Chapter 260
Aria's POV
The hotel room door clicked shut behind Devon with an ominous finality that made my stomach clench. He stood there in the soft lamplight, still wearing his charcoal suit from whatever business had brought him to Chicago. The October night's chill clung to his shoulders, and his gray eyes—usually so controlled—churned like storm clouds before thunder.
I retreated until my back hit the window, my hands instinctively moving to protect my abdomen before I caught myself and dropped them. "How did you find me?"
His laugh was sharp, humorless. "You think changing cities would hide you from me?" He took a step forward, loosening his tie with one hand. "What are you so afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid. I told you—the project needed my full attention. Sometimes I need space to think clearly." The words came out more defensive than I intended.
"Space." He repeated the word like it tasted bitter. "From me specifically, or from everyone?"
Before I could answer, three sharp knocks interrupted us. Austin's voice filtered through: "Aria? I brought those market analysis reports you wanted."
Devon's jaw tightened. He crossed the room in three strides and yanked open the door with barely controlled force. Austin stood frozen in the hallway, his easy smile faltering under Devon's ice-cold stare.
"Not a good time," Devon said flatly.
Austin's gaze darted past him to me. "Aria? You okay? Should I call hotel security?"
The concern in his voice was genuine, well-meaning. It also made everything worse. "I'm fine, Austin. Thank you for bringing these. I'll see you tomorrow at the office."
Devon didn't move until Austin backed away down the hall. Then he closed the door—not slammed it, which would have been better somehow. The controlled fury in that soft click made my throat tight.
"So you'd rather spend time with coworkers than see me?" He turned back, and something flickered across his face. Hurt? No, that was impossible. Devon Kane didn't do hurt. "Is that it?"
"That's not—" I pressed my palm against the window glass, needing something solid. "This is a work trip. Austin is a colleague. You're being ridiculous."
"Am I?" Three steps and he was in front of me, one hand braced on either side of my head. I could smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from him. "Your heart's racing. You won't look at me directly. And you've been avoiding my calls for over a week." His thumb brushed my wrist, checking my pulse with clinical precision. "You're lying, Aria. Don't insult my intelligence by denying it."
The walls felt like they were closing in. My body remembered his touch too well—the way he'd been so careful with me before I left New York, how his hand had rested on my stomach while we slept.
"I saw you," I blurted out. "At the restaurant earlier. I wasn't trying to avoid you specifically—I just didn't want to interrupt your business dinner."
His eyes narrowed. "You just told me you didn't see me. Which is it?"
Damn it. I pressed my lips together, trapped by my own contradictions.
"I warned you, Aria." His voice dropped to that silky-dangerous register that usually preceded either punishment or passion. "Never lie to me."
"And I told "you"—" I shoved at his chest, but he didn't budge. "This was supposed to be a transaction. We're past that now. Why do you care where I am or who I'm with?"
The words hung in the air like shards of broken glass. Devon went very still, his face emptying of expression in that way that meant I'd hit something vital. He stepped back slowly, putting space between us.
"You're right." His tone had gone flat, businesslike. Cold in a way that made my chest ache. "A transaction. I should remember my place." He straightened his tie, his movements mechanical. "Since you're so focused on work, I won't distract you further."
"Devon, I didn't mean—"
"Good luck with your project, Miss Harper." The formal address felt like a slap. "Don't let me keep you from your colleagues."
He walked out. The door didn't slam this time either, but the soft click of it closing echoed in the sudden silence like a gunshot. I stood frozen by the window, watching my reflection in the darkened glass as my knees gave out and I slid slowly to the floor.
The carpet was rough against my palms as I tried to control my breathing. "This is what you wanted," I told myself. "Distance. Protection. A way out before he could hurt you worse."
So why did my chest feel like it was caving in?
---
The next morning, I ended my Chicago trip a day early. The flight back to New York felt endless, every moment of turbulence making my stomach turn.
The cramping started somewhere over Pennsylvania—a dull ache low in my belly that made me shift uncomfortably in my seat. Probably stress. Or maybe my body's way of telling me I'd pushed too hard. I'd barely eaten in Chicago, surviving on coffee and nervous energy.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, so quietly that even the woman beside me couldn't hear. My hand moved in small circles over my stomach. "I'm sorry you're stuck in the middle of this mess."
By the time we landed at JFK, the cramping had intensified. I bypassed both Devon's penthouse and Harper mansion, heading straight to my Brooklyn apartment—the one I'd barely lived in since Devon had pulled me into his orbit. The photos of my mother on the mantle seemed to watch me with knowing eyes as I changed out of my work clothes.
That night, I lay awake in my childhood bed, one hand curved protectively over my stomach as the cramps came and went. Google searches on my phone yielded terrifying results: "early pregnancy cramping", "miscarriage symptoms", "bleeding in first trimester".
I needed to see a doctor. Needed to know if the baby was okay. If "I" was okay.
The decision to visit New York General Hospital the next morning felt simultaneously necessary and terrifying. I chose the hospital specifically because it was large, impersonal—a place where I could be just another patient, not Aria Harper with her scandalous family drama plastered across every gossip site.
The OB-GYN who examined me was kind but clinical, confirming what I already knew: six weeks pregnant, no signs of immediate danger. The cramping was stress-related, though she couldn't rule out other complications without more tests.
"You need to reduce your stress levels," she advised, making notes on her tablet. "Rest when you can. Avoid intense emotional situations. This is a critical development period for the fetus."
"Avoid intense emotional situations." If only she knew.
"Does the father know?" Her question was gentle, professional curiosity.
"No." My voice came out hoarse. "He doesn't."
"You'll need a support system, Miss Harper. Partner, family, friends—someone to help you through this."
I nodded mechanically, accepting the paperwork and appointment card she handed me. But as I left the examination room and walked through the maze of hospital corridors, my mind was already fracturing.
"Support system." I had Sophia, maybe. Ryan. But the person I wanted to tell, the person whose hand I wanted to hold through this—
I rounded the corner toward the elevator bank and stopped dead.
Devon stood twenty feet away, his back to me as he pushed a wheelchair. The woman in it had lustrous dark hair and pale skin, her profile delicate as she tilted her head back to say something that made him smile. Not the cold, calculating expression he wore in boardrooms. Not even the heated look he gave me in private. This was something softer. "Real".
Evelyn.
My hand found the wall as my knees went weak. I should leave. Turn around right now and take the stairs, avoid this collision of my two fears: Devon's potential rejection and this woman who apparently held the piece of him I never could.
But I stood frozen as Devon adjusted the blanket over Evelyn's legs with careful hands. She caught his wrist, her fingers pale against his tanned skin, and said something that made him lean down closer to hear. Her hand came up to touch his face—a gesture of such casual intimacy that my throat closed completely.
"That's what Eleanor meant." This was the relationship I could never compete with. Childhood history, shared trauma, the kind of bond that transcended whatever physical arrangement Devon and I had stumbled into.
He looked up then, his gaze sweeping the hallway in that habitual security check he always did. Our eyes met across the distance.
For one heartbeat, his expression opened—surprise, something that might have been relief or concern. Then it shuttered closed, smoothing into polite acknowledgment. A nod. Nothing more.
He kept pushing the wheelchair toward the opposite corridor, Evelyn's voice floating back: "Is that her? Aria?" A pause. "You should introduce us properly sometime!"