then disappeared briefly, returning with a medical kit. He knelt before me, gently taking my ankle in his hands.
"Let me see," he said, carefully examining the bruises forming where that man had grabbed me.
His fingers brushed over the discolored skin, and I hissed involuntarily at the pain. Devon's eyes flicked up to mine, something unreadable flickering in their gray depths.
"That bad?" he asked, his tone carrying an undercurrent I couldn't quite place.
Heat crept into my cheeks. There was something unexpectedly intimate about his touch, about being alone with him in his private space after what had just happened.
I watched as he efficiently cleaned the scrapes on my palms, then wrapped my twisted ankle with practiced movements.
"Why did you come back?" I finally asked, breaking the silence.
Devon didn't look up from his task. "Marcus noticed those men following our car after we dropped you off."
But something in the way he avoided my eyes told me there was more to it than that.
Dr. Lawrence, Devon's private physician, arrived an hour later. He confirmed what Devon had already determined—my injuries were minor, a slight ankle sprain being the worst of it.
"She should stay off this foot for forty-eight hours," Dr. Lawrence advised Devon, as if I weren't sitting right there. "Rest is the best medicine."
Devon nodded, his expression serious.
As Dr. Lawrence packed his bag, he smiled at Devon. "Remember, she needs complete rest. No... vigorous activities." His tone was half-joking.
Devon raised an eyebrow. "And if I can't help myself?"
I felt my face burn as Dr. Lawrence chuckled and shook his head. "Good night, Devon."
After showing the doctor out, Devon returned, his expression suddenly formal again. "I have matters to attend to. The housekeeper will look after you. Stay here and rest."
His fingers brushed my cheek so briefly I might have imagined it. Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the vast penthouse with my confused thoughts for company.
Emily had brought me dinner on a tray and a set of silk pajamas that fit suspiciously well. I picked at the food, my appetite diminished by the day's events.
As night fell over the city, I found myself alone with my thoughts. I replayed Devon's rescue in my mind—the precision of his movements, the cold fury in his eyes, the gentleness of his hands as he tended to my injuries. Such contradictions in one man.
I thought about how quickly he had come after me, despite his anger. Had he been watching over me all along? The thought sent an odd flutter through my stomach.
Exhaustion eventually overcame me, and I sank into the plush bedding. My dreams were a chaotic mix—dark alleys, grasping hands, and Devon's face, sometimes rescuing me, sometimes walking away.
I woke with a strangled gasp, the nightmare still clinging to me like a shadow. In my dream, I had been running, pursued by faceless men whose fingers brushed the back of my neck.
"Bad dream?"
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Devon was sitting in an armchair beside the bed, a stack of papers in his lap, his face half-illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the windows.
In my startled movement, I sat up too quickly, and my lips accidentally brushed against his jawline as he leaned forward in concern. We both froze. His skin was warm, the slight roughness of evening stubble against my mouth sending an electric current down my spine.
Devon remained perfectly still, his eyes darkening as they fixed on mine. "The doctor said no 'vigorous activity,'" he finally said, his voice husky with something that wasn't quite humor.
I pulled back, heat flooding my cheeks. "I was having a nightmare," I explained lamely, my heart hammering against my ribs.
For a moment, his expression softened, vulnerability passing like a cloud shadow across his face. Then he stood, collecting his papers.
"Go back to sleep, Aria," he said, his tone returning to its usual controlled cadence. "We'll talk in the morning."
He moved toward the door, his tall figure silhouetted against the hallway light. I watched him go, noticing the weariness in his shoulders, wondering what exactly had brought him to my bedside in the middle of the night.
Morning arrived with sunlight streaming through windows I'd forgotten to cover and the realization that I was alone. I checked my phone to find a message from Emily informing me that Devon had left for an urgent business meeting and that breakfast was waiting whenever I was ready.
As I scrolled through my notifications, a news alert from Manhattan Insider caught my eye. My heart skipped as I read the headline:
[EXCLUSIVE: Tech Mogul Devon Kane Spotted Leaving Mystery Woman's Apartment—Secret Romance Revealed?]