Chapter 44
Aria’s POV
I suppressed a smile at the contact name I'd chosen for him. "Debt Collector" seemed fitting—he was, after all, the man financing my company's survival, and I was certainly paying my dues in other ways. I glanced up to find him still watching me, his face an unreadable mask.
"Marianne," I said, turning to my future mother-in-law, "I'm afraid I need to cut our session short. Something's come up at the office—a potential crisis with a client."
"Oh, darling, that's a shame," she frowned. "We were just getting to the good part. Can't it wait?"
"I wish it could," I lied smoothly. "But this client is particularly important. Shall we reschedule for next week?"
As I changed back into my clothes, I couldn't shake the image of Devon's intense gaze or the smug certainty in Eleanor Kane's voice when she spoke of her son's "selective" nature.
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Devon's doorman recognized me immediately and waved me toward the private elevator without question. As I ascended to the penthouse, I wondered what Devon wanted. More importantly, I wondered what I wanted from this meeting.
The elevator doors opened directly into his apartment. Devon stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, silhouetted against the city lights, a glass of what looked like whiskey in his hand.
"You're punctual," he said without turning around. "I appreciate that."
"You make it sound like I'm here for a job interview," I replied, setting my purse down on the sleek console table. "Why did you summon me, Devon?"
He turned then, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "I want to stop this engagement farce."
I blinked, momentarily taken aback by his directness. "Excuse me?"
"Your engagement to Blake," he clarified, taking a sip of his drink. "Name your price to call it off."
A startled laugh escaped me. "Are you serious? You think you can buy me out of my engagement?"
"Everyone has a price, Aria," he said, approaching me slowly. "Name yours. Or if money doesn't interest you, name something else. What do you want?"
I studied him carefully, recognizing the familiar patterns. Devon Kane was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. His business success came from identifying targets and pursuing them relentlessly. Now, for whatever reason, he had decided he didn't want me to marry Ethan Blake, and he was prepared to negotiate as if this were any other business deal.
But beneath the cool exterior and calculated offers, I saw something else—a possessiveness that went beyond business. Devon might not want me for himself, but he certainly didn't want me with anyone else. The realization gave me a strange sense of power.
"Why do you care who I marry, Devon?" I asked, deliberately keeping my tone light. "Our arrangement is purely business, remember? In fact, it ends at the end of the month."
"Business can be renegotiated," he replied smoothly. "Extended, amended."
I stepped closer to him, tilting my head slightly. "What's really going on here, Devon? Aren't you busy courting Caroline Hayes? I saw you two today—quite the perfect couple. Her mother certainly seems to think so." I let a hint of jealousy color my voice. "Why would you want to interfere with my equally advantageous match when you're clearly planning to marry her?"
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "My relationship with Caroline is irrelevant to this discussion."
"Is it?" I challenged. "Because from where I'm standing, it seems like you want to have your cake and eat it too. You're preparing to marry Caroline Hayes while ensuring I remain... what? Available? On standby?"
"This isn't about Caroline," he said firmly. "This is about Blake not being worthy of you."
I laughed, the sound deliberately provocative. "And who is worthy of me, Devon? You?" I moved even closer, until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Is that what this is about? Are you offering to marry me instead?"
His eyes darkened, but not with desire—with irritation. "Don't be ridiculous, Aria. Don't mistake this for something it isn't."
"Then what is it?" I pressed.
"A business proposal," he said coldly. "Nothing more."
"I see," I replied, keeping my expression neutral despite the unexpected sting of his words. "Then I'll need to consider the business implications carefully. After all, marriage to Ethan would secure my company's future and my position in New York society."
"I can offer you more," Devon countered. "Both financially and for your career."
"But not personally," I pointed out. "Not emotionally."
Devon's expression hardened. "Don't overestimate your place in my life, Aria. What's between us is temporary, contractual. Don't confuse it for anything more."
The calculated cruelty of his words hit their mark, but I refused to let him see how they affected me. Instead, I smiled coolly, gathering my purse.
"I'll think about your offer," I said lightly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to."
Devon nodded, turning back toward the window. "Let me know your decision by the end of the week."
As I walked toward the bedroom to retrieve my coat, I noticed a small orange prescription bottle on his nightstand. Ambien—a strong sleep medication. Beside it lay several other bottles of sleep aids, some prescription, others over-the-counter. The notorious insomniac Devon Kane, who apparently needed pharmaceutical help to do what came naturally to most people.
When I returned, Devon was still staring out at the city, his profile etched with a weariness I hadn't noticed before. As he turned to look at me, something flickered in his eyes—something that contradicted the coldness of his words minutes earlier. But before I could decipher it, the moment passed, and his mask was firmly back in place.
"The elevator is waiting," he said simply.
As the elevator doors closed between us, I couldn't help wondering which was the real lie—the intimate moments we'd shared in the darkness of his bedroom, or the cold dismissal he'd just delivered.
The elevator descended smoothly, giving me a moment to collect my thoughts. Devon's words still stung, but I refused to dwell on them. I had more important matters to focus on—namely, gathering enough evidence against Ethan and Scarlett to ensure I could end the engagement on my terms, not my father's.
The night air was cool against my skin as I stepped out of Devon's building. I pulled my coat tighter around me, scanning the street for an available taxi. My mind was still spinning from Devon's offer and his subsequent cold dismissal when my phone chimed with an email notification.
I pulled it out, expecting something from the office, perhaps Sophia with an update on our latest campaign. Instead, the sender's name made my heart skip a beat: Garrett Morgan.
Subject: Hampton Beach House - Ownership Records Found
My fingers trembled slightly as I opened the email, standing frozen on the sidewalk.
Ms. Harper,
Per your request, I've completed the ownership investigation on the Hampton Beach property. Records confirm your suspicions—the property was transferred from your father's name as trustee to your stepsister Scarlett Harper's name approximately six months after your mother's death. The transfer appears legal on paper, with all required signatures, though the timing is certainly suspicious given your mother's expressed wishes.
I've attached the complete property records and transfer documents for your review. Of particular note is that the transfer occurred five years before you would have gained full rights to the property on your 25th birthday, as stipulated in your mother's will.
If you wish to pursue this matter legally, I recommend consulting with the attorney I mentioned in our previous meeting.
Regards,
Garrett Morgan
I stared at the screen, my vision blurring with fury. The beach house—my mother's beloved sanctuary, the place where she'd spent her final summer, where she'd told me countless stories about her college days—had been stolen from me. Transferred to Scarlett, who had never even met my mother, who had no connection to the property beyond her greed.
"Miss, are you getting in or not?" a taxi driver called, pulling me back to reality. I hadn't even realized I'd flagged him down.
"Yes," I said, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. "Harper residence, Upper East Side. And please hurry."