Chapter 7
Aria’s POV
Ethan staggered back, his expression morphing from anger to shock as recognition dawned. "Mr. Kane! I didn't know you were... I mean, I wasn't aware you frequented this establishment."
Devon's face remained impassive, but his eyes were glacial. "Clearly."
Seizing the opportunity, I grabbed Devon's arm, pressing myself against his side as if we were together. His body tensed momentarily, but he didn't pull away.
"Ms. Harper is currently working on a marketing strategy for Kane Technologies," Devon said smoothly. "We had a business appointment this evening."
Ethan's eyes narrowed as they flicked between us. "Aria, be careful," he warned, his tone suddenly sober. "Getting involved with the Kane family will destroy your career."
Devon's lips curved into a thin smile that never reached his eyes. "I admire Ms. Harper's talent and professionalism. I believe our collaboration will be quite... satisfying."
The double meaning wasn't lost on any of us.
"Come, Ms. Harper," Devon continued, placing his hand at the small of my back. "Our reservation awaits."
I allowed him to guide me away, feeling Ethan's stunned gaze boring into my back as we navigated through the crowd toward the exit. Outside, a sleek black Bentley idled at the curb, a driver standing at attention beside it.
Devon gestured for me to enter first, and I slid into the plush leather interior, my heart hammering against my ribs. Once inside, Devon gave the driver brief instructions to proceed, then turned to face me.
"It appears my unexpected appearance this evening did you quite a service," he said, his voice deceptively calm.
"Thank you," I managed, still processing what had just happened.
Devon studied me for a long moment. "Your name is rather ironic, isn't it? Aria—like a princess from a fairy tale. Yet your behavior hardly reflects nobility."
My momentary gratitude evaporated. "Excuse me?"
"I've learned something interesting today," Devon said, his voice hardening. "About your step-sister's relationship with Ethan Blake. The timing is quite revealing, isn't it?"
My stomach dropped. "What are you talking about?"
"You approached me the night after discovering your boyfriend's infidelity." His eyes narrowed. "You weren't interested in me, Ms. Harper. You wanted revenge against Blake, and I was simply a convenient tool."
I felt my cheeks flush but lifted my chin defiantly. "I don't think you have anything to complain about. We both enjoyed ourselves, didn't we? You hardly lost anything in our arrangement."
His expression darkened dangerously. "I don't appreciate being used as a prop in whatever revenge game you're playing. I don't care how mutually satisfying our night was—I despise manipulation."
"You think I planned this encounter tonight?" I demanded, trying to shift focus.
"No, but I think you've been calculating from the beginning. Using people as pawns for your personal vendettas." Devon leaned forward and pressed the intercom button.
"Thomas, pull over here."
The car slowed to a stop near the Brooklyn Bridge. Devon's expression was now completely closed off.
"I despise being used as a tool in someone else's games, Ms. Harper," he said coldly. "Consider our personal association terminated. We're even."
"What?" I blinked in confusion.
"Get out."
I stared at him, certain I'd misheard. "You're leaving me here? At night? In the middle of nowhere?"
"There's a subway station two blocks away. I'm sure a resourceful woman like yourself can manage." He reached across me to open the door. "Good evening, Ms. Harper."
Fuming, I gathered my clutch and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The Bentley pulled away immediately, leaving me standing alone in my red dress and heels.
"Arrogant jerk!" I shouted after the car, my voice echoing off the nearby buildings. A couple walking their dog gave me a wide berth, eyeing my crimson slip dress and disheveled appearance with suspicion. I must have looked like a madwoman—designer heels, party dress, standing alone at night by the bridge.
I glanced down at my outfit, suddenly feeling ridiculous. I'd chosen this dress as armor, something to make me look powerful and in control. Now it felt like a costume that had failed its purpose. My feet were already aching in the stilettos that had seemed like such a good idea three hours ago.
"Men," I muttered, fumbling in my clutch for my phone. "They're all the same. Self-centered, manipulative bastards."
First Ethan with his pathetic attempts to explain away his affair with my step-sister, and now Devon Kane—who'd swooped in like some knight in shining armor only to abandon me on a street corner when he learned I might have had motives of my own. The hypocrisy was staggering.
My hands shook as I checked my phone. The screen was alight with Instagram notifications—apparently, the partial shot of Devon I'd posted earlier was causing quite a stir. People were speculating wildly about the identity of the man in my bed, though I'd been careful to capture only his torso and jawline. Some comments were explicit in their approval, suggesting that even from the limited view they could tell he was "technically skilled." Another noted his "perfect abs" and asked for his workout routine.
I laughed bitterly. Mission accomplished, I supposed. The photo was spreading, and people were talking. Ethan would be seething. But the victory felt hollow now, standing alone in the night with aching feet and a bruised ego.
The subway station was visible two blocks away, its entrance dimly lit. I steadied myself and began walking, the click of my heels against the pavement unnaturally loud in the quiet night. Today had been a disaster from start to finish—the confrontation at my father's house, the humiliation at Blue Sapphire, and now Devon's cold dismissal.
I'd gone from being slapped by my father to being publicly abandoned by Devon Kane. Some revenge plot this had turned out to be.
By the time I reached the subway entrance, I was limping slightly. The station was nearly empty at this hour, with only a few late-night travelers scattered across the platform. I leaned against a pillar, scrolling through my phone while waiting for the train. My social media was exploding with reactions to my post, but I couldn't bring myself to care anymore.
The train arrived with a rush of stale air, and I stepped inside, taking a seat in the corner of the nearly empty car. Two stops later, a group of young men boarded, loud and obviously coming from a night of drinking. One of them, a guy in an expensive suit with a loosened tie, noticed me immediately. His eyes traveled over my dress in a way that made my skin crawl.
I stared pointedly at my phone, hoping he'd take the hint, but no such luck.
"Hey beautiful," he said, dropping into the seat beside me. "Going home alone tonight? That's a crime in that dress."
"Not interested," I replied without looking up.
"Come on," he persisted, his cologne overwhelming in the confined space. "I'm just being friendly. You look like you could use some company."
I finally raised my eyes to his. "I said I'm not interested."
Instead of backing off, he leaned closer. "That dress says otherwise. Red's the color of passion, right? You're clearly looking for a good time."