Chapter 87
Aria's POV
I adjusted my blazer one final time before the massive doors of the hall. The weight of what I was about to do—lying to protect the very people who betrayed me—made my stomach twist into knots. But I'd made a deal: this charade in exchange for my mother's beach house. A fair trade, I told myself, though the words tasted bitter.
"Ready, Miss Harper?" asked the Plaza's events coordinator, clipboard in hand.
I nodded, fingers trembling slightly despite my outward composure. "As I'll ever be."
The doors swung open, and I stepped into the lion's den. The hall gleamed with crystal chandeliers and polished marble, now filled with rows of journalists from every major outlet. Camera flashes erupted like lightning, momentarily blinding me as I made my way to the podium.
I spotted Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, The New York Times, and at least a dozen fashion bloggers with their phones raised. In the front row sat a stern-faced woman from Vanity Fair, her pen poised like a weapon.
My father appeared at my side, guiding me forward with a firm hand on my lower back. "Smile," he whispered through clenched teeth. "Remember what we discussed."
The teleprompter ahead displayed carefully crafted lies: misunderstanding... mutual decision... remain business partners... wish Ethan the best...
The Vanity Fair reporter struck first. "Aria Harper, sources claim you discovered your fiancé and stepsister together before your engagement. Is there any truth to these rumors?"
I felt my father's hand on my shoulder, squeezing slightly—a warning. The script on the teleprompter scrolled to the appropriate denial.
Just as I opened my mouth to speak, movement at the back of the room caught my eye. Scarlett had slipped in, wearing a pristine white dress that screamed false innocence. Her lips curled into a smug smile as our eyes met.
Simultaneously, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I glanced down to see multiple missed calls and urgent texts from Sophia:
[EMERGENCY. Call me NOW!!!]
[Your Hampton house is ON FIRE]
[Firefighters say it was ARSON]
[Answer your damn phone!!!]
My jaw slackened as I read each message, my fingertips turning numb against the screen. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to grip the podium edge. The house—my mother's house—was burning. The property I had literally just signed papers for hours ago. My eyes burned with unshed tears as rage built inside me, starting deep in my chest and radiating outward until my skin felt too tight.
"Miss Harper?" the reporter prompted.
"I apologize," I said, voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands. "We're experiencing some technical issues. May I have a moment?"
I stepped away from the microphone, ignoring my father's darkening expression as I checked my phone.
"Not now, Aria," he hissed. "Whatever it is can wait. This is about our family's future."
When I called Sophia, her voice came through frantic. "Thank God you answered! The fire department just called—someone broke in and set fires in multiple rooms. They're saying it's definitely arson."
"When did this happen?" I asked, turning my back to the curious reporters. I pressed the phone harder against my ear, as if that could somehow change the information coming through it.
"Within the last hour. Right after the property transfer was completed."
I ended the call and looked across the room at Scarlett, who was examining her manicure with studied nonchalance. The timing couldn't be coincidental. She'd lost the house to me, so she'd made sure I couldn't have it either.
Something snapped inside me. The script, the lies, the pretense—all of it suddenly seemed absurd.
I walked straight toward Scarlett, ignoring the confused murmurs of the press. When I reached her, I grabbed the lapel of her thousand-dollar Chanel jacket.
"Was it you?" I demanded, voice low but intense. "The house just transferred to my name today!"
Her eyes widened in feigned shock. "Sister, what are you talking about? I don't understand—"
"The beach house is on fire," I said through gritted teeth. "Arson. Quite the coincidence, wouldn't you say?"
Security personnel moved toward us, but the damage was done. Cameras swiveled in our direction, capturing every moment of our confrontation.
My father rushed over, physically separating us. "Aria, control yourself!" he whispered harshly, then turned to Scarlett with concern. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"
His blatant favoritism was the final straw.
"That was Mom's house," I said, voice breaking slightly. "The only thing I had left of her, and your precious daughter just burned it to the ground."
He gripped my arm. "Whatever happened, the house is already on fire. You going there now won't change anything."
I wrenched away from him and marched back to the podium. The teleprompter still displayed its sanitized version of events, but I no longer cared.
"You all want to know what really happened before my engagement?" I asked, looking directly into the CNN camera. "The truth is, I found my fiancé, Ethan Blake, having sex with my stepsister in my mother's villa."
Gasps rippled through the audience. Camera flashes intensified. From the corner of my eye, I saw Blake family representatives frantically speaking into phones.
"And apparently, that wasn't enough," I continued, my voice strengthening with each word. "Today, minutes after I legally reclaimed my late mother's beach house, it mysteriously caught fire. The police are calling it arson."
Scarlett's face had drained of all color. My father looked as though he might collapse.
I leaned into the microphone, locking eyes with Scarlett. "A word of advice—if you're going to destroy someone's property, make sure you don't leave evidence behind. And stay away from what's mine."
With that, I walked away from the podium, through the chaos of shouting reporters and flashing cameras. The social media hashtag #HarperTruth was probably trending already.
In the hallway, my father caught up to me, his face contorted with rage.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he shouted, shoving me against the wall. "Years of business relationships—millions in potential investments—all gone because you couldn't stick to the script!"
The impact knocked the air from my lungs. My shoulder blade scraped against the textured wallpaper, sending a jolt of pain down my spine. I blinked rapidly, fighting back tears that threatened to spill. Part of me still longed for him to be the father who had once held my hand at the beach house, teaching me to skip stones across the water. That father would never have chosen business over his daughter's pain.
"Scarlett burned down Mom's house," I whispered, my voice cracking. My hands trembled at my sides, and I curled them into fists to stop the shaking. "And you're worried about business deals? Have you ever once defended me the way you defend her?"
I wanted to scream, to shatter the mask of composure I'd worn for so long, but even now, I couldn't fully let go. Years of conditioning to be the perfect Harper daughter still held me back.
"We're going home," he growled, grabbing my arm. His fingers dug into my skin, hard enough to leave marks. "Now."
I glanced around, suddenly aware of how alone I was. No Sophia, no security I could trust. Just my father, whose anger seemed to fill the entire hallway. I felt small again, like the child who used to hide in closets when her parents argued.
"I don't think Miss Harper wants to go with you."
The voice was cold, precise, and unmistakable.
My head snapped up, eyes searching for its source. Devon stood by the elevator in an impeccably tailored black suit. His presence alone seemed to expand the space around us, creating a buffer between my father's rage and my vulnerability. My shoulders lowered from where they'd been tensed around my ears, and I took my first full breath since my father had cornered me.
My father froze. "Mr. Kane. This is a family matter."
"Is it?" Devon moved closer, his footsteps measured and deliberate on the marble floor.