Chapter 151
Aria's POV
My heart skipped several beats as his eyes locked with mine—cold, unreadable gray that gave away nothing while seeming to see everything. The stark contrast between his pristine white shirt and the crimson staining his cuff made my stomach tighten. This was a side of Devon I hadn't witnessed before—dangerous, ruthless.
"I can't guess," I replied, my voice wavering despite my attempt to sound unaffected.
Devon rose from his chair, buttoning his suit jacket with one fluid motion. "Follow me." His tone left no room for refusal.
I hesitated, my legs suddenly heavy. Part of me wanted to run, to pretend I hadn't seen the blood, the coldness in his eyes. But another part—a part I wasn't ready to acknowledge—was drawn to this darker version of him.
He led me through corridors I hadn't seen before, deeper into Eden. The elegant décor gradually gave way to more utilitarian designs—fewer paintings, more security cameras. We stopped before what appeared to be a wine cellar.
"Are you going to tell me what's happening?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Devon's eyes softened momentarily as he gazed down at me. "You'll understand soon enough." His hand pressed against a hidden scanner, and the wooden panel slid open to reveal a private elevator.
"Still can't figure it out?" he asked as we stepped inside, his body uncomfortably close in the confined space.
I swallowed hard, the pieces clicking together. "Not... Ethan?"
His lips curved into a slight smile. "Precisely who you're thinking of."
Devon's arm snaked around my waist, pulling me against him. His touch was possessive, territorial. A shiver ran through me—partly from fear, partly from something else entirely.
"Are you afraid, Aria?" he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
I turned to face him, our faces inches apart. "Of what you're capable of? Maybe I should be."
His eyes darkened. "Smart girl."
The elevator doors opened to a stark white corridor. Devon guided me to a heavy door with another security panel. Inside was a small observation room with a one-way mirror looking into what could only be described as an interrogation chamber.
My breath caught. Ethan sat bound to a metal chair in the center of the room. His perfect features were marred by a split lip, bruised cheek, and a swollen eye. His expensive suit was torn and stained with blood. His usually impeccable hair was matted with sweat. My pupils contracted in shock.
"Seeing your former fiancé like this must be difficult," Devon commented, watching my reaction with clinical interest.
I stared at the man who had betrayed me repeatedly, who had drugged and attempted to assault me less than twenty-four hours ago. The man who had impregnated my stepsister while planning to marry me. Instead of horror, I felt a cold satisfaction spreading through me.
"The only difficult thing," I replied, my voice hardening, "is restraining myself from going in there and giving him a matching bruise on the other cheek."
Devon's eyebrows rose slightly, genuine surprise crossing his features. "Not feeling sentimental?"
"For a man who tried to drug and rape me? Who betrayed me with my stepsister?" I turned to face Devon directly, anger burning in my chest. "I'm not going to beg for leniency for that piece of trash, if that's what you're expecting."
Devon studied me for a long moment, something like approval flickering in his eyes. Then he opened the door to the interrogation room. "Let's see if he shares your clarity."
The smell hit me first—sweat, fear, and something metallic. Ethan's head snapped up as we entered. His eyes widened first in surprise, then narrowed with calculating intensity. When he saw me, a strange smile spread across his face, revealing blood-stained teeth.
"Well, well. The gang's all here," he slurred through swollen lips. "You don't know, do you, Kane? Aria and I have been in touch this whole time."
My blood ran cold. My hands clenched into fists so tight my nails dug into my palms.
"What are you talking about?" Devon's voice remained perfectly controlled, but I could see tension in the set of his shoulders.
Ethan laughed, a hollow sound that bounced off the bare walls. "I don't know how many times I've slept with her since your little arrangement started. Your woman? I've had her every way possible."
"He's lying," I said immediately, fury making my voice shake. "Every word out of his mouth is a lie."
"That GHB at the hotel? Part of our little game," Ethan continued, his eyes feverish with desperation. "Ask her about the text messages. Ask her about our meetings when you thought she was working late."
I watched Devon's expression harden into something terrifying. The muscles in his jaw tightened. His hand gripped the back of Ethan's chair, knuckles whitening.
"Creative storytelling, Blake," Devon said softly, dangerously. "But you forget—I have your phone. I've seen every message you've sent for the past month. Not a single one to Ms. Harper."
Ethan's smile faltered. Fear flickered across his bruised face.
Devon nodded to a security guard in the corner. "Give Mr. Blake ten rounds with the electrical encouragement. Low voltage. We wouldn't want to damage him permanently."
The guard approached with what looked like a modified cattle prod. Ethan's eyes widened in genuine terror.
"You can't do this," Ethan gasped, straining against his restraints. "This is illegal! You think this will work? You fucking kill me, and the entire Blake family will come after you!"
"Kill you?" Devon looked genuinely amused, smiling as if Ethan had told a mildly entertaining joke. "Why would I kill you? You think your father will stand by you after learning you kidnapped and attempted to rape a woman? That you drugged her with GHB? That you impregnated her stepsister while engaged to her?"
The guard pressed the device against Ethan's ribs. His body convulsed, and a strangled scream tore from his throat. I flinched but couldn't look away.
"I'll give you two some privacy," Devon said calmly, guiding me out with a hand on the small of my back as Ethan began shouting obscenities between pained gasps.
Through the glass, I watched as the guard methodically administered the "electrical encouragement." Each time, Ethan's body jerked violently, his face contorting in agony. A part of me—a part I didn't recognize—felt vindicated.
We walked in silence to a small private dining room. A table had been set for two, with steaming food waiting. The sounds of Ethan's muffled screams eventually faded behind us.
"Sit," Devon commanded, pulling out a chair for me.
I remained standing, my heart pounding. "Every word he said was a lie. I haven't seen or spoken to Ethan except when you were present."
Devon poured himself a cup of the herbal tea I'd brought him earlier. His movements were precise, controlled. "Is that so?" His tone was neutral, giving away nothing.
"I've never broken our agreement," I insisted, hating how defensive I sounded, how much I suddenly needed him to believe me. "Not once."
"Yet he seemed quite confident in his story," Devon observed, taking a sip of tea. His eyes never left mine, assessing, calculating. "People facing torture rarely lead with lies that can be easily disproven."
"Unless they're desperate and have nothing to lose," I countered, stepping closer to him. "He knows he's finished. He's trying to drag me down with him."
Devon set his cup down with deliberate precision. "You know what I find interesting? You're not asking what I plan to do with him. You're not begging me to call the police instead of handling this privately. You're only concerned with proving your innocence to me."
Heat rose to my cheeks. I hadn't even considered what would happen to Ethan. All I cared about was what Devon thought of me. The realization unsettled me deeply.
"Because I know you won't believe me without proof," I said quietly.
"And how do you propose to prove a negative? How do you prove you didn't meet him, didn't text him, didn't sleep with him?" His eyes challenged me, his voice softening to a dangerous whisper.
The trap was elegant in its simplicity. I couldn't prove what hadn't happened.
"I can't," I admitted, meeting his gaze steadily despite the fear blooming in my chest. "You'll have to trust me."
Devon leaned back, studying me over the rim of his teacup. His shirt cuff still bore Ethan's blood. For a moment, his mask slipped, revealing something almost vulnerable before the cold calculation returned.
"Trust is earned, Harper. If you want me to trust you, you'll need to show me something worth trusting."