Chapter 208
Devon's POV
"As you can see from the projection models, Kane Technology stands to increase market penetration by twenty-eight percent with this strategic acquisition." I swept my gaze across the boardroom table, noting the mixture of approval and skepticism on the directors' faces. Quarterly strategy meetings always brought out the sharks—even within our own company.
I clicked to the next slide in my presentation. "The synergy with our existing portfolio would create immediate value, particularly in the—"
Marcus appeared at my side, his expression tightly controlled as he discreetly extended my phone. The screen displayed a single name: Aria Harper.
"Excuse me," I murmured, irritation flickering beneath my professional demeanor. I never took calls during board meetings. Everyone knew that. "Please continue reviewing the data on page seven. I'll explain the implications momentarily."
I stepped away from the table, pressing the phone to my ear. "This had better be important."
Instead of Aria's voice, I heard a man's cold, professional tone: "That won't be necessary," he said, followed by what sounded like a phone being pocketed. "This won't take long."
Then muffled sounds of movement and Aria's voice in the background, tense and argumentative.
The temperature of my blood dropped several degrees. My fingers tightened around the phone as I processed the implications in a fraction of a second.
"Who is this?" I demanded, but the line went dead.
I didn't hesitate. "Meeting adjourned. Marcus, is the car ready?"
The boardroom erupted in murmurs of surprise and displeasure. My father looked up from his notes, his expression hardening into familiar disapproval.
"You cannot simply walk out on a board meeting, Devon!" His voice carried the weight of decades of authority that had bent countless others to his will.
I turned back, meeting his gaze with ice in mine. "I can. I just did."
Without waiting for a response, I strode toward the elevator, Marcus falling into step beside me. "Track her phone. And get me the security footage from the bistro across from my building."
"Already done, sir," Marcus replied. "The GPS shows her moving toward the Upper East Side. And the car is waiting downstairs."
As the elevator doors closed, cutting off the boardroom's commotion, I allowed myself one moment of unchecked emotion—fury mixed with something dangerously close to fear. Someone had taken Aria. Someone would pay for that mistake.
The leather seat of my Maybach felt cold against my palms as I clenched my fists, willing the driver to move faster through Manhattan's congested streets. There was only one person who would dare to interfere this way.
Mother.
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Aria's POV
The leather seat of the black sedan felt cold beneath my fingertips as I tried to steady my breathing. Through tinted windows, I glimpsed the passing city, transforming from the bustling commercial district into tree-lined avenues of old wealth. My phone buzzed in my purse, but one of the men had positioned himself between me and my belongings.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked, striving to keep my voice level despite my racing pulse.
"The madam wishes to speak with you, Ms. Harper," the driver replied, his tone professionally detached. "We're almost there."
I fought to suppress the rising panic. These men were too professional to be random kidnappers. Their suits, their mannerisms, the coordinated way they'd extracted me from the bistro—this was an organized operation. My mind flashed to Devon's warning to stay in the penthouse, which I'd foolishly ignored for thirty minutes of fresh air.
The car slowed as we approached an imposing brownstone mansion. Georgian architecture, meticulously maintained grounds—this was old money, the kind that didn't need to announce itself.
"This way, please," the lead man said, opening my door.
I stepped out, considering my options. Running seemed futile—I was outnumbered, and my twisted ankle from last night's attack still ached beneath my heels. Better to face whatever awaited me with dignity intact.
A butler greeted us at the door, his expression betraying nothing as he led me through the marble-floored entryway. The interior was a study in understated opulence—antique furniture, original oil paintings, crystal chandeliers that had likely witnessed decades of high-society gatherings.
"This way, Ms. Harper," he said, guiding me through a set of intricately carved oak doors that opened onto a sunlit garden terrace.
A woman sat at a wrought-iron table, her silver-streaked dark hair swept into an elegant chignon. She wore a tailored Chanel suit in navy blue, a strand of perfect pearls gleaming at her throat. Even before she turned to face me, I knew who she was—the resemblance to Devon was unmistakable in the sharp angles of her face and the penetrating gray eyes.
"Aria Harper, I presume," she said, her voice carrying the refined accent of Boston's elite. "Please, sit."
I remained standing. "I don't believe we've been introduced."
A thin smile curved her lips. "Eleanor Kane. I thought it was time we met."
My stomach tightened. Devon's mother. The woman who, according to society pages, had orchestrated generations of beneficial marriages within Boston's upper echelon.
"I wasn't aware we had an appointment," I replied, sinking into the chair opposite her, determined not to show weakness.
"Tea? Or coffee? We Bostonians prefer tea." She pushed a delicate porcelain cup toward me, ignoring my comment. "I understand you attended Princeton. Not a family tradition, I take it? First-generation college student?"
The question carried the faintest note of condescension, carefully calibrated to remind me of my position—or rather, my lack of position—in her world. I felt the weight of generations of breeding and wealth pressing down on me, questioning my right to sit at this table.
"Yes, I earned a scholarship," I answered, meeting her gaze directly. "I'm quite proud of that achievement."
"As you should be," she replied, her tone suggesting otherwise. She took a measured sip of tea before setting down her cup with practiced precision. "Let's discuss the matter at hand, shall we?"
She reached into her Hermès handbag and withdrew a checkbook bound in soft leather. "I understand young women's ambitions and... needs." She paused, studying my reaction. "My son is currently negotiating a merger of families with Mandy Stevens. It's been planned for quite some time—a union of compatible backgrounds and interests. Not something to be disrupted by a... temporary distraction."
Her words landed like precise knife cuts. I remained silent, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
"You seem intelligent, Ms. Harper." She uncapped a fountain pen that probably cost more than my first month's rent. "I believe five million dollars would be sufficient for you to begin a new venture. Somewhere far from Devon."
She wrote the check with elegant strokes, the scratch of pen against paper the only sound besides the distant chirping of birds.
"Mrs. Kane, I'm not—" I began, my voice growing softer despite my efforts.
"Take it," she interrupted, sliding the check toward me. "It's best for everyone involved."
I stared at the check. Five million dollars. Enough to save my company, to secure Sophia's future, to rebuild my beach house. My hand moved toward it almost of its own accord, fingers trembling slightly. The humiliation burned in my chest, but pragmatism whispered that this might be the simplest solution to the complex web I'd entangled myself in.
My fingertips had just brushed the edge of the check when a hand clamped around my wrist.
"I'm only worth five million?" Devon's voice came from behind me, deceptively calm but laced with danger.
My heart stopped. I hadn't heard him approach, but his presence filled the garden terrace like a gathering storm. His grip on my wrist was firm—not painful, but inescapable.
Eleanor's composure slipped for just a moment, her eyes widening in surprise. "Devon," she recovered quickly, "aren't you supposed to be in a board meeting?"
"Evidently, I came at precisely the right time." His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around my wrist, his thumb pressing against my racing pulse.
"Mandy was asking about you last week," Eleanor said, her voice taking on a persuasive tone. "The Stevens family is prepared to announce—"
"There is nothing to announce, Mother," Devon cut her off, his voice sharp as a blade. "There never was."
He reached past me and took the check from the table. With deliberate slowness, he tore it into pieces, letting them fall into his mother's delicate bone china teacup.
"We're leaving, Aria." It wasn't a request.
He pulled me to my feet, his fingers like iron bands around my wrist. I felt caught between two immovable forces—Eleanor's cold disapproval and Devon's barely contained fury—with no room to voice my own thoughts or make my own choices.
As Devon led me away, Eleanor's final words carried across the garden: "Consider your choices carefully, Ms. Harper."
I glanced back to see her watching us, her expression a complex mixture of warning and something that might have been pity.