Chapter 37
Aria’s POV
I pushed open the heavy door of Blue Sapphire and stepped into the cool night air, grateful to escape the suffocating atmosphere inside. The bass from the club thumped behind me like a distant heartbeat as I walked away, wrapping my arms around myself. I couldn't bear to return to Ethan's VIP section after what I'd witnessed, nor did I want to face Devon in that private room where he'd looked through me like I was invisible.
My phone vibrated in my clutch. Ethan. I considered ignoring it but decided against it—better to maintain the facade a little longer.
"Hello?" I answered, keeping my voice deliberately weak.
"Aria? Where are you? I've been looking everywhere." His voice carried a hint of suspicion beneath the concern. "Did you just go to the terrace? I just saw someone there who looks a lot like you."
My stomach clenched. Was he testing me now to see if I went to the terrace earlier and saw him having a private meeting with my stepsister? I forced myself to sound sick rather than disgusted.
"No, I... I've been in the bathroom. My stomach's acting up. I think I'm going to head home," I said, injecting just the right amount of discomfort into my voice.
"Do you want me to take you? I can—"
"No!" I interrupted, perhaps too quickly. "No, it's fine. You stay and enjoy your night. I'll just grab an Uber."
After hanging up, I positioned myself at the curb, opening the app to request a ride. The Manhattan streets were still bustling despite the late hour, yellow cabs and luxury cars weaving through traffic. I couldn't help replaying Devon's cold gaze in my mind, the way he'd glanced at me without a flicker of recognition, as if our bodies hadn't been intimately entwined just yesterday.
And Caroline. This was the second time I'd seen her with him. Was she really the woman his mother wanted him to marry? The thought shouldn't bother me at all.
"What are you thinking, Aria?" I muttered to myself, shaking my head. "It's a business arrangement. You literally asked him to pretend not to know you in public."
My thoughts scattered as a sleek black Porsche raced past, close enough that the rush of air disturbed my hair. I caught a glimpse of the driver—Devon. My heart inexplicably leapt, then plummeted as the car continued without slowing, disappearing around a corner.
Of course he wouldn't stop. Why would he?
I was so lost in thought that I barely registered the silver Audi pulling up beside me until the passenger window rolled down.
"Need a ride, Harper?" Christopher Quinn's voice cut through my distraction. His smile was warm, genuine in a way that seemed out of place in our social circle.
I hesitated. Christopher was Devon's friend, which complicated things. But my Uber was still seven minutes away, and the night air was getting chillier.
"That would be great, actually. Thank you." I slipped into the passenger seat, the leather cool against my skin.
Christopher pulled smoothly into traffic, his driving confident but not aggressive like Ethan's or Devon's. An awkward silence settled between us, broken only by the soft jazz playing through his car's sound system.
"So," he finally said, "rough night?"
I smiled weakly. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to someone who's been watching." He glanced at me quickly before returning his eyes to the road. "Don't worry, your makeup's still perfect. It's more the look in your eyes."
I shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't realize you were so observant."
"Part of the job," he replied with a light shrug. "Investment banking teaches you to read people. Helps to know when someone's bluffing about their company's projections."
Another silence fell, but Christopher seemed determined not to let it linger.
"How's Stellar Impressions doing? Devon mentioned you're working on some campaign for Kane Tech?"
"We are," I answered carefully. "It's going well. Your friend doesn't make things easy, but the challenge is... stimulating."
Christopher chuckled. "That sounds like Devon. He doesn't believe in easy wins—for himself or anyone else."
"And what about you?" I asked, wanting to shift the conversation away from Devon. "What exactly do you do at Quinn Financial?"
"Boring stuff," he said with a self-deprecating smile. "Helping old money stay old money, helping new money pretend it's old. Not nearly as creative as what you do."
His compliment seemed sincere, and I found myself relaxing slightly. Christopher continued asking about my work, my education at Princeton, and what I enjoyed doing in my rare free time. His questions were probing but not invasive, showing genuine interest without the calculating edge I'd grown accustomed to in New York's social elite.
Until he asked, "So, you and Ethan Blake. Is that really over? Or is the reconciliation the real story?"
I froze, unsure how to answer. The truth was complicated—we were reconciling while I plotted my revenge, all while being entangled with his friend in a secret arrangement.
Christopher must have sensed my discomfort. His smile softened. "I'm sorry, that was over the line. You don't have to answer that. It's none of my business."
"It's... complicated," I finally offered.
"Relationships usually are," he agreed, mercifully dropping the subject as he turned onto my street in Brooklyn.
He pulled up outside my building, the converted warehouse looking warm and inviting with its exposed brick facade and large windows. My sanctuary away from my father's house.
"Thank you for the ride," I said sincerely. "Would you like to come up for coffee? As a proper thank you."
Christopher looked tempted for a moment, then shook his head. "Another time, perhaps. I've got an early meeting tomorrow."
I nodded, oddly relieved and disappointed simultaneously. "Rain check, then."
"Definitely," he promised. "Get some rest, Aria."
I watched his car drive away before entering my building, the familiar scent of old wood and new paint welcoming me home. After kicking off my heels, I headed straight for my desk, where a sealed manila envelope from Garrett, the private investigator, awaited my attention.
Just as I was about to open it, a sharp knock at my door made me jump. I wasn't expecting anyone, especially not this late. I approached cautiously, peering through the peephole.
My heart nearly stopped. Devon Kane stood in my hallway, his expression thunderous.
I yanked open the door. "How do you know where I live?"
He didn't answer, instead pushing past me into my apartment with the entitled confidence of someone used to accessing any space he desired.
"By all means, come in," I muttered sarcastically, closing the door.