Chapter 121
Aria's POV
The tension at our table was suffocating. Devon's hand remained on my thigh, his grip tightening whenever Jeremy glanced my way. Noah observed our interaction with calculating eyes, a strange expression flickering across his face.
"Jeremy," Noah suddenly said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Mother called last night. She mentioned you haven't been home much since you returned to the States. They miss you."
Jeremy's eyes lingered on my face. "I'll visit them this weekend," he replied, his tone dismissive. "Right now, Aria and I haven't finished discussing the beach house design."
Noah stood up, his voice dropping to a register that brooked no argument. "Pierce children should understand that family comes first. We're leaving."
Jeremy hesitated, looking at me with obvious reluctance. After a moment, he sighed and gathered his papers. "I'll send you the revised designs," he told me quietly as he rose.
I noticed Devon's knuckles turning white as he clenched his fist, veins visibly rising beneath the skin of his hand. The possessiveness radiating from him was almost palpable.
Once the Pierce brothers had disappeared through the restaurant's front doors, Devon's expression darkened. "Known each other for ten years? Interesting. Yesterday you said you'd only recently met him." His voice was dangerously soft, laced with hurt beneath the anger. "You left my bed this morning, and by lunch you're reminiscing with an old friend?"
I set down my fork, meeting his gaze steadily. "Jeremy is just my architect. I hired him to renovate my beach house. As for this ten-year acquaintance he mentioned, I honestly have no idea what he's talking about." My voice trembled slightly despite my effort to remain composed.
Devon's laugh lacked any warmth. He leaned closer, his hand sliding higher beneath my skirt. "Perhaps your memory needs some refreshing? Should I help you remember certain things?" His eyes held mine, not just angry but wounded.
I gasped, shocked at his boldness in such a public setting. Heat flooded my cheeks as I pushed at his hand. "Devon, not here!"
"Not here?" His fingers traced the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, sending unwanted shivers up my spine. "Where would you prefer, then?" His tone carried a dangerous suggestion, his eyes glittering with possessive intensity.
Noticing curious glances from nearby tables, I decided against creating a scene. "Let's go," I said quietly, forcing a smile as I took his arm. My heart raced, partly from anger, partly from something else I didn't want to acknowledge.
Devon seemed pleased by my acquiescence, the tight line of his mouth softening slightly. After paying the bill, he led me to the parking lot where his Aston Martin waited. Once inside the luxurious vehicle, I asked, "Where are we going?"
"Didn't you just say anywhere would do?" Devon started the engine with a throaty purr. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel, betraying his controlled exterior. He merged onto the FDR Drive heading north, eventually turning toward Westchester County.
I watched Manhattan's skyline recede in the side mirror, troubled by Devon's behavior. He was typically controlled and composed, but today he displayed a possessiveness I'd never witnessed before. The silence between us grew heavier with each passing mile, filled with unspoken accusations and confusion.
---
An hour later, we pulled up to a modernist mansion nestled among dense trees. There were no signs identifying the property, only two guards in black suits at the entrance. Devon exchanged a look with one of them, who immediately nodded us through.
"What is this place?" I asked, curiosity overcoming my irritation. My stomach tightened with apprehension.
"Eden," Devon replied curtly. "A members-only club. No one enters without an invitation." His voice was flat, but his eyes held a challenge when they met mine.
My heart rate accelerated as realization dawned. I'd heard whispers about this place in certain circles – an exclusive pleasure club where only the wealthiest gained membership. A wave of nervousness washed over me as Devon placed his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the entrance.
Inside, a woman in a sleek black dress led me to an upstairs changing room, handing me a velvet box. "Mr. Kane has prepared this for you," she said before leaving. The room was luxurious but intimidating, with mirrors on three walls and soft red lighting.
Opening the box with trembling fingers, I found a black lace lingerie set that could barely be classified as clothing. The bra was essentially two thin lace triangles connected by delicate straps, while the bottoms were just a small triangle in front with thin straps that would leave my backside completely exposed. Beside them lay a half-face mask designed like a phoenix.
I immediately texted Devon: "You expect me to wear this?"
His reply came seconds later: "If you don't like it, there's someone outside who can help you find something else."
I bit my lip, understanding the implication. Devon clearly wielded considerable influence here, and these people would follow his instructions without question. I stared at the lingerie, my chest tight with anxiety. This was clearly punishment, his way of asserting control after seeing me with Jeremy.
Reluctantly, I removed my clothes and slipped into the revealing ensemble. The material was high quality but so minimal it barely covered anything. Looking at my nearly naked reflection, I felt a confusing mixture of shame, anger, and – though I hated to admit it – a flicker of excitement. The lace barely covered my breasts and between my legs, leaving my stomach, back, and most of my buttocks completely exposed.
I was suddenly grateful for my regular waxing routine – at least I wouldn't have to worry about that kind of exposure. The thought was ridiculous in this situation, yet it somehow calmed my racing heart slightly. I adjusted the mask over my eyes and upper face, noting how it transformed my appearance into something mysterious and unrecognizable.
"I'd like to at least wear my coat," I told the attendant when she returned, crossing my arms over my chest in a futile attempt at modesty.
"Mr. Kane's instructions were for you to wear only what was provided," she replied, her tone polite but firm. Her eyes betrayed no judgment as they swept over my exposed body.
I had no choice but to follow her through opulent hallways decorated with erotic art, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet. Every step made me acutely aware of how exposed I was – the cool air against my skin, the slight bounce of my breasts barely contained by the lace, the vulnerability of walking nearly naked through a strange place. The distant sounds of hushed voices and soft music grew louder as we walked, increasing my anxiety about what awaited me.
Eventually, she stopped before a heavy mahogany door at the far side of the mansion. With a smile that revealed nothing, she opened it for me. "Enjoy your evening, Miss Harper."