Chapter 209
Aria's POV
The silence in Devon's Maybach was suffocating. I stared out the window as Manhattan's familiar landscape gave way to less crowded streets. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel, his jaw clenched so tight I could practically hear his teeth grinding. Neither of us had spoken since leaving his mother's brownstone.
I'd replayed Eleanor Kane's words over and over: "Consider your choices carefully, Ms. Harper." The warning in her eyes had been clear, but there was something else there too—something that looked disturbingly like pity.
Devon veered onto a narrow road that ran parallel to the Hudson River. The Manhattan skyline glittered across the water, beautiful and distant. He parked in an isolated spot and cut the engine. The sudden silence was deafening.
"Why didn't you listen?" he finally asked, his voice eerily calm. "I told you to stay in the penthouse."
I swallowed hard. "I just wanted to get lunch," I said, hating how small my voice sounded. "I can't be locked up all the time."
Devon turned to face me, his gray eyes glacial. "You belong to me, Aria."
He leaned closer until his breath brushed my neck. The water below us churned with dark currents, much like the emotions swirling in his eyes.
"Without my permission, you don't go anywhere."
My heart hammered against my ribs. This wasn't the controlled businessman I'd grown accustomed to. This was someone else—someone dangerous.
"The game we're playing," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "only ends when I say it does. Understand?"
I nodded slightly, my throat too dry for words.
"I wasn't going to take your mother's offer," I managed to explain. "I was going to take it just to get out of there, then tear up the check."
His expression softened slightly, the hardness in his eyes receding a fraction. He studied my face for a moment, seeming to weigh the truth of my words.
"Next time, you follow my instructions," he said, his voice less severe than before but still brooking no argument. "When I tell you to stay in the penthouse, it's for reasons you may not understand."
He leaned back in his seat, his shoulders relaxing marginally, though his gaze remained vigilant.
"You belong to me, Aria," he continued, more statement than threat now. "Our arrangement works only if you remember that."
I nodded, relieved at the small shift in his demeanor, yet still unsettled by the underlying message. The boundaries of our relationship—whatever it was—seemed to shift like sand beneath my feet.
When we returned to Devon's apartment, his private chef had already set dinner on the dining table. The city lights twinkled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a stark contrast to the tension between us.
"Eat," Devon commanded, pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey.
I stared at the exquisitely prepared meal, my appetite nonexistent. The fork felt heavy in my hand as I pushed the food around my plate, each bite like sand in my mouth.
Devon's phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening.
"I need to handle something," he said abruptly, setting down his barely touched whiskey.
He left without further explanation, the elevator doors closing behind him with finality. I sat alone at the massive dining table, my half-eaten dinner growing cold.
I abandoned my plate and walked to the window. New York spread beneath me, a sea of lights and possibilities, yet I felt more trapped than ever.
"Why did I ever knock on that door?" I whispered to my reflection, remembering the night I'd first approached Devon with my desperate proposition.
I touched my wrist where Devon had gripped it earlier. A bruise was forming, a physical reminder of the invisible chains I'd willingly accepted.
---
I wasn't sure how long I'd been lying awake when I heard the elevator doors open. The digital clock on the nightstand showed 2:17 AM. Devon's footsteps were almost silent as he approached the bedroom.
I closed my eyes and regulated my breathing, pretending to sleep. The door opened, and I sensed him standing there, watching me. My heart raced, but I kept my body still, my face relaxed.
After what felt like eternity, he moved. The rustle of fabric told me he was removing his suit. The mattress dipped as he slid under the covers, and then his arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me against his chest.
His breathing gradually slowed, becoming deep and even against my neck. I remained motionless, afraid that the slightest movement would betray my consciousness. Sleep eluded me for hours as I lay trapped in Devon's embrace, my mind racing with questions about the man holding me and the dangerous game I'd entered.
When morning came, I woke to find the bed empty. A note sat on the nightstand: "Stay in the penthouse. Meetings all day."
I'd barely finished reading when my phone chimed with a text message. Calvin Reed's name appeared on the screen: "I have important information about the Harper family. Can we meet today?"
My finger hovered over the screen. Devon's warning echoed in my mind, but so did my father's manipulation, Victoria's schemes, and the mystery surrounding my mother's estate. I needed allies.
"Business only," I replied. "Blue Note Café on Madison Avenue, 2 PM."
I sent Devon a brief text: "Going out for a bit. Back soon." I deliberately omitted where I was going or with whom. Some risks were worth taking.
The Blue Note Café was busy with the afternoon crowd. I chose a corner table with a clear view of the door, my nerves on edge as I watched people come and go. I'd arrived fifteen minutes early, but Calvin Reed was already five minutes late.
I sat at the corner table in Blue Note Café, watching Calvin Reed strut in fifteen minutes late. His white suit stood out like a beacon among the sea of New York black. The confidence in his stride irritated me—he knew I needed something from him, and he was milking every second of it.
"You made me wait fifteen minutes, Mr. Reed," I said as he slid into the chair opposite mine.
"Traffic," he replied with a dismissive wave, the lie hanging between us. "Though I'm sure Kane keeps you waiting much longer than that."