Chapter 155
Aria’s POV
"We need to get her to a hospital," Elsa said urgently.
My father shook his head. "No. No hospitals. The press would have a field day. The Harper name can't be associated with whatever happened at that club."
I stared at him in disbelief—not because I was surprised by his callousness, but because even after all these years, his concern for the family image still managed to shock me.
"Father, she's coughing up blood," I pointed out.
"Elsa, help her upstairs and clean her up," my father instructed, ignoring me. "Call Dr. Reynolds if necessary. He's discreet." He turned to me, his eyes cold. "Aria, my study. Now."
I hesitated, watching as Elsa and another maid helped Scarlett toward the stairs. The look Scarlett gave me as they passed was pure venom, promising retribution. I met her gaze steadily before following my father to his study.
The moment the heavy oak door closed behind us, he rounded on me.
"What do you know about this?" he demanded, his voice low but dangerous.
"Nothing," I replied calmly. "I told you, I've been home all evening."
"Then why is Scarlett saying this is your fault? Why would you know Ethan in the Eden?"
I leaned against his desk, a position I never would have dared take before tonight. "I don't know what Scarlett believes or why. But I'd like to know what she meant when she said 'this was meant for you.' What exactly was meant for me, Father?"
He seemed taken aback by my direct question and the subtle shift in my demeanor. For years, I had been the dutiful daughter, accepting his preference for Scarlett, swallowing my hurt when he dismissed my achievements while celebrating her mediocrity. But something had changed in me. Perhaps it was the sight of Scarlett finally facing consequences, or perhaps it was simply time.
"She's obviously confused and traumatized," he said dismissively.
"Is she? Because it sounded to me like she knew exactly what she was saying." I straightened, meeting his gaze directly. "Maybe we should ask her to explain what she meant."
My father's eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting we interrogate her in her condition?"
"I'm suggesting we get to the truth, rather than automatically assuming I'm somehow responsible for whatever happened to her," I replied, surprised by my own boldness.
Without waiting for his response, I turned and walked out of the study, heading toward Scarlett's room. My father followed close behind, his footsteps heavy with anger.
When we reached Scarlett's door, I knocked firmly before entering. She was sitting on her bed, now wearing a silk robe, her hair still damp from being hastily washed. She flinched when she saw me.
"Get her out of here!" she screamed at my father.
"Scarlett," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. "You said what happened to you was meant for me. What did you mean by that?"
"Nothing! I was confused!" she insisted, her eyes darting nervously to my father.
"I don't think you were," I pressed. "I think you knew exactly what you were saying."
"Aria, that's enough," my father warned.
I turned to face him. "No, it's not enough. I want to know what she meant." I looked back at Scarlett. "Were you planning something for me, Scarlett? Something that backfired on you instead?"
Scarlett's face paled further. She shrank back against her pillows, looking to my father for protection.
"This is ridiculous," my father said. "You're upset and looking for someone to blame, Aria. Scarlett needs rest, not accusations."
"What she needs is to answer my question," I insisted. "Or perhaps I should call the police and let them ask her."
"You wouldn't dare," my father hissed.
I pulled out my phone. "Wouldn't I? Someone assaulted my stepsister. As a concerned family member, shouldn't I report it?"
The threat hung in the air. We all knew a police investigation would reveal things none of us wanted public—least of all Scarlett and my father.
Scarlett broke first. "Please, no police," she whispered, her earlier bravado evaporating.
I put my phone away slowly, feeling a strange new power. "Then tell me the truth."
She remained silent, tears streaming down her face. My father moved to stand between us, physically shielding her from my questions.
I looked at him, then at her, and finally nodded. "Fine. I suggest we find a private doctor for Scarlett. Those injuries look serious." I turned to leave, then paused at the door. "But this conversation isn't over."
I walked back to my room, leaving my father and Scarlett staring after me. For the first time in years, I felt something other than helplessness when facing them. I felt in control.
---
The next morning, I entered the dining room to find my father already seated at the head of the table, cutting into a steak with precise, angry movements. The newspaper was folded beside his plate, untouched—unusual for him, as he typically spent breakfast scanning financial news.
"Good morning," I said, taking my usual seat.
He nodded curtly without looking up. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the soft clink of his knife against the plate.
"How is Scarlett?" I finally asked, helping myself to coffee from the silver pot on the table.
"Resting," he replied tersely. "Dr. Reynolds came by early this morning. She'll recover."
"That's good to hear," I said, keeping my voice neutral.
"Is it?" His eyes finally met mine, sharp with accusation.
I held his gaze. "Of course. Despite what you might think, I don't wish her harm."
Another silence fell. I buttered a piece of toast, maintaining an outward calm that belied the tension coiling in my stomach.
"I have some business to attend to this morning," I said vaguely, deliberately avoiding specifics. The thought of walking into Harper Group unannounced gave me a small thrill—father's face when he saw me at the office would be worth the effort.
My father looked suspicious. "What kind of business?"
"Just some meetings," I replied, purposefully evasive. "Nothing that concerns you."
I stood, smoothing down my blouse. My father returned to cutting his steak, his silence more telling than words. Something had shifted between us, and we both knew it.
As I headed toward the stairs, I almost collided with Scarlett. She was moving slowly, one hand on the wall for support. Her face was pale, but there was fire in her eyes when she saw me.
"Well, well," I said softly. "You're looking surprisingly well for someone who was at death's door last night."
She stiffened. "Don't pretend you care."
"Oh, I don't," I replied, dropping all pretense now that we were alone. "I'm just impressed by your resilience. It must be all that practice you get, climbing in and out of other people's beds."
Her face contorted with hate. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Using Kane to do your dirty work. But this isn't over, Aria. I'll make you pay for what happened."
I shrugged, unmoved by her threat. "Consider it karma, Scarlett. For everything you've stolen from me—my father's affection, my mother's beach house, even Ethan." I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. "And if you try anything else, what happened last night will seem like a gentle warning."
I stepped around her, continuing down the stairs. Behind me, I heard her sharp intake of breath.
"You bitch," she hissed. "You won't get away with this."
I didn't bother turning around. "I already have."