Chapter 82
Aria's POV
"Mmm," was Devon's only response, a noncommittal sound that revealed nothing.
I switched to an unnaturally sweet voice, while my eyes hardened. "Those photos... they were taken at The Pinnacle Hotel, and the restaurants where we dined together. Aren't you worried people will talk about you?"
A low, cold chuckle came through the phone. "The photos don't show my face. This has nothing to do with me."
I glanced around my office, feeling the weight of Sophia's concerned gaze. My jaw tightened as I realized how alone I was in this fight. "I just need these photos to disappear."
"I can help with that," Devon's tone turned playful. "But you need to adopt the attitude of someone asking for a favor. Understand?"
My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles turned white. The familiar heat of indignation rose in my chest. I might need help, but I wouldn't sacrifice my dignity. "I don't lack gratitude, Devon, but I won't beg on my knees for help."
I hung up before he could respond, my heart racing despite my calm exterior. I set the phone down with deliberate care, though what I really wanted was to throw it across the room.
"I can't accept his conditions," I told Sophia, running a hand through my hair, my movements agitated. "Let's find another way." The determination in my voice couldn't quite mask the uncertainty I felt.
I scrolled frantically through my contacts, desperation growing with each person I called. Charles from The New Yorker politely declined to help. A TMZ reporter I'd once done a favor for suggested an exclusive interview in exchange for pulling the story: "Tell us the truth about you and Ethan breaking up?"
"I won't fight lies with more lies," I said firmly, though my voice wavered slightly. "And I won't sell my dignity for sympathetic headlines." I dropped my phone onto the desk, pressing my palms against my eyes. The pressure behind them was building, but I refused to cry. Not here. Not now.
My phone buzzed with a message from our social media analyst: [Someone leaked your office address. Reporters are on their way. The hashtag #AriaAffair has over a million engagements.]
Melanie knocked and entered without waiting. "Vogue and Michael Kors have put our projects on hold. PR has received over a dozen interview requests."
I walked to the window and saw several reporters already gathering at the building entrance. My reflection in the glass showed a composed businesswoman, but inside I was crumbling. Taking a deep breath, I turned to Sophia, defeat evident in my slumped shoulders. "We need stronger support."
Our eyes met, and she nodded slightly. The realization settled heavily in my stomach—I had no choice. I redialed Devon's number, swallowing my pride with each ring. When he answered, I kept my voice carefully controlled but noticeably softer, though my free hand gripped the edge of my desk. "About your offer... we should discuss details."
There was a smile in his voice as he replied, "Six tonight, my lakeside villa in the Emerald Cove district. Private road access. No reporters can follow you there."
I paused for several seconds, biting the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood before answering with a reluctant, "Fine."
Seventeen minutes later, my phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Melanie burst into my office, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"It's incredible! All the negative stories about you are vanishing. Instagram and Twitter have removed the content!"
At the same time, negative news about Ethan was trending, including security footage from my apartment elevator this morning, showing him attempting to force himself on me. My face had been technically blurred, but anyone who knew the situation could guess it was me.
I stared at my phone, a chill running through me despite the warm office. "His efficiency is terrifying." I whispered the words, conflicted between gratitude and unease.
I sent Devon a brief text: [Ethan's new stories—your doing?]
His reply came immediately: [Feeling sorry for him?]
I looked at the screen without responding, my expression hardening. I placed my phone face-down on the desk and turned to Sophia. "Devon Kane is truly dangerous."
She nodded grimly. "But right now, we need him. At least until this crisis passes."
I had barely begun sorting through the pile of work documents when the intercom buzzed.
"Ms. Harper, your stepsister Scarlett insists on seeing you," my receptionist announced.
I leaned forward, pressing the intercom button, a calculated coldness entering my voice. "Have security escort her out. I don't see visitors without appointments, especially ones who stab me in the back."
I met Sophia's eyes, anticipating Scarlett's next move. "She won't leave quietly."
As if on cue, the door flew open with such force it slammed against the wall. Scarlett stormed in wearing a pristine white MaxMara suit, her face a perfect mask of victimhood despite the tear tracks in her makeup.
Her hands trembled as she clutched her designer purse. "Are you satisfied now? Destroying me and Ethan, making everyone in Manhattan laugh at me? Did your revenge taste as sweet as you hoped?"
I set my pen down with precision and stood, walking slowly around my desk. Each movement was measured, unhurried. "Revenge? That's rich coming from the woman who orchestrated today's media attack." I stopped a few feet from her, my voice lowering. "I recognized the photographer's style. Same one who followed me to Hamptons last summer. The one Victoria hired."
Scarlett's eyes widened momentarily before she recovered. "You're delusional. I came here to—"
"You came here to see if your little scheme worked," I interrupted, watching her face carefully. "But instead, you found that I'm still standing, and now Ethan's the one with his reputation in tatters."
Scarlett's voice rose to a shrill pitch. "Ethan didn't come home all last night. Was he with you?" Her voice caught slightly. "After everything, are you still sleeping with him behind my back?"
I laughed, the sound hollow and cold. "Any man you've touched disgusts me. I have no interest in picking up your trash."
She yanked out her phone and jabbed at the screen, thrusting it toward me. "You orchestrated this, didn't you?" The video showed Ethan trying to force himself on me in the elevator. "First the wedding video, now this! You won't stop until you've ruined everything!"
I didn't flinch from the screen. "That footage is unedited security video from my building. If Ethan looks like a predator, it's because he acted like one."
Her breathing quickened, chest rising and falling rapidly as her plan unraveled. "You've always been jealous of me. From the moment I moved into your father's house, you've resented every bit of attention I received."
I smiled, the expression never reaching my eyes. "I disliked you long before I had any reason to be jealous. Some people just have an instinct for recognizing snakes."
I discreetly pressed the panic button under my desk edge. "You need to leave. You're not welcome here." I moved toward the door, making it clear the conversation was over.
As two security guards appeared in the doorway, Scarlett's demeanor changed instantly. She placed both hands protectively over her stomach, her voice shifting to a tremulous whisper. "Be careful! I'm pregnant! I can't be jostled!"
The guards hesitated, looking to me for direction. I studied Scarlett for a moment, noting the calculated placement of her hands, the practiced quiver in her voice. Her eyes, though—her eyes darted nervously, seeking my reaction.
I let out a cold laugh, fixing the guards with a sharp look. "What are you afraid of? Get her out of here, now!"
The color drained from her face, fear flashing raw and real in her eyes before she recovered, pulling her mask of indignation back into place. "You'll regret this, I promise you. Just wait until I tell your father how you treated me."
"I'll be waiting," I replied, watching as the guards flanked her. "And Scarlett? Next time you want to spread rumors about me, remember who has more secrets to lose."
She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came. Her shoulders slumped minutely, the first genuine reaction I'd seen from her. The guards guided her toward the elevator, her white suit suddenly looking less crisp, her posture less confident with each step.
When the door finally closed, I allowed my shoulders to sag slightly, the weight of everything—the media storm, Devon's manipulation, and now Scarlett's pregnancy—momentarily overwhelming me.
"Was she serious about being pregnant?" Sophia asked quietly.
"Yes," I replied, rubbing my temples. "And I'm certain Ethan's the father. This is going to complicate everything."