Chapter 53
Aria’s POV
The next morning, I woke feeling surprisingly refreshed despite the uncomfortable accommodations. After a quick shower and change into the spare outfit I kept in my office for emergencies, I spent a few hours organizing the preliminary concepts for Devon's marketing campaign. By mid-morning, I felt confident enough in our progress to take a few hours away from the office.
I stopped by a florist on my way to New York-Presbyterian Hospital, selecting an elegant arrangement of white lilies—my father's favorite. The irony wasn't lost on me; I was bringing flowers to a man who might have allowed my mother to be murdered.
The executive wing of the hospital was unsurprisingly luxurious, more resembling a five-star hotel than a medical facility. I stepped out of the elevator onto the polished marble floor, adjusting my grip on the flower arrangement as I approached my father's suite.
Outside his door, I spotted Victoria engaged in what appeared to be an intense conversation with a man I recognized as one of the hospital's board members. She wore an impeccably tailored navy suit, her hair pulled back in a sleek chignon—every inch the devoted, concerned wife.
She noticed me approaching and quickly ended her conversation, turning to face me with a practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Aria, what a pleasant surprise," she said, her voice honeyed but cool. "Your father will be so pleased to see you."
"Will he?" I matched her fake smile with one of my own. "Considering how our last conversation ended, I wouldn't be so sure."
Victoria's eyes narrowed slightly, but her smile remained fixed. "Family disagreements happen, darling. But blood is thicker than water."
"Interesting you should mention blood," I said, unable to resist the barb. "Considering you're not actually family."
Her perfectly manicured hand fluttered to her throat in a gesture of wounded innocence. "I've been your father's wife for nearly four years, Aria. That makes us family whether you like it or not."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice so only she could hear me. "Taking care of an ill person must come naturally to you. After all, serving others was your specialty before you married up, wasn't it? Fetching tea, administering medication—all those little things a personal assistant does."
Victoria's mask slipped for just a second, genuine hatred flashing in her eyes before she composed herself. "I think you should watch your tone, Aria. Your father is unwell, and stress isn't good for his recovery."
"Oh, I know all about how stress affects health," I replied coolly. "And how certain substances can too."
Before she could respond, I brushed past her and pushed open the door to my father's room. William Harper sat propped up against pillows, looking paler and older than I remembered. Despite my anger toward him, seeing him so diminished sent an unexpected pang through my chest.
He glanced up from the tablet he'd been reading, his expression shifting from surprise to wariness. "Aria. I didn't expect to see you here."
I placed the lilies on his bedside table. "I thought I should check on you. Apparently, you're ill enough that Scarlett felt the need to track me down at my office yesterday."
He set the tablet aside. "Your sister was concerned."
"Concerned about what, exactly? Your health, or the possibility that I might contest the beach house transfer while you're incapacitated?"
My father sighed heavily. "Is that why you've come? To continue arguing about property?"
I sat in the visitor's chair beside his bed, studying him carefully. "No. I came because despite everything, you're still my father."
I hesitated, deciding to take a less direct approach. "Dad, do you ever dream about Mom?"
The question seemed to catch him off guard. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"I dream about her sometimes," I continued, watching his face carefully. "Last night, she seemed... troubled. She told me things weren't what they seemed."
My father shifted uncomfortably. "Dreams are just dreams, Aria."
"Are they?" I leaned forward. "She said someone hurt her—that the person who hurt her would be cursed. Do you think that's possible, Dad? That someone might have hurt Mom?"
The water glass in his hand trembled slightly, and he set it down with a clatter. "Don't—don't talk nonsense. No one hurt your mother. She was sick."
But I'd seen it—the flicker of fear in his eyes before he composed himself. It confirmed what I'd begun to suspect: whether or not he had actively participated, he knew something wasn't right about my mother's death.
"You're right," I said, forcing a smile. "Just a silly dream. Speaking of silly things, I wanted to let you know that Ethan and I are planning to announce our engagement soon."
The subject change seemed to relieve him immensely. "That's excellent news. The sooner we can formalize the merger between Harper Group and Blake Fashion, the better for everyone."
"Of course," I agreed smoothly. "Business first, as always."
My father reached for my hand, his grip surprisingly strong despite his illness. "This match is important, Aria. The Blakes are one of the few families in New York with the heritage and influence to complement ours. Don't jeopardize it with your... impulsiveness."
I squeezed his hand, swallowing my disgust. "I understand perfectly, Dad. I won't let anything stand in the way of this engagement."
Not even the fact that my fiancé was sleeping with my step-sister, or that my step-mother had likely murdered my mother to take her place. But those were details he didn't need to know—at least not yet.
Victoria entered then, her timing suspiciously perfect as always. "The doctor will be making rounds soon, William. Aria, perhaps you should come back another time? Your father needs his rest."
I stood, smoothing my skirt. "Of course. I wouldn't want to overtax him." I leaned down to kiss my father's cheek, whispering, "Get well soon, Dad. We have so much to discuss when you're better."
As I walked toward the door, I noticed Victoria hovering just outside, clearly having been listening to our conversation. I gave her a sweet smile as I passed. "Eavesdropping is such an unattractive habit, Victoria. But I suppose old personal assistant tricks die hard."
Her face flushed with anger, but she maintained her composure as I walked away, my heels clicking decisively on the marble floor.