Chapter 268
Devon's POV
The word left my mouth before I could stop it.
"Good."
Aria's amber eyes widened, confusion flickering across her face. I wanted to explain, wanted to tell her that my single syllable meant everything—that I'd give her the legitimacy she craved, the protection our child deserved, the commitment she'd been too afraid to ask for until desperation forced her hand.
But the ultrasound room suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in. That rapid heartbeat still echoed from the monitor—proof of something I'd never allowed myself to want, something that terrified me more than any business rival or family betrayal ever had.
I turned and walked out before I could say something that would reveal just how completely she'd demolished every defense I'd spent thirty-five years building.
Dr. Richardson looked up from his notes as I passed. "Mr. Kane—"
"Bill me," I said curtly, already pulling out my phone. "And Doctor? If word of this reaches anyone—family, press, anyone—I'll make sure you never practice medicine again."
His face paled. "Of course, Mr. Kane. Doctor-patient confidentiality—"
I was already in the elevator, Marcus appearing at my side with his usual efficiency.
"Sir?"
"Get the car. I need to go to the estate."
His expression didn't change, but I saw the brief hesitation. Marcus had been with me long enough to know that nothing good ever came from visits to the Kane family mansion.
"Should I notify your mother—"
"No." My jaw clenched. "This conversation doesn't need advance warning."
The drive to the Kane mansion took forty minutes, forty minutes in which I rehearsed and discarded a dozen different approaches. My mother would fight this. My father would see it as weakness, an opportunity to gain leverage. Connor would find some way to weaponize it.
But none of that mattered anymore. The moment I'd seen that grainy image on the ultrasound screen, felt Aria's desperation as she'd asked me to marry her—badly, vulnerably, with tears streaming down her face—something fundamental had shifted.
I'd spent weeks telling myself this arrangement was temporary, controllable, just another contract to be managed and eventually terminated. But watching Aria cry on that examination table, listening to her worry our child would grow up like she had—alone, unwanted, always reaching for affection that never came—I'd realized the truth I'd been avoiding.
I wasn't letting her go. Not now. Not ever.
Marcus pulled through the iron gates of the estate, past manicured lawns and perfectly pruned hedges that my mother maintained with obsessive precision. Everything about this place was controlled, contained, utterly bloodless.
Just like the woman who ran it.
I found her on the garden terrace, wearing white linen and pearl earrings, pruning roses with the same ruthless efficiency she applied to everything else. She looked up as I approached, surprise flashing across her aristocratic features.
"Devon. I wasn't expecting you until Friday."
"This couldn't wait." I sat on the wrought-iron bench, my larger frame making the delicate furniture look almost absurd. "I came to tell you something. Not to ask permission—to inform you of a decision I've already made."
Her pruning shears paused mid-cut. "That sounds ominous."
"I'm getting married."
The shears lowered. For the first time in years, I saw genuine emotion cross Eleanor Kane's face—relief, satisfaction, something that might have been maternal warmth.
"Oh, Devon." Her smile was radiant as she reached for her phone. "I'm so pleased. Let me call Catherine Stevens right away. We can have the ceremony at the family chapel, no need for a long engagement when—"
"I'm not marrying Mandy."
The smile froze. Her hand stilled on her phone. "What?"
"The bride is Aria Harper."
The pruning shears fell from her hand, clattering against the stone terrace with a harsh metallic sound that made me flinch. For a moment, my mother simply stared at me, her carefully maintained composure cracking like porcelain under pressure.
Then she laughed—a cold, bitter sound I remembered from childhood, usually preceding some calculated cruelty.
"No. Absolutely not." She set her phone down with deliberate care. "Devon, I don't care what little arrangement you have with that Harper girl—playing around, having your fun, I've turned a blind eye. But marriage? Bringing her into this family? That's out of the question."
"It's not a question." I kept my voice level, factual. "I'm informing you, not asking permission."
"Then let me inform you of something." She moved closer, voice dropping to that dangerous register that meant she was truly angry. "As long as I'm breathing, as long as I have a say in this family, that woman will never be a Kane. Do you understand me? Never."
I met her gaze steadily. "Then I suggest you make peace with losing your son. Because I'm marrying her, with or without your blessing."
Her face went pale, then flushed with anger. "Have you lost your mind? Her father is out on bail for murder, Devon. Her family name is synonymous with scandal. The business is hemorrhaging money. She has nothing to offer this family except embarrassment and—"
"She has everything I want."
The simple statement stopped her cold.
"Everything you—" She shook her head sharply. "Devon, you're thinking with the wrong part of your anatomy. This infatuation will pass. It always does. But marriage? That's permanent. That's binding our family to the Harpers' sinking ship, and I won't allow—"
"You won't allow?" I stood, my six-foot-three frame towering over her. "Mother, I stopped asking your permission when I took over Kane Tech. This is my decision. My life. My choice."
"Your choice?" Her voice rose. "What about your responsibilities? The merger your father negotiated with Stevens Industries? The board members expecting this alliance? You're willing to throw all of that away for some—"
"Careful." The single word came out cold enough to frost the air between us. "Very careful how you finish that sentence."
She pressed her lips together, visibly struggling for control. When she spoke again, her voice was measured, reasonable—the tone she used when deploying her most effective manipulations.
"Devon, please. Just listen for one moment." She sat on the bench, patting the space beside her in a gesture of maternal concern that hadn't worked on me since I was eight. "I know you think I'm being cruel, but I'm trying to protect you. This girl—she's not one of us. She doesn't understand our world, our obligations."
"Thank God for that."
"Marriage to her will destroy everything you've worked for," she continued as if I hadn't spoken. "The board already questions some of your... unconventional decisions. If you bring a Harper into this family, especially now with William Harper's trial pending—"
"The board works for me, not the other way around."
"The board can vote you out!" Her composure finally cracked. "Do you think your father's old allies won't jump at the chance if you give them ammunition? And this—marrying Aria Harper right now—would be handing them a loaded gun!"
I pulled out my phone, already texting instructions to my legal team. "Then let them try. I've been cleaning house at Kane Tech for two years. By the time they organize a vote, I'll own enough shares to make their opinions irrelevant."
"Devon—"
"The wedding is next Saturday," I interrupted. "St. Patrick's Cathedral if we can arrange it, city hall if not. You're welcome to attend if you can manage basic civility. Otherwise, stay home."
My mother stood, her face a mask of cold fury I recognized all too well. "If you do this, you're choosing that woman over your family. Over everything we've built. Over—"
"Over a dynasty built on manipulation and cruelty?" I met her glare steadily. "Yes, Mother. I am. Gladly."
She recoiled as if I'd slapped her. "How dare you—"
"How dare I what? Tell the truth?" I moved toward the garden path. "I'm done playing by your rules. Done sacrificing my life for family appearances. Done pretending that blood relation means anything when there's no love behind it."
"Love?" She spat the word like poison. "You think love matters in our world? Devon, grow up. Love is a fairy tale for people who can't afford reality. Marriage is a business arrangement, nothing more."
"Maybe yours was." The words came out quieter than I intended. "But mine won't be."