Chapter 226
Aria's POV
Devon stared at me, his eyes holding a calculating gleam. The gray of his irises darkened as he studied my face, searching for any sign of hesitation.
"You're sure you'd do anything?" he asked, voice dropping to a near whisper. His jaw tightened slightly as he waited for my answer.
I nodded firmly despite the throbbing pain in my shoulder. The fever from the infection made the edges of my vision blur, but my determination remained clear. My hands trembled slightly, but I clasped them together to hide it.
"Whatever it takes to find Victoria and make her pay for what she did to my mother."
I studied Devon's face, noting how his expression shifted—almost imperceptibly—at the mention of my mother. Despite his cold exterior and the dangerous aura that surrounded him, he had never truly hurt me. In fact, he'd saved my life twice now. The realization settled in my chest, warm and unsettling.
A slight smile curved his lips, not quite reaching his eyes. "Very well. Remember, those were your words." His fingers flexed at his sides, a subtle gesture I'd learned meant he was restraining himself. "Don't regret them later."
His voice carried an undeniable authority, low and commanding. I felt my pulse quicken in response, my breath catching slightly. The way he looked at me—like I was something valuable yet frustrating—made my skin tingle.
After Devon left to speak with Marcus, I sat alone by the window of the hotel suite. Miami's skyline sparkled against the night, but I barely registered the view. My thoughts drifted to Key West, to the moment Devon had burst into that filthy room where I was being held. The raw fury and concern in his eyes had been unlike anything I'd seen before—a crack in his carefully maintained façade. He'd looked at me then not as a business arrangement, but as someone he couldn't bear to lose.
My heartbeat quickened. I pressed my palm against the cool glass of the window, feeling suddenly warm. What would it be like, I wondered, to have that kind of protection permanently? To wake up to those gray eyes every morning? To be with someone like Devon not for business, but for—
"Aria Harper, don't be ridiculous," I whispered to myself, turning away from the window. My voice sounded hollow in the empty room. "You and he could never be. This is a transaction, nothing more."
I swallowed hard, focusing on the city lights, trying to quiet the complicated emotions stirring within me. The line between fear and attraction, between gratitude and something deeper, blurred more each day.
"We're leaving for New York immediately," Devon announced as he strode back into the room. His shoes made no sound on the plush carpet, but his presence filled the space instantly. He'd changed his shirt, I noticed, to a crisp white button-down that contrasted with the tan of his skin. "I've put people on tracking Victoria's movements."
I hesitated before asking, "What about Scarlett? I want to bring her back to New York." My voice grew firmer as I continued. "She needs to answer for what she's done."
Devon's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed slightly. He gave a curt nod and made a brief call to arrange it. As he spoke, his gaze remained fixed on me, watchful and assessing. His efficiency was both impressive and unsettling—a reminder of the power he wielded so casually.
On the private jet, Devon focused on his laptop, occasionally making quiet phone calls. The cabin lights dimmed, casting his features in soft shadows that accentuated the sharp angles of his face. I reclined in the plush leather seat, trying not to stare at him.
My mind wandered to the last time I'd been on this plane with him—the way his hands had moved across my skin, gentle yet possessive. The memory made my breath hitch. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I turned toward the window, embarrassed by my own thoughts. When I glanced back, I found Devon watching me, his eyes dark and unreadable.
Fatigue soon overtook me, and I drifted into sleep, my body finally surrendering to exhaustion. Just before consciousness slipped away, I felt something soft being draped over me—a blanket, placed with unexpected care.
When we arrived at Devon's Manhattan penthouse, he guided me inside with a firm hand on my lower back. His touch was warm through the thin fabric of my shirt, steady and grounding. He leaned closer, his breath tickling my ear.
"If you ever disappear like that again," he said, his voice deceptively calm, "the consequences will be far less pleasant than this time." His fingers pressed slightly harder against my back. "Don't test my patience, Aria."
His tone was even, but I caught the slight tightening around his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. This wasn't an idle threat, but there was something else beneath it—a genuine concern he seemed unwilling to acknowledge directly.
Marcus entered the living room, his expression as impassive as always. "Sir, what should we do with her?" He nodded toward a doorway where I knew Scarlett was being held.
"Take her to the police," I said firmly, straightening my shoulders despite the pain. "She should be charged with kidnapping and human trafficking."
Devon didn't respond immediately. He studied my face, his gaze moving over my features slowly, as though memorizing them. His silence felt weighted, thoughtful. Then he nodded to Marcus, who left to carry out my instruction. Devon hadn't spoken, but his subtle acquiescence to my decision felt significant—a small shift in our dynamic that made my heart beat faster.
Hours later, I decided to take a hot bath to ease my aching muscles. The warm water enveloped me, and I sank deeper, letting it soothe the tension from my body. The medication Devon had given me made my eyelids heavy, my thoughts drifting. Without realizing it, I dozed off, lulled by warmth and exhaustion.
I woke with a start to the sound of the bathroom door opening. Disoriented, I tried to stand too quickly and slipped. Strong arms caught me before I could fall, one around my waist, the other steadying my shoulder.
Devon stood there, his body suddenly very close to mine. Water dripped from my skin onto his expensive shirt, darkening the fabric. His eyes traveled briefly over me before meeting my gaze, pupils dilating slightly.
"It seems I'm always catching you when you fall," he said, his voice a low rumble that I could almost feel against my chest.
I clutched at the towel, suddenly very aware of my nakedness and our proximity. Water ran in rivulets down my shoulders, and I shivered—from the cooling air and from the intensity in his eyes.
For a moment, neither of us moved. I could feel his heart beating against my palm where it rested on his chest for balance. The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with unspoken tension.
Then Devon wrapped the towel more securely around me and, to my surprise, lifted me out of the tub. He carried me to the bedroom, his arms strong and secure around me. My head rested against his shoulder, and I caught the scent of his cologne—subtle and expensive. He set me down gently on the bed, and I waited, breath held, certain he would stay.
Instead, he stepped back, his expression closing off. Something flickered in his eyes—a moment of restraint, of pulling back from an edge.
"Get some rest," he said simply, the words quiet in the dim room.