Chapter 183
Aria's POV
"You're not going to try some?" I asked Devon, who remained standing beside the hospital bed. I held up a piece of salmon sushi between my chopsticks, noticing how his eyes lingered on the food despite his rigid posture.
Devon's gaze shifted between me and the sushi, something softening in his usually stern features. "I didn't come here to eat dinner," he said, but his voice lacked its usual conviction.
"Yet you brought enough food for two people," I pointed out, gesturing to the spread on the overbed table. "And it's late. You probably haven't eaten either." I searched his face, noting the fatigue around his eyes, the slight slump of his shoulders that he tried so hard to hide.
To my surprise, Devon let out a soft sigh. He removed his suit jacket with deliberate movements, hung it carefully over the back of the chair, and sat down on the edge of the bed. When he accepted the second pair of chopsticks I offered, our fingers brushed briefly, sending an unexpected warmth through me.
"You know, this isn't going to become a habit," he said as he picked up a piece of sushi, but the hardness in his voice had melted away, replaced by something almost gentle.
"Of course not," I smiled, feeling oddly content. "I just thought it would be a waste to eat all this excellent food alone."
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I watched Devon's face soften as he ate, the sharp lines of concentration easing. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced up close, evidence of his chronic insomnia. Something protective stirred in me as I made a mental note to spend more time with him once things calmed down.
"I heard your little architect friend was the one who brought you to the hospital this afternoon," Devon suddenly said, setting down his chopsticks. His eyes narrowed slightly, jaw tightening. "I'm surprised he didn't stick around to take care of you."
I nearly choked on my miso soup, hastily putting down the bowl. My heart rate quickened at the edge in his voice. "What little architect friend? Noah's been talking nonsense again, hasn't he? Those two always exaggerate."
"Explain, then." Devon crossed his arms, his voice low and controlled, but his fingers gripped his forearm too tightly, betraying his tension.
"I just happened to run into Jeremy, and I suddenly felt sick. He helped me into the hospital, that's all." I held up my hand in a swearing gesture, trying to keep my voice steady. "I promise, he was just in the right place at the right time. We've only had a few work interactions regarding the Hamptons house design."
Devon studied me intently, his blue eyes searching mine for any trace of deception. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken questions. Finally, he gave a slight nod, the tension in his shoulders easing fractionally. "I hope that's the case." Though his words remained cool, the dangerous glint in his eyes had faded.
As the night deepened, I finished eating and felt exhaustion weighing on me. The medication made my eyelids heavy, my thoughts increasingly foggy. I looked over at Devon, who was still sitting on the bed, the blue light of his phone illuminating his features.
"It's getting really late. You can head home. I'll be fine," I told him, though part of me didn't want him to leave.
Devon looked up, his gaze holding mine. A small, mocking smile played at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes held something deeper. "Heartless, aren't you, Miss Harper? Use and discard?"
"That's not what I meant, just—"
Before I could finish, Devon stood up and moved to the other hospital bed in the room. With efficient movements that spoke of purpose and determination, he pushed it next to mine, the metal frames scraping softly against the floor.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"The doctor said you need to be observed. I'm staying." His tone was firm, final, but lacked the coldness I'd expected. He switched off the lights and lay down on the bed. In the darkness, I felt his arm reach over, wrapping securely around my waist, pulling me gently against him.
I froze, my heart racing at the unexpected intimacy. Devon's chest pressed against my back, solid and warm. His breath tickled my neck, steady and reassuring. I remained rigid, afraid to move, afraid to acknowledge how right it felt. Gradually, I heard his breathing deepen and even out, the arm around me relaxing slightly but never letting go. Only then did I allow myself to sink into his embrace, my body responding to his warmth even as my mind raced with confusion.
---
Morning sunlight filtered through the hospital blinds when I awoke. I blinked, momentarily disoriented, then immediately noticed Devon's absence. The bed beside mine had been pushed back to its original position, the sheets neatly straightened as if he'd never been there. Only the lingering warmth beside me and the faint scent of his cologne suggested otherwise. I felt a pang of disappointment spread through my chest.
"Good morning, Miss Harper." The formal voice belonged to Marcus, Devon's chief assistant, who stood at the doorway. His expression was as serious as ever, but his eyes held a hint of curiosity as they swept over me. "Mr. Kane was called away for an urgent meeting. He's assigned me to assist with your discharge. The doctor has signed your release forms. You're free to go home now. I'll drive you."
I nodded, trying to mask my disappointment. "Thank you, Marcus."
"No need to thank me. This is my job." Marcus replied flatly, though I noticed his careful assessment of my reaction. "I insist on personally escorting you home. Mr. Kane's orders were quite specific about your safety."
Not wanting to argue, I agreed to let Marcus drive me. The ride back was silent, giving me time to think about Devon's unexpected tenderness last night—how different he'd been in the darkness, how secure I'd felt in his arms.
As the Maybach pulled up to the Harper family mansion, I thanked Marcus and made my way inside. The moment I opened the door, I stopped in shock. The house was in complete disarray—shards of an expensive crystal vase littered the carpet, furniture had been overturned, and cherished Tiffany decorations lay shattered across the marble floor.
"What happened here?" I asked, my voice rising with alarm.
Elsa hurried toward me, her face creased with worry. "Miss, it's your father. He came home last night in a terrible rage and started breaking things."
"Why?" The single word fell from my lips as I surveyed the destruction.
"I'm not certain of the details," Elsa lowered her voice to a whisper, glancing nervously toward the staircase, "but it seems to involve Mrs. Harper. I would advise against going upstairs to see your father right now. His mood is... extremely volatile."