Chapter 90
Aria's POV
Sofia fidgeted with the buttons on her blazer, her usual confidence replaced with nervous energy.
"Aria, who's behind this?" she whispered, glancing at the security camera in the corner. "Our paperwork is impeccable. We've done nothing wrong that warrants both the SEC and IRS descending on us simultaneously."
I inhaled deeply before responding. "Yesterday's press conference. I publicly humiliated the Blake family and my stepsister." My voice sounded steadier than I felt. "This is their revenge."
"But government agencies? That's serious leverage." Sofia's fingers anxiously tapped against her tablet. "They're demanding access to every file, every transaction from the past three years."
"One week, maximum," I assured her, though uncertainty gnawed at my insides. "We'll cooperate fully. The Blakes might have influence, but they can't manufacture violations where none exist." I squeezed her arm reassuringly. "Have everyone work remotely for now, move client meetings online, and make sure project deadlines remain on track."
The doors slid open to reveal our normally bustling office unnaturally quiet—employees huddled in corners, stealing worried glances at the conference room where stern-faced government officials were setting up equipment.
Inside my office, Sofia closed the door and her professional facade crumbled slightly.
"I heard about the beach house," she said softly. "How bad is it?"
I turned toward the Manhattan skyline, using the familiar vista to steady myself. "Everything my mother left me is gone," I replied, my voice hollow. "Her photo albums, paintings, handwritten notes—all ashes now."
"The fire department confirmed it was arson?" Sofia asked.
I nodded. "I've hired Garrett Morgan—that private investigator Ryan recommended—to investigate both the fire and this sudden government interest in our company." My reflection in the window looked composed, but inside I felt raw. "Either the Blakes or someone in the Harper household is responsible. Possibly both."
Sofia squeezed my shoulder before leaving to handle the investigators. Alone in my office, I stared out at the skyline, watching the sun glint off glass towers. Despite everything crashing down around me, a cold determination was crystallizing within.
---
Three days later, I was reviewing projections when my phone buzzed with a text from Ryan.
[At Elysium tonight. Heard about your troubles. Come by around 10? Have something you should hear.]
I hesitated. Socializing was the last thing I wanted, but Ryan rarely reached out without reason. After an unproductive week with the investigation going nowhere—security footage showing only a figure in a cap and mask—I needed both information and escape.
[See you at 10,] I replied.
Elysium was packed when I arrived. The pulsing music and flashing lights intensified my headache, but I pushed through to the VIP section where Ryan waited.
"Aria," he grinned, kissing my cheek. "Just got back from Milan yesterday. You look exhausted, but still stunning."
"Thanks for the backhanded compliment," I said dryly. "What's this about, Ryan?"
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Heard the SEC is breathing down your neck?"
"Just a routine audit," I lied smoothly.
Ryan's eyebrow arched. "Nothing routine about it. I have it on good authority that George Blake is orchestrating a full commercial blacklisting of Stellar Impressions." He sipped his drink. "He's sent emails to every major fashion house warning them against working with you. Anyone who defies him risks losing Blake Fashion Group as a partner."
My stomach tightened, but I kept my expression neutral. "And you know this how?"
"I have friends in publishing. Blake's not being subtle." Ryan glanced across the room, then nudged me. "Speaking of interesting developments..."
Following his gaze, I spotted Devon in a corner booth, deep in conversation with Caroline. Their body language was tense, their expressions serious. Something in my chest twisted uncomfortably.
"You need a powerful backer, Aria," Ryan continued. "In New York, you can't fight commercial bullying like this alone."
"Are you offering?" I asked, half-joking.
"I could help," Ryan admitted. "But the Winters name doesn't carry enough weight to completely neutralize the Blakes. You need someone bigger."
His implication hung in the air between us. I refused to look back at Devon's booth.
After Ryan left to join friends, I sat alone, observing the club's patrons while calculating my options. Harper Group versus Blake Fashion. My father's influence against George's vendetta. The nuclear option of approaching Devon.
"Ms. Harper? May I join you?"
I looked up, startled to find Caroline standing beside my table. Her elegant cream silk dress and perfect blonde chignon made me suddenly conscious of my hastily applied makeup.
"Please," I gestured to the empty seat, curiosity overcoming wariness.
"I wanted to congratulate you," she said, her voice surprisingly warm.
"For what, exactly?"
"Breaking your engagement with Ethan Blake." Her smile seemed genuine. "He never deserved you."
Before I could respond, Devon appeared beside our table, his expression unreadable. He hadn't glanced at me once.
"Caroline, we should go," he said flatly.
She rose with a graceful nod. Devon gave me the briefest acknowledgment—a slight incline of his head—before they disappeared into the crowd.
Heading toward the exit, I navigated through the packed dance floor, mind still processing Caroline's unexpected kindness. In the dimly lit corridor leading to the elevators, a familiar voice stopped me cold.
"Leaving so soon, future sister-in-law?"
Ethan stood blocking my path, his handsome face displaying practiced charm. His breath smelled of expensive whiskey and desperation.
"Don't call me that," I replied coldly. "Shouldn't you be with Scarlett? I hear congratulations are in order."
His smile faltered. "That's what I wanted to discuss. My father has contacted every major brand in fashion. The SEC investigation won't end anytime soon." He stepped closer. "But I can make it all go away."
"At what price?" I already knew the answer.
"Publicly retract your statements about Scarlett and me. Reconsider marrying me." His voice dropped to a whisper. "We had something once, Aria."
A laugh escaped me—sharp and bitter. "I'd rather watch my company burn to the ground than return to you. Tell Scarlett I said good luck with the pregnancy."
His face hardened. "Don't underestimate the Blake family, Aria. You can't fight us alone."