Chapter 289
Aria's POV
The Four Seasons conference room fell silent three days after the press conference. William had resigned in disgrace, Victoria was in police custody, and I'd officially taken control of the thirty percent Harper Group shares my mother left me. But the real challenge was just beginning—I had to prove myself to a boardroom full of skeptical executives who saw me as nothing more than a twenty-four-year-old inheritor playing at business.
Devon sat beside me in the back of his Bentley as Marcus navigated through Manhattan traffic toward Harper Group headquarters. His hand rested on my knee, thumb tracing absent circles that should have been comforting but only reminded me how much I'd come to depend on these small gestures.
"They're going to question everything," I said, staring at my reflection in the tinted window. The woman looking back wore a charcoal suit and my mother's pearl necklace—armor for the battle ahead. "My experience, my qualifications, my right to even be in that room."
"Let them." Devon's voice carried that edge of steel I'd learned meant he was already three steps ahead. "That's why I'll be there. Not to fight your battles, but to remind them that dismissing you means dismissing Kane Technology's investment."
I turned to look at him. "You bought enough shares to attend board meetings?"
"I bought enough shares to make sure you're not outnumbered." His gray eyes met mine. "Consider it a wedding gift."
The elevator to the executive floor moved too fast and too slow at once. My stomach churned—morning sickness had evolved into all-day nausea that I'd learned to hide behind careful breathing and strategic timing. The baby was still our secret, a truth I kept close like the key my mother had left me.
The boardroom stretched before us, mahogany and glass, power and judgment. Twelve directors sat around the table, their faces ranging from openly hostile to carefully neutral. I recognized most of them—Richard Lawson, who'd worked with my father for twenty years; Patricia Chen, the venture capitalist who'd pushed for digital expansion; others whose names I'd memorized from annual reports but whose loyalty remained uncertain.
I took my mother's seat at the head of the table. Devon settled into the chair beside me, his presence a statement all its own.
"Mrs. Kane." Richard Lawson's voice carried across the room, polite but weighted. "While we acknowledge the legal validity of your share inheritance, Harper Group is a two-billion-dollar media conglomerate. Forgive my directness, but you've spent the last two years running a boutique marketing firm. Do you truly believe you're qualified to participate in strategic decisions at this level?"
Several heads nodded. I'd expected this—the dismissal wrapped in corporate courtesy.
I opened the folder before me with steady hands. "Mr. Lawson, I understand your concern. But perhaps you should review this report." I slid copies down the table. "Over the past two years, Stellar Impressions achieved a hundred and fifty percent growth rate. We service three Fortune 500 brands, with client retention at ninety-three percent. My mother didn't leave me these shares solely because I'm her daughter. She left them because she believed I could honor her vision for this company."
I paused, meeting each director's eyes in turn. "Elizabeth Harper built this company on innovation and integrity. I intend to do the same."
Patricia Chen leaned forward, designer glasses catching the light. "Innovation and integrity don't address our immediate crisis, Mrs. Kane. Since the press conference, Harper Group's stock has dropped eighteen percent. Multiple advertising clients have suspended contracts. What's your solution?"
The room went quiet. This was the test—not my credentials, but my ability to navigate the wreckage my revelations had caused.
Devon's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then stood. "Perhaps I can offer a solution." He moved to the whiteboard, marker in hand. "Kane Technology is prepared to invest fifty million dollars in Harper Group, establishing a strategic partnership." He drew a simple diagram. "Additionally, I propose we merge Stellar Impressions into Harper Group as the company's luxury brand marketing division."
He turned to face the room. "Mrs. Kane has demonstrated exceptional skill in fashion and lifestyle brand marketing—precisely what Harper Group currently lacks. Her expertise could transform our reputation crisis into an opportunity for repositioning."
Murmurs rippled through the directors. Fifty million was considerable, and Kane Technology's backing would help restore investor confidence.
"Mr. Kane," Lawson said slowly, "why would you invest in Harper Group at its lowest point?"
"Because I believe in Mrs. Kane's vision." Devon's gaze didn't waver. "And because sound business decisions are based on potential, not temporary setbacks."
Two hours of intense discussion followed. Questions about integration timelines, brand positioning, financial projections. I answered what I could, deferred to Devon when appropriate, and slowly—very slowly—watched skepticism shift to grudging consideration.
The vote came at four-thirty. Nine in favor, three opposed. The merger was approved. I was appointed Director of Luxury Brand Marketing, reporting directly to the board until a new CEO could be hired.
As the meeting adjourned, Patricia Chen approached, extending her hand. "Mrs. Kane, I withdraw my earlier doubts. You remind me of your mother."
I shook her hand, maintaining the professional mask even as relief and exhaustion warred inside me. "Thank you, Ms. Chen. But I'm not trying to be her. I'm trying to honor what she built."
Devon waited until the room cleared before touching my elbow. "You need to eat something."
"I need to talk to Sophia." The adrenaline was fading, leaving me hollow. "About taking over as Art Director for the merged division."
"Tomorrow." His tone left no room for argument. "Tonight, you rest."
But rest proved impossible. I sat in Devon's living room at midnight, staring at my phone. Sophia hadn't responded to my texts. She'd been distant since the wedding, always claiming to be busy, never quite meeting my eyes when we did talk.
The door opened. Devon entered, still in his dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. "You're supposed to be sleeping."
"I can't." I set down my phone. "Something's wrong with Sophia. She's been avoiding me."
He sat beside me, pulling me against his side. "Then talk to her tomorrow. In person."
I wanted to argue, but exhaustion won. I let him lead me to bed, let him hold me as sleep finally came. But even in dreams, I felt the distance growing—not with Devon, but with the person who'd stood by me through everything.
The next evening, I invited Sophia to my Brooklyn apartment. She arrived with wine and the careful smile I'd learned to recognize as her mask.
"So." She settled on the floor, back against the couch like we used to do in college. "VP of Luxury Brand Marketing. That's impressive."
"It's terrifying." I poured us both wine—mine barely a splash for appearances. "Sophia, that's actually why I wanted to talk. The merger's happening, and I want you as Art Director for the luxury division. Devon suggested VP of Marketing, actually. Triple your current salary, plus equity."
I watched her face, expecting excitement. Instead, something flickered in her amber eyes—something that looked like regret.
"Aria." She set down her glass. "I'm not taking the position."
The words didn't register immediately. "What? Why? This is incredible—"
"Because I'm leaving New York."