Chapter 244
Devon's POV
When I arrived at Evelyn's ward, I watched her chest rise and fall as she slept, counting each breath like I used to when we were children. The hospital monitors beeped in a steady rhythm, their glow casting shadows across her bandaged legs and arms. The wheelchair sat in the corner—a permanent reminder of what my family had taken from her. Yes, she was my sister, but we were not related by blood.
Her eyes fluttered open, immediately finding mine. Even through her pain, that spark of recognition softened her expression. "Another nightmare?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your dark circles are worse than mine."
I didn't answer. I never knew how to respond when she worried about me, when it should be the opposite. My fingers traced the ornate patterns on her wheelchair's armrest, lingering over the burn-scarred decorative carvings. "Does it hurt?" I finally asked.
"Not as much as that day's fire," she replied with a small smile that twisted something inside my chest. "Twenty years, Devon, and I've never once regretted that push."
Twenty years. Two decades since I'd stood frozen in the burning hallway, since Evelyn had used the last of her strength to shove me toward the window before the beam collapsed where I'd been standing. Before my family decided a disabled foster daughter was no longer useful.
"I don't want strangers caring for me," she continued, her voice gaining strength. "They look at me the same way Eleanor does—like I'm just a failed marriage tool."
My hand covered hers, anger rising like bile in my throat. "No one has called you that since I've had the power to stop it. You're my sister, Evelyn—whether or not you have Kane blood."
She lifted her hand weakly, touching the ruby necklace at her throat—the one I'd spent ten million dollars to reclaim at auction. The one my father had given her upon adoption, then callously reclaimed after the fire. "Do you remember what this is?" she asked. "Arthur gave it to me the day I was adopted. The only proof I was ever considered a 'Kane.'"
"And they took it back after the fire because you 'no longer had value to them,'" I said, my voice dropping lower. "Now it's where it belongs."
I heard a slight noise at the door and turned to see a nurse disappearing down the hall. Good. No one needed to witness this moment of vulnerability. I'd spent years building walls around the truth of the Kane family—around the scars both visible and invisible that we carried.
The door opened again, and Lucas appeared, his expression tense. "Sir, a word?"
I squeezed Evelyn's hand before stepping into the hall. The transition from brother to CEO was automatic—my face hardening, voice dropping to a controlled coldness.
"I pay you exceptionally well to prevent exactly this kind of accident," I said, anger rising again.
"Sir, Ms. Smith became agitated after Connor called. She refused assistance and fell down the stairs before I could reach her."
Connor. My brother. The one who'd watched Evelyn burn and done nothing. "Tell Connor that if he attempts to contact Evelyn again, he'll regret it. He's already destroyed her once."
Lucas lowered his voice. "Sir, your medication from last night—is it still effective? Mrs. Kane is concerned about your insomnia..."
"Tell my mother," I interrupted, "not to concern herself with the foster daughter she exiled. Or perhaps remind her to ask herself why an adopted daughter kept only for marriage alliances was discarded once she lost the ability to walk."
I pulled the old photograph from my pocket—Evelyn and me standing before the Kane estate, the edges charred from when I'd pulled it from the burning debris. My only proof that she'd ever been considered family.
"From now on, someone is with Evelyn at all times," I instructed. "Your job is to protect her, not monitor her."
As I strode toward the elevator, I thought of Aria waiting in the car. Aria, who somehow quieted the constant noise in my head. Who made sleep possible without medication. Who had no idea what darkness she'd stepped into by getting involved with me.
Who might run if she knew the truth.
---
Aria's POV
I woke to the mattress dipping beside me. Opening my eyes, I saw Devon sliding under the covers, still wearing his dress shirt, though he'd removed his tie and jacket. The early morning light filtering through the curtains revealed dark circles under his eyes, more pronounced than usual.
"Go back to sleep," he murmured, pulling me against his chest. "It's still early."
His arm circled my waist with a possessive firmness that had become familiar. I turned slightly to face him.
"Are you still mad about last night?" I asked, studying his face. Despite the obvious exhaustion, his expression seemed calmer than when he'd left.
His eyes—those piercing gray eyes that rarely gave anything away—held mine for a moment. "That depends on your behavior going forward." His fingers brushed against my hair, twisting a strand almost absently, as if confirming I was really there.
I relaxed against him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart against my back. His body radiated warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt, and I found myself unconsciously matching my breathing to his. To my surprise, within minutes his breathing deepened and slowed—Devon Kane, the insomniac, was asleep.
I lay still, almost afraid to move. Since our arrangement began, I'd never seen him truly sleep. Doze briefly, yes, but never this deep, unguarded slumber. In sleep, the hard lines of his face softened, making him look younger, less burdened by whatever weight he carried.
Just as I was considering slipping out of bed, his brow furrowed and he mumbled something that sounded like "No... the beam..." His fingers tightened on my waist, his body tensing.
Without thinking, I reached up and gently stroked his face, my fingers tracing the stubble along his jawline. Almost immediately, his expression smoothed, the tension leaving his body. Whatever nightmare had been forming retreated at my touch.
I watched him sleep for what must have been an hour, wondering about the man beneath the controlled exterior. What nightmare haunted him? What "beam" was he afraid of? The Devon Kane the world knew—ruthless, calculating, always in control—seemed far removed from this vulnerable man beside me.
Eventually, I carefully extricated myself from his arms and slipped out of bed. He didn't stir. I dressed quietly, pausing at the bedroom door to look back at him. In that moment, I realized our relationship had shifted. This was no longer just a transaction, no longer just about my company or his sleepless nights.
And that realization terrified me.
I left his penthouse quietly, nodding to Marcus in the lobby. Outside, the city was already in full motion, but I felt strangely disconnected from it all, my mind still in that quiet bedroom, with a sleeping Devon and the secrets he kept.
The Harper mansion looked imposing as always when I arrived later that afternoon. I noticed Lucas following at a discreet distance in a black sedan. Apparently, Devon had assigned him to watch me—though whether for my protection or surveillance, I wasn't entirely sure.
My father waited in the foyer, his expression unnaturally calm. The house felt too quiet, the staff moving like ghosts around us.
"Are you ready to admit to everything?" I asked without preamble. "Including mother's murder?"
His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I wanted to see how my daughter performs the role of patricide."
A police car pulled up outside. I'd made the call on my way over, providing the recordings and evidence I'd gathered. Two officers approached the door, which Elsa opened before they could knock.
"William Harper?" one officer asked, though it was clear he recognized my father.
"I'll get my coat," my father said with eerie composure.
As the officers read him his rights, I watched his face for any sign of remorse or fear. There was none. Only a calculating stillness that made me wonder what scheme he still had in motion.
"You understand this will destroy the Harper name," he said quietly as they prepared to escort him out.
"You did that yourself," I replied, my voice steadier than I expected.
When the police car disappeared down the driveway, Elsa approached me hesitantly.
"Miss Aria, he's still your father," she said, her eyes damp.
I looked at her, the woman who had witnessed both my mother's slow poisoning and my father's transformation into someone I no longer recognized.
"No, Elsa. He stopped being my father a long time ago."