Chapter 261
Aria's POV
The cheerful suggestion felt like a knife between my ribs. I managed to lift my hand in a small wave before my legs finally unlocked and I stumbled toward the stairwell instead of the elevator. The fire door clanged shut behind me, muffling the normal hospital sounds.
I made it to the parking garage before the tears came. Sitting in my car with the doors locked and the medical paperwork crumpled in my fist, I finally let myself break.
Six weeks pregnant with a man's child when he clearly had someone else—someone "better", someone who'd known him longer, who made him smile like that. Someone he'd literally just walked away from me to be with.
Eleanor had been right. I was temporary. A transaction that had run its course.
The parking garage was cold and silent as I sat in my car, hands gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. My breath came in short gasps, each one feeling like it might shatter me completely.
"Focus. Think."
The realization hit me like ice water: this hospital had Kane Technology's investment backing. Eleanor had mentioned it once, casually dropping the information over tea like it meant nothing. But it meant everything now. If Devon wanted to access my medical records, it would take him one phone call. Maybe less.
My hands shook as I fumbled with my phone, deleting every trace of today's appointment from my browser history. The rational part of my brain insisted he wouldn't care enough to check. But the part that had seen his gray eyes darken with possession, the part that knew how thoroughly he controlled everything in his orbit—that part knew better.
I typed with trembling fingers: "confidential abortion clinics NYC".
The search results blurred through my tears. I scrolled past the first few options—too close to Manhattan, too well-known. Finally, I found what I needed: a small private clinic in Brooklyn, tucked away on the second floor of an unremarkable building. The website promised discretion. Privacy. No questions asked.
The phone rang three times before someone answered.
"Willowbrook Women's Center."
"I—" My voice cracked. I cleared my throat, tried again. "I need to schedule an appointment. As soon as possible."
"We have an opening tomorrow afternoon at two. Would that work?"
Tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours to hold myself together. To convince myself this was the right choice.
"Yes," I whispered. "Please. I need it as soon as possible."
---
That night, I sat on the floor of my Brooklyn apartment, surrounded by photographs of my mother. Her smile looked down at me from a dozen frames—young and radiant at her wedding, laughing at some long-forgotten joke, holding me as an infant with such fierce tenderness it made my chest ache.
My hand moved in slow circles over my still-flat stomach.
"Mom," I choked out, "I don't know if I'm doing the right thing... but I can't do this alone."
The apartment felt too quiet, too empty. I reached for the diamond necklace Devon had given me weeks ago, before everything became so complicated. The weight of it in my palm brought back memories I couldn't afford right now—his rare smiles, the way his hand would sometimes linger on my waist with unexpected gentleness, those moments when the cold businessman facade cracked just enough to reveal something human underneath.
My phone lit up. Devon's name flashed across the screen for the fourth time that hour.
I declined the call. Then the fifth. The sixth.
Finally, I held down the power button until the screen went dark.
In the deepening night, I pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. The words came slowly, each one feeling like a small betrayal:
"Baby, I'm so sorry. I'm not ready to give you a complete home. I'm not ready to be what you need. This isn't about not wanting you—it's about not being enough."
I folded the letter and tucked it into my mother's jewelry box, next to the ancient key she'd left me. Then I curled up on the floor and let myself cry until there was nothing left.
---
Morning came too soon. I dressed mechanically in an oversized gray sweatshirt and jeans, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. The face that looked back at me was a stranger's—hollow-eyed, pale, determined.
"This is the best choice," I told that stranger. She didn't look convinced.
The Uber driver made small talk I couldn't hear over the roaring in my ears. Brooklyn passed by in a blur of brownstones and early autumn leaves. When we pulled up to the address, I stared at the unremarkable building for a long moment before forcing myself out of the car.
The clinic was exactly as advertised: small, clean, anonymous. The waiting room held three other women, none of whom made eye contact. We were all here for the same reason, all wrapped in the same shroud of silence.
I filled out the intake forms with shaking hands. Insurance information. Emergency contact—I left that blank. Medical history. Consent for the procedure.
"I consent to terminate my pregnancy."
The words seemed to pulse on the page.
"Number 27, Aria Harper?"
I stood on legs that didn't feel like my own. My hand pressed against my abdomen one last time—a goodbye, or maybe a plea for forgiveness. Then I followed the nurse down a white hallway that smelled of antiseptic and fear.
The doctor was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and an efficient manner. "Ms. Harper," she said gently, "I need to ask one final time. Are you certain you want to proceed with terminating this pregnancy?"
I lay on the surgical table, staring at the ceiling tiles. My throat felt too tight to speak. "Yes," I finally managed, the word barely audible. "I'm sure."
She nodded and began preparing her instruments. The nurse started an IV, and I felt the cold rush of liquid entering my veins. My body gave an involuntary shudder.
I closed my eyes. Devon's face appeared immediately—those storm-gray eyes that could freeze or burn depending on his mood, the rare softness that sometimes crept into his expression when he thought I wasn't watching. Then my mother's smile, warm and encouraging. And finally, impossibly, a child's face I'd never seen but somehow knew: a little girl with my eyes and Devon's sharp features.
The anesthesia began its work, pulling me under. The room grew distant, sounds muffling. I heard the clink of surgical instruments, the soft murmur of the doctor's voice.
"This is for the best," I thought. "This is—"
The door exploded open with a sound like thunder.
Through my dimming consciousness, I saw him: Devon Kane, moving like a force of nature, his face a mask of fury and something that looked terrifyingly like fear. Behind him, clinic staff were shouting, trying to stop him, but he moved through them like they didn't exist.
"Stop." His voice cut through the chaos, cold and absolute. "Now."
The doctor stepped back instinctively. Devon's gaze swept the room, landing on the ultrasound monitor, then dropping to me on the table. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
"Has the procedure started?" he demanded of the nurse.
"N-no, sir. We were just about to—"
He turned back to me, and the rage in his eyes was matched only by something raw and wounded. "What are you doing, Aria? Were you really going to kill our child without even telling me?"
I tried to speak, to explain, but the anesthesia was pulling me down. My words came out slurred: "You... don't understand..."
Devon didn't wait for more. He gathered me into his arms, lifting me from the table as if I weighed nothing. The room spun sickeningly.
"Sir!" The doctor's voice was sharp with professional concern. "The patient isn't fully alert. Taking her now could be dangerous—"
"I'll take her to a real hospital," Devon bit out. "And my lawyers will be in touch about your 'clinic's' practices."
I felt him move, carrying me through the clinic, past the shocked faces of staff and patients. The cool morning air hit my face as we emerged onto the street, where a black sedan waited with two of Devon's security team standing ready.
"Please," I heard myself whisper against his chest. "Why do you care? This is my choice... I don't want this baby..."
He placed me in the back seat with surprising gentleness, then slid in beside me. His hand found mine, gripping it hard enough that I felt his tremor.
"You don't get to make this decision for both of us," he said, his voice rough with emotion I'd never heard from him before. "This is my child too, Aria. You don't have that right."