Chapter 93
Aria's POV
"Elsa, that's enough." My father's commanding voice cut through the foyer as he appeared at the top of the stairs. His expression hardened when he saw me. "So you finally decided to grace us with your presence? Do you have any idea what chaos you've caused this family?"
I took a deep breath, refusing to be intimidated. "This is still my home, Father. I have every right to be here." I kept my voice steady, meeting his gaze directly. "And let's be clear—I didn't cause anything. I simply exposed the truth. Don't try to shift blame onto me. I won't accept it."
The tension between us thickened, almost palpable in the air-conditioned foyer.
"Where's Scarlett?" I asked, deliberately provoking him. "Still in the hospital recovering from her... procedure?"
My father's face flushed with anger. "How dare you speak so callously? Your sister is in pain, and all you can do is mock her situation? Where's your compassion, Aria?"
I laughed without humor. "My compassion? That's rich coming from you. And she's not my sister—she's my stepsister, a distinction you conveniently forget whenever it suits you." I crossed my arms, leaning against the marble column. "Besides, it wasn't me who sent her to bed with Ethan Blake. Her choices, her consequences."
My father descended the remaining stairs, his footsteps heavy with restraint. "This kind of talk stops now. We need to handle this situation with discretion."
"Discretion?" I raised an eyebrow. "Maybe we should report what happened. After all, what happened to Scarlett could qualify as personal injury. Shouldn't there be a police report?"
"Are you out of your mind?" he exploded. "Do you want to completely destroy this family's reputation? Haven't you done enough damage already?"
"Your reputation is all you care about, isn't it?" I shot back. "Never mind the truth. Never mind what's right."
I turned toward the door, done with this conversation. As I reached for the handle, my father's hand caught my arm.
"Aria," he said, his voice lowered but still tense. Then his eyes narrowed, focusing on the tear in my blouse—a remnant from my earlier confrontation with Preston. "What happened to your clothes? Did someone hurt you?"
I looked down at the ripped fabric and back up at him with a bitter smile. "Someone tried. Would you like to defend my honor, Daddy?" The sarcasm in my voice was unmistakable. "Or is that privilege reserved only for Scarlett?"
He released my arm, taking a step back. "Your behavior, your choices—they invite this kind of attention. If you conducted yourself with more decorum—"
"Like Scarlett does?" I interrupted, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay calm. "Perfect Scarlett, who gets pregnant by my ex-fiancé while I'm still engaged to him? That kind of decorum?" I shook my head in disgust. "The double standard is staggering, Father. When I make mistakes, I'm crucified. When she does, you rush to her defense."
My father's jaw tightened. "You're being dramatic, as usual."
"No," I said firmly, my hand on the doorknob. "I'm being honest, which seems to be a foreign concept in this house." I took a steadying breath. "By the way, I will find out who set fire to Mom's beach house in the Hamptons. Count on it."
His expression faltered for just a moment before hardening again. "You're making baseless accusations now."
"Am I? Time will tell." I opened the door but paused before stepping out. "And tell Scarlett something for me: she should turn herself in, or face the consequences. Because wherever I am, wherever she goes, she won't find peace until justice is served. Where I exist, Scarlett Harper won't thrive."
"You're accusing your own sister of arson now? This is madness, Aria. You've gone too far!"
I answered with a cold smile before walking out, letting the heavy door close behind me with a satisfying thud.
---
In my car, I cranked up the music, trying to drown out the fury coursing through my veins. I rolled down the windows, letting the early fall air of New York wash over me. The slight chill against my skin helped clear my head as I navigated through Upper East Side traffic toward Brooklyn.
Back at my loft, I checked the time. Five hours until I needed to meet Devon. Five hours to transform from this angry, wounded version of myself into someone composed and controlled.
I drew a hot bath, added lavender oil, and sank into the water. As the warmth enveloped me, I tried to process the whirlwind of emotions from the day. The confrontation with my father. The knowledge that Scarlett was in the hospital. The new arrangement with Devon that would save my company but complicate my life even further.
After thirty minutes of soaking, I applied a Korean sheet mask Sofia had recommended, trying to erase the stress from my face. I blow-dried my hair into soft waves, applied subtle makeup, and selected a nude silk slip dress that draped perfectly against my skin.
Looking in the mirror, I barely recognized the woman staring back at me. She looked elegant, put-together, even radiant—nothing like the emotional wreck who had stormed out of the Harper mansion hours earlier.
"Time to hold up your end of the bargain," I murmured to my reflection, grabbing my clutch and keys.
At exactly 7:55 PM, I arrived at Devon's penthouse. When he opened the door, I pointedly showed him my watch. "Punctual enough for you?"
His eyes traveled from my face down to my dress and back up again. Without a word, he pulled me inside, his hand warm against the small of my back. The scent of my perfume seemed to catch his attention; he leaned closer, inhaling near my neck.
"New fragrance?" he murmured, his lips brushing my ear.
"Yes. Do you approve?" I was surprised by the breathiness in my voice.
Instead of answering, he guided me toward his bedroom, his intentions clear in the intensity of his gaze. As we fell onto his bed, his mouth found mine, hungry and demanding. I responded with equal fervor, letting the day's anger and frustration melt away under his touch.
In an impulsive moment, I caught his lower lip between my teeth, perhaps harder than intended.
"Sorry," I whispered, pulling back slightly to see a tiny drop of blood on his lip.