Chapter 252
Aria's POV
I tried to respond but found my voice caught in my throat. My seatbelt had done its job, but my shoulder ached from the impact. The driver's door was dented but not completely crushed.
Within seconds, Jeremy was at my car, having sprinted across the grass. His face was pale but determined as he yanked open the passenger door, which had remained functional.
"The engine's smoking," he said, his voice steady despite the urgency. "We need to get you out now."
My hands shook as I fumbled with the seatbelt release. "I can't... my hands won't stop shaking," I gasped.
"I've got you," he said, reaching across to help with the mechanism. The belt clicked free, and Jeremy's arms were around me, helping me slide across to the passenger side. "Easy does it. You're okay."
As he helped me out of the car, I felt my legs give way slightly. Jeremy caught me, his grip firm and reassuring. Behind us, the fire crew was already dousing the smoking engine with foam.
The last thing I registered before blackness claimed me was the warm stickiness of blood and Jeremy's strained voice whispering, "Stay with me, Aria."
When I awoke, harsh fluorescent light stabbed at my eyes. Every muscle in my body protested as I tried to move. I was in a hospital room, with a young doctor checking my vital signs.
"Ms. Harper, you're awake," Dr. Patel said softly. "You're extremely fortunate—just a minor fracture to your left wrist and some abrasions."
My throat felt raw when I spoke. "Jeremy... Mr. Pierce?"
"Mr. Pierce wasn't as lucky," a nurse added, her expression serious. "He has three fractures and minor internal bleeding, but he's stable."
Guilt crashed over me, more painful than my physical injuries. "This is my fault," I whispered. "I didn't listen to him."
"May I see him?" I asked, already pushing myself upright despite the pain lancing through my body.
She hesitated, glancing at my chart. "Ms. Harper, you really should rest. You've been through quite an ordeal."
"Please," I insisted, already swinging my legs over the side of the bed. A sharp pain shot through my wrist, reminding me of the minor fracture Dr. Patel had mentioned. "He saved my life. I need to see him."
The nurse sighed but nodded reluctantly. "Room 415. But only for a few minutes."
I made my way down the hospital corridor, each step sending small jolts of pain through my body. My mind replayed the accident in horrifying detail—the tire blowing out, the car spinning wildly, Jeremy's body wrapping protectively around mine just before impact. As I walked, I found myself wondering if Devon knew about the accident. Had anyone called him? Would he even care?
When I pushed open the door to Room 415, I was unprepared for the sight that greeted me. Jeremy lay in bed, nearly his entire body wrapped in bandages. Despite this, he managed to pull his lips into something resembling a smile when he saw me.
"Don't look at me like that," he said, voice surprisingly strong. "My driving skills are excellent—it was just a damn tire quality issue."
I shook my head, guilt washing over me. "Do you realize you almost got us both killed?"
"So," he raised an eyebrow, "are you actually concerned about me, or just worried about becoming a New York Times headline?"
The unexpected humor broke through my guilt. I found myself smiling despite everything. "Both, I suppose."
"I'll take it," Jeremy replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Our moment was interrupted when the door swung open. Devon stood in the threshold with Noah beside him. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees instantly. Devon's face was perfectly composed, but his eyes gave him away—they darted from me to Jeremy and back again, darkening as they took in my bandaged wrist. My heart skipped a beat at his presence, an involuntary reaction I hated myself for.
Noah rushed to his brother's side. "You can't keep doing this, Jeremy. Father would be so disappointed to know you're still playing these dangerous games."
Devon's gaze locked onto me, his deep gray eyes containing a storm of emotions—anger, concern, and something else I couldn't quite identify. His jaw tightened, a muscle working beneath the skin. Without a word, he nodded toward Noah and then said to me, his voice dangerously calm, "The adjacent room. Now."
I followed him, acutely aware of every painful step and the stiffness of his shoulders ahead of me. Once inside the empty hospital room, Devon closed the door and turned to face me. His breathing was controlled, too controlled, like he was holding something back.
"How does it feel?" he asked, his voice eerily quiet.
"How does what feel?"
"Knowing you were inches away from attending your own funeral." His voice was calm, but ice cold. His eyes, however, told a different story—beneath the anger, I caught a flicker of what seemed like genuine fear.
"It was an accident," I defended myself. "Not my idea."
A bitter smile crossed his face, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Your judgment was to participate in illegal street racing with Jeremy Pierce, right after your father was released on bail, with media watching your every move?" He stepped closer, his expensive custom suit accentuating his imposing presence. His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach out but stopped himself. "Did you consider what would happen to Kane Technology's stock if something happened to you?"
His concern disguised as business calculation stung more than it should have. I searched his face for any hint of the man who had held me through nightmares, who had saved me countless times.
Before I could respond, there was a knock at the door. Lucas appeared. "Mr. Kane, Miss Evelyn Smith requests you contact her immediately."
Devon's expression shifted subtly—a softening around the eyes, a moment of conflict visible only if you knew what to look for. He glanced at me one last time before following Lucas out without another word, but his gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
---
For the next three days, Devon never returned to the hospital. Yet each day, Lucas delivered carefully prepared meals, fresh flowers, and changes of clothes. Each item was exactly what I would have chosen for myself, evidence of Devon's attention to detail, to my preferences. Sitting in my hospital bed, staring at Manhattan's skyline through the window, I felt a familiar emptiness.
"He won't even show up himself," I murmured, scrolling through previous messages from Devon on my phone. My finger hovered over his contact information, tempted to call, to hear his voice. "Just fulfilling some obligation."
I remembered how he'd shielded me from reporters at Noah's wedding, his hand protectively at the small of my back, his body angled to absorb any threat before it could reach me. "Maybe he just doesn't want his 'investment' damaged," I whispered, the thought bringing an unexpected ache to my chest that had nothing to do with my injuries.
On my last night in the hospital, I visited Jeremy again. His condition had improved dramatically, and he was reviewing architectural designs on his tablet.
"There's something I've been wanting to tell you," Jeremy said, setting aside his tablet with uncharacteristic seriousness. "We've actually met long before. Saint Remo Private School, sixth grade."
I frowned, confusion giving way to a distant memory. "Wait... you were the boy being bullied by the older students?"
Jeremy nodded. "Yes. My mother had just died, and the Pierce family had adopted me. You were the only one who stood up for me."
Slowly, the memory clarified. "That boy transferred schools... I thought I'd never see him again."
"Life has a way of surprising us, doesn't it?" Jeremy smiled softly.
The following morning, as I prepared for discharge, a nurse rushed in. "Ms. Harper, Dr. Bennett needs to confirm some test results with you before you leave."
In the doctor's office, I noticed a certain hesitation beneath her professional smile, a carefulness in her movements that immediately put me on alert.
"Ms. Harper, during our routine blood work, we discovered something unexpected," Dr. Bennett adjusted her glasses. "Though depending on your perspective, this might be good news."
She handed me the report. As I scanned the data, a wave of dizziness washed over me. My fingers trembled involuntarily, and I had to grip the edge of the desk to steady myself. My mind suddenly filled with images of Devon—his rare genuine smile, his hands gentle against my skin despite his harsh words, the vulnerability in his eyes when he thought I wasn't looking.
"Yes," the doctor confirmed, watching my reaction. "You're pregnant, approximately six weeks along. Would you like us to contact the father?"