Chapter 74
Aria's POV
The Plaza Hotel gleamed like a golden jewel against the Manhattan skyline as our car pulled up to the entrance. A long crimson carpet stretched from the street to the grand doors, lined with photographers from Vogue, The New York Times, and every major fashion publication. Flashbulbs popped incessantly, capturing the arrival of New York's elite for what the society pages had dubbed "the merger of the season"—my wedding to Ethan Blake.
I took a deep breath, smoothing the silk of my Pierre Montagne wedding gown. The irony wasn't lost on me. Here I was, on what should have been the happiest day of my life, orchestrating my own revenge amid tulle and tradition.
Through the tinted windows, I could see the Blake family already positioned at the entrance. Ethan stood tall in his custom-designed tuxedo, flanked by his parents Marianne and George. His smile was practiced, photogenic—the perfect facade of the devoted groom.
"Ready, Miss Harper?" The driver's voice pulled me from my thoughts.
"As I'll ever be," I replied.
The door opened, and I stepped into the frenzy. Camera flashes intensified, voices calling my name from all directions. I smiled, channeling every ounce of grace my mother had taught me, despite the bandage carefully concealed beneath my hairline.
"Aria!" Ethan moved toward me, arms outstretched. His lips brushed my cheek, but his eyes drifted past my shoulder, seeking someone else in the crowd. I followed his gaze to Scarlett, who stood nearby in a white dress.
"Ethan, darling," Scarlett called, her voice dripping with sweetness. "The photographer wants a photo with the happy couple!"
Marianne stepped between them smoothly. "Scarlett, dear, you should address him as your brother-in-law." Her smile remained fixed, but her eyes flashed a warning.
I caught every glance, every subtle gesture between them. Inside, I laughed coldly. Today would be their last performance.
A sudden roar from above drew everyone's attention. A sleek black helicopter with the Kane Technology logo emblazoned on its side descended toward the hotel's rooftop helipad. The photographers immediately redirected their cameras, Instagram feeds instantly updating with speculation about the Silicon Valley titan's unexpected arrival.
"You invited Kane?" Ethan hissed, his smile straining at the edges.
I feigned surprise. "This is your family's event. I assumed he was on your guest list—aren't the Blakes courting his investment?"
Before Ethan could respond, Marianne glided forward, her smile tightening noticeably. "Mr. Kane's presence is... unexpected," she said, the strain in her voice evident only to those who knew her well. With a quick recovery befitting her social standing, she added more loudly, "But of course, we must welcome such an important potential investor to the wedding." The tension around her eyes betrayed her true feelings.
Devon Kane emerged from the hotel's private entrance moments later. His tall figure commanded attention in a perfectly tailored charcoal Brioni suit. He moved through the crowd with deliberate steps, ignoring questions from the press. When his eyes found mine across the crowd, my stomach tightened. His gaze was direct, unblinking. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, and his eyes darkened as they lingered on the nearly-healed cut on my forehead.
"Mr. Blake." Devon extended his hand to Ethan, who took it with barely concealed animosity. Devon's fingers tightened, and I noticed Ethan's slight wince. "Congratulations on your wedding day. I've always admired your family's ability to secure... valuable assets." His eyes slid to me as he spoke, the pause in his sentence deliberate and loaded with meaning.
The pre-ceremony champagne reception was a blur of air kisses and hollow congratulations. I excused myself after the third toast, claiming I needed to adjust my veil. In the hallway, I texted Devon a room number and waited, my heart pounding against my ribs.
Five minutes later, I slipped into the reserved VIP lounge. Devon stood by the window, his back to the door. The room was silent except for our breathing. Without turning, he spoke, his voice low and controlled.
"So this is why you went through with the wedding plans. It was never about reconciliation—it was about revenge."
I locked the door with a soft click. The sound seemed to fill the room. I approached him, each step deliberate, the material of my wedding dress rustling softly. My phone felt heavy in my hand as I pulled it out.
"These are the photos and messages I've collected over the past two months. Ethan and Scarlett have been sleeping together since before our engagement announcement."
Devon turned, taking the phone. His fingers brushed mine, and I pulled my hand back too quickly. He noticed, his eyes tracking the movement before returning to my face. He scrolled through the evidence, his jaw tightening, the muscle there flexing beneath his skin.
"So I'm just a pawn in your chess game? Part of your revenge strategy?" His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it that made my nerves tingle.
"I need your tech team to push this information to select guests' phones during today's ceremony," I admitted, holding his gaze. "In exchange, I'm willing to extend our... arrangement."
He stepped closer, closing the distance between us. I stood my ground though every instinct told me to step back. He was close enough now that I could smell his cologne—woody and expensive. His finger reached up, gently tracing the healing wound on my forehead. The touch was light, almost tender, but I felt it everywhere.
"Your injury is healing nicely," he murmured.
My breath caught. The room suddenly felt too warm, too small. "Don't confuse business with pleasure. Our agreement was clear," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
Devon's eyes darkened. He moved forward again, backing me against the wall without touching me. His hands came to rest on either side of my head, caging me in. I could feel the heat of him, see the rise and fall of his chest beneath his suit.
"That night in my car went well beyond our agreement, wouldn't you say?" His voice dropped lower, the words for me alone. "You trembled against me. Your skin flushed. That wasn't acting, Aria."
My lips parted to respond, but his phone vibrated in his pocket. The moment fractured. Devon pulled back slightly, checking the screen. His expression shifted from intense to calculated in an instant.
"Blake and younger Harper entered Suite 1712," the message read.
I immediately texted Garrett to activate the listening devices I'd had installed days earlier. Devon moved to stand beside me, his shoulder pressing against mine as we both looked at my phone screen. The close proximity sent warmth spreading across my skin. Through the speaker, Scarlett's voice came through clearly.
"I know you're getting married today, but I can't help feeling so sad... I love you, Ethan."
"Shh, don't say that." Ethan's voice was soothing. "The Blake and Harper merger involves tens of millions of dollars. I have to do this."
"I know... I just..." Scarlett's voice was pathetic, calculated. "I don't need a title or public recognition. I just want to be with you."
Ethan's tone brightened. "That's why I care about you. Aria never understood sacrifice."
The sounds of kissing followed, clothes rustling. "After this... I have a surprise for you," Scarlett whispered breathlessly.
More intimate sounds followed. Heat rushed to my face—not from embarrassment but from rage. My fingers trembled as I shut off the audio, unable to listen further.
I looked up to find Devon watching me intently. His pupils had dilated, nearly swallowing the gray of his irises.
"Your groom seems to have interesting priorities on your wedding day," he said quietly. His voice was controlled but tight with tension.
"Exactly what I plan to make everyone aware of today," I replied. I was surprised at how steady I sounded.
"Aria," he said, my name different somehow when he spoke it. "Are you sure this is what you want? There's no going back."
I turned to face him fully. We stood close, too close. His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I saw something beyond the calculating businessman—concern, perhaps even care.
"Some betrayals can't be forgiven, Devon. Only exposed." My voice was quiet but resolute.
He held my gaze for a long moment before releasing my wrist. His thumb brushed over my pulse point once more before letting go, the touch deliberate. "Then let the storm begin."