Chapter 270
Aria's POV
I pressed my forehead against the window, cool glass grounding me. The rational part of my brain insisted I was reading too much into one syllable, constructing fairy tales from fragments. Devon Kane didn't do romantic gestures. He did contracts. Arrangements. Transactions.
But then why had he held my face so gently? Why had his voice—
The impact came without warning.
Metal shrieked against metal. The world tilted violently sideways. My body slammed against the door as something massive struck us from the right, the force so brutal it stole the breath from my lungs. Glass exploded inward in a shower of crystalline fragments. The airbag deployed with a deafening bang, white fabric erupting in my face.
Time fractured into kaleidoscope pieces. The acrid smell of burned rubber. Lucas shouting my name. My own scream caught somewhere between my chest and throat. And through it all, one singular, primal instinct—my arms wrapped around my abdomen, shielding what I now understood I desperately wanted to protect.
The car spun. Or maybe the world spun. I couldn't tell anymore.
When the chaos finally settled into an eerie, ringing silence, I tasted copper. My head throbbed. Something warm trickled down my temple.
"Ms. Harper!" Lucas's voice penetrated the fog, sharp with panic. "Ms. Harper, can you hear me?"
I tried to answer, but darkness pulled at the edges of my vision, dragging me down into its depths.
---
Consciousness returned in fragments—harsh fluorescent lights, antiseptic smell, the steady beep of monitors. I blinked against the brightness, my eyelids heavy and uncooperative.
"—minimal injuries, but we need to monitor—"
The doctor's voice faded as another cut through, sharp and familiar and laced with barely controlled panic.
"Where is she?"
Devon.
I turned my head toward the sound, the movement sending a spike of pain through my skull. He stood in the doorway of the hospital room, his usually immaculate appearance completely undone. His suit jacket hung open, tie loosened and askew. His hair looked like he'd run his hands through it repeatedly. But it was his eyes that caught me—those gray eyes that were usually so carefully controlled now burning with something raw and desperate.
Our gazes locked. For a heartbeat, the carefully constructed mask he always wore cracked completely, revealing fear so naked it stole my breath.
Then he was moving, crossing the room in three long strides. His hands framed my face with a gentleness that contradicted the wildness in his eyes, fingers trembling slightly as they ghosted over the bandage on my temple.
"You're hurt." His voice came out rough, accusatory, as if the universe had personally offended him by allowing me harm. "Where else? What did they say?"
"I'm fine." The words came out hoarse. "Devon, I'm—"
"Don't." The single word held such fierce intensity I fell silent. "Don't tell me you're fine when there's blood on your face."
The doctor cleared his throat diplomatically. "Mr. Kane, Ms. Harper's injuries are relatively minor. Mild concussion, some bruising, a small laceration on her forehead that we've already treated. However, given her condition—"
"The baby?" Devon's fingers tightened on my face, his gaze boring into mine with terrifying focus. "Is the baby—"
"The fetus appears unaffected," the doctor said quickly. "The ultrasound shows a strong heartbeat at six weeks. Ms. Harper was very fortunate. The impact could have been much worse."
I watched Devon's throat work as he swallowed. His thumbs swept across my cheekbones in a gesture so tender it made my chest ache.
"I want every possible test," he said, still holding my eyes. "MRI, additional ultrasounds, whatever you have. Cost is irrelevant."
"Devon—"
"No arguments." His voice dropped to something softer but no less commanding. "Not about this."
The doctor retreated, murmuring something about arranging the tests. When we were alone, Devon's forehead dropped to rest against mine, his breath warm on my skin.
"When Lucas called..." He stopped, jaw clenching. "I thought—"
He didn't finish, but he didn't need to. I could feel it in the way his hands shook, in the barely leashed violence radiating from his rigid posture. Fear. Real, visceral fear.
Maybe for the first time, I believed he actually cared.
---
They moved me to a VIP room—spacious, private. I'd barely settled into the elevated bed when Marcus appeared, tablet in hand, his usual composed expression slightly strained.
"Ms. Harper." He nodded to me before turning to Devon. "The preliminary investigation is complete."
Devon's hand found mine, his grip possessive. "And?"
"The vehicle that struck you was a black Chevrolet Suburban. Stolen plates. We haven't been able to locate it yet." Marcus's gaze flickered to me briefly before returning to Devon. "The angle of impact was deliberate. This wasn't an accident."
Ice flooded my veins. "Someone tried to—"
"We don't know the target yet," Marcus interrupted gently. "It could have been directed at Mr. Kane's vehicle, or..." He trailed off meaningfully.
At me. Someone might have targeted me specifically.
My free hand moved to my stomach. Devon noticed, his fingers tightening around mine until it almost hurt.
"I want everyone on this," he said, his voice dropping into that deadly calm that meant someone was about to suffer. "Pull every camera feed within a five-block radius. Find that vehicle. Find who was driving it. And Marcus?" His eyes glinted like steel. "Find out who ordered it."
Marcus nodded and left. The door had barely closed when Devon's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his jaw hardening.
"I need to take this." He stood, but his hand lingered on mine. "Stay here. Don't move. Don't talk to anyone except hospital staff."
"Devon—"
He silenced me with a kiss to my forehead, fierce and brief. "I'll be right back."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with the beeping monitors and my racing thoughts. Someone had tried to hurt me. Or hurt Devon through me. Either way, the implication was clear—I'd become a target simply by being connected to him.
I pressed my palm flat against my abdomen, feeling the slight firmness there that hadn't existed six weeks ago. This tiny, impossible thing inside me had already changed everything. And now it had painted a target on both our backs.
I must have dozed, because I woke to Marcus's voice, low and careful.
"—confirmed the venue. Saturday afternoon. The planner is standing by for final approval."
My eyes fluttered open. Marcus stood near the window, speaking into his phone. He noticed me stirring and quickly ended the call.
"Ms. Harper." He moved closer, that careful courtesy never slipping. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I was hit by a truck." I tried to smile, but it came out weak. "Marcus, what venue? What's happening Saturday?"