Chapter 273
Third POV
William Harper stood in his office at Harper Group headquarters, staring at his phone's black screen. The call had disconnected thirty seconds ago, but he couldn't seem to lower his arm, couldn't quite process what had just happened.
Aria had blocked him. From Devon Kane's phone.
Which meant she was there. With Kane. Close enough to answer his personal device, comfortable enough to go through his contacts.
"Goddammit," William muttered, finally lowering the phone. The city spread out before him through floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan's lights glittering like a promise and a threat. His reflection stared back at him—older, grayer, more worn than he remembered being one week ago.
The sound of his office door opening didn't surprise him. He'd been expecting this visit since the moment he'd heard about Aria's "accident."
"Mr. Harper." The voice was smooth, cultured, with the kind of refined British accent that belonged to a different era. "Thank you for seeing me at this late hour."
William didn't turn from the window. "I don't recall inviting you, James."
James—no surname necessary, never a surname—moved with the practiced silence of a man who'd spent forty years serving the Kane family. He stopped beside William, hands clasped behind his back in that particular way that screamed old money and older loyalties.
"Mr. Kane extends his regards," James said. Not Devon Kane. Never Devon. When James said "Mr. Kane," he meant Arthur—the patriarch, the power behind the throne. "He wanted me to convey certain... observations."
"Observations." William finally faced the other man. James was in his late fifties, impeccably dressed in a charcoal Savile Row suit, his silver hair swept back from a face that gave away nothing. "That's an interesting word for threats."
"Not threats, Mr. Harper. Merely information." James's expression remained pleasant, neutral. "It has come to Mr. Kane's attention that your daughter has formed an... attachment to his son. An attachment that Mr. Devon Kane seems inclined to formalize."
William's jaw tightened. "Meaning?"
"Meaning, according to our sources, your daughter has apparently inspired Mr. Devon Kane to defy certain family expectations. He seems determined to pursue this relationship regardless of the consequences." James paused delicately. "Mr. Kane senior finds this... problematic."
"Join the club."
A thin smile crossed James's face. "Indeed. However, unlike yourself, Mr. Kane senior is in a position to address such problems. He asked me to remind you that Harper Group's recent financing arrangements—the ones that kept you operational during your recent legal difficulties—came through channels that can be... redirected."
The threat landed like a punch to the gut. William had leveraged nearly everything to secure that financing after his arrest. Without it, Harper Group would have collapsed within weeks.
"You're saying Kane will pull the funding if Aria doesn't—what? Disappear? Break up with Devon?"
"Nothing so dramatic." James smoothed an already-perfect lapel. "Simply ensure Ms. Harper returns to her family home. Under your supervision. Mr. Kane senior is confident that proper familial guidance will help her see the wisdom of certain choices."
"Aria doesn't take guidance anymore. If you haven't noticed, she's rather spectacularly burned every bridge I've built for her."
"Then perhaps you need to rebuild those bridges. Or build new ones." James moved toward the door, his steps measured and unhurried. "Mr. Kane senior is prepared to be generous to those who assist him in preserving family harmony. Conversely, he can be... less accommodating to those who prove unhelpful."
He paused at the threshold, turning back with that same pleasant, empty smile.
"All we're asking is that you bring Ms. Harper home. Call it a family reunion. Once she's under your roof, Mr. Kane senior will handle the rest." The smile widened fractionally. "I'm sure you'll make the right choice, Mr. Harper. You're a businessman, after all. You understand cost-benefit analysis."
The door clicked shut with a sound like a judge's gavel.
William stood alone in his office, the city's lights painting shadows across his face. His phone lay on the desk, screen still dark from where Aria had blocked him.
She'd actually blocked him.
His daughter—his difficult, stubborn, too-smart-for-her-own-good daughter—had cut him out. Chosen Devon Kane over her own father. Over her family name. Over everything William had sacrificed to build.
He moved to the window, pressing his palms against the cool glass. Forty-three floors below, traffic flowed in neat lines, everyone moving toward their destinations with purpose and certainty.
What did Arthur Kane want with Aria? Really want?
The answer came immediately, because William Harper hadn't built an empire by being naive: Arthur wanted her gone. Removed from Devon's life by any means necessary. And he was willing to pay William to deliver her into whatever trap he'd prepared.
William's reflection stared back at him, older and harder than the man who'd married Elizabeth Shaw twenty-six years ago. That man wouldn't have hesitated. Would have protected his daughter without question.
But that man had died slowly over the years, buried under debt and ambition and Victoria's poisonous whispers.
His phone buzzed on the desk. A text from James, sent the moment he'd left the building.
"Mr. Kane expects confirmation by Monday morning. For your sake, I hope you'll be sensible."
William read it twice before pocketing the phone. He walked to his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a bottle of eighteen-year-old scotch—a gift from Aria on his last birthday, before everything had fallen apart.
He poured two fingers into a crystal tumbler, then a third for good measure.
The choice should have been simple. His daughter or his company. His child or his legacy.
Except Aria had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with either.
William raised the glass in a mock toast to his empty office. "To family," he murmured. "Such as it is."
He drained the scotch in one burning swallow, then set the glass down with careful precision.
By the time he left Harper Group headquarters twenty minutes later, his decision was made. James's black Town Car was long gone, disappeared into Manhattan's endless stream of traffic.
William stood on the curb, watching the space where it had been, and allowed himself a small, cold smile.
Let Arthur Kane think he had an ally. Let James report back that William Harper was desperate enough to betray his own daughter. Let them all believe the trap was set.
They'd learn soon enough: William Harper might be a bastard, but he was his own bastard. Nobody—not Arthur Kane, not Devon, not even Aria herself—would dictate his choices.
He slid into his waiting car, and as the driver pulled away from the curb, William's smile widened.
Some lessons were best learned through experience. And if his daughter wanted to play in the big leagues, she'd have to survive the game on her own.
He was done being anyone's pawn.