Chapter 80
Aria's POV
After yesterday's confrontation with my father that ended with his heart attack, and the emotional whiplash with Devon, I felt utterly drained. My body ached, and my mind refused to quiet.
I took a quick shower, hoping the hot water would wash away the emotional residue of the past twenty-four hours. The hospital had called last night to inform me that my father was stable, but I couldn't bring myself to return. Not after everything that had happened.
After dressing in a cream silk blouse and high-waisted jeans, I grabbed my laptop bag and headed for the door. Work would be my sanctuary today—the one place where I still had some semblance of control.
When I pulled open my apartment door, I nearly tripped over a crumpled form slumped against the wall. Ethan, in all his disheveled glory, was passed out in my hallway. His once-pristine suit was wrinkled, his hair a mess, and the smell of expensive scotch wafted from him like cologne.
"Great," I muttered, stepping over his legs. "I moved to Brooklyn specifically to avoid this kind of drama, and yet here you are."
His eyes fluttered open at the sound of my voice, bloodshot and disoriented. "Aria," he slurred, struggling to focus. "Wait! Don't go!"
I ignored him, fishing my keys from my bag to lock the door behind me. The last thing I needed was Ethan invading my private space.
"Aria, please," he staggered to his feet, swaying slightly. "We need to talk."
"We have nothing to talk about," I replied coldly, heading toward the elevator. "Go home, Ethan. Sleep it off."
He lurched forward, grabbing my wrist as I reached the elevator. "I can't be without you," he insisted, his grip tightening. "Don't you remember how much you loved me at Princeton? How perfect we were together?"
I yanked my arm free, feeling disgust rise in my throat. "That memory feels like a stain I can't wash out. Every time I think about it, I feel nothing but shame."
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, jabbing the lobby button repeatedly. Ethan's face contorted with hurt that quickly morphed into anger.
As the doors began to close, Ethan's arm shot out, stopping them. He forced his way into the small space, causing me to back against the wall. The elevator began its descent, and with each floor, the tension thickened.
"You've become cruel, Aria," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "This isn't you."
"You have no idea who I am anymore," I countered. "And you never will."
Something dark flashed in his eyes. Without warning, he slammed his palm against the wall beside my head, causing me to flinch. The elevator jerked to a halt as he hit the emergency stop button.
"Ethan, what are you doing?" Alarm bells rang in my head as he leaned closer, the stench of alcohol on his breath making me recoil.
"I think we need to remember what we had," he murmured, trying to kiss me.
I reacted instinctively, driving my knee up into his stomach. He doubled over, gasping in pain, and I reached for the control panel to restart the elevator.
"You bitch," he wheezed, his face contorting with rage. "Don't give me attitude. You think you're too good for me now? After I was going to marry you despite your family's scandals?"
He lunged at me again, grabbing the collar of my silk blouse. The sound of fabric tearing filled the small space. "Maybe I should see what Devon Kane found so interesting," he snarled, his eyes wild with jealousy and alcohol-fueled rage.
Terror shot through me, but before I could scream, the elevator suddenly lurched downward and the doors slid open. A familiar figure stood in the lobby, his imposing presence filling the doorway.
Devon reached in, grasped Ethan's shoulder, and with one fluid motion, pulled him out and slammed him against the marble floor of the lobby. Ethan landed with a pained grunt, his eyes wide with shock.
"Touch her again," Devon said, his voice deadly quiet as he stood over Ethan, "and Blake Fashion won't just be a social media laughingstock—it'll cease to exist in New York's fashion scene altogether."
Devon turned to me, his expression softening slightly as he took in my disheveled appearance and torn blouse. Without a word, he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it around my shoulders, covering the damage.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice low.
I shook my head, though my body trembled with a mixture of fear and relief.
"You fucking bastard," Ethan spat from the floor, trying to stand. "So it's true. You're screwing Kane."
Devon's jaw tightened, and he stepped on Ethan's knee, applying just enough pressure to make him wince. "Choose your next words carefully, Blake. They might be the last ones you speak as a relevant businessman."
Devon nodded to a man in a black suit waiting by the entrance—security, I realized—who moved forward to handle Ethan. Then Devon guided me toward the elevator, his hand hovering near the small of my back but not quite touching me.
"Your apartment?" he asked simply.
Still shaken, I nodded and pressed the button for my floor. As the doors closed, I caught a glimpse of Ethan being escorted outside, his face a mask of humiliation and rage.
The ride up was silent. I clutched Devon's jacket around me, inhaling his familiar scent of sandalwood. It was oddly comforting.
Inside my apartment, I excused myself to change my torn blouse. When I emerged in a high-necked sleep shirt and cardigan, I found Devon examining my first aid kit in the living room.
"You should have called me," he said without looking up. "When he first showed up."
I crossed my arms defensively. "I didn't know he would be here. And besides, we're not exactly on speaking terms after last night."
Devon's eyes flicked to mine, then back to the first aid supplies. "Show me your neck," he demanded, noticing the red marks Ethan's grip had left.
"It's nothing," I insisted, instinctively raising my hand to cover the bruises.
"Aria." His tone brooked no argument.
Reluctantly, I sat on the sofa beside him. Devon tilted my chin up gently, examining the marks with clinical precision. His fingertips were cool against my skin, his touch careful.
"These will bruise," he said, reaching for antiseptic cream. "You should have fought back sooner."
"I did fight back," I protested.
"Not soon enough." He dabbed cream onto the marks, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone with such controlled anger in his eyes. "You let him into the elevator."
"I didn't let him do anything," I snapped. "He forced his way in."
Devon's gaze met mine, and I was surprised to see a hint of remorse there. "You're right. I apologize."
He continued treating my neck in silence, his proximity making my pulse quicken despite everything. When his fingers brushed against my collarbone, I couldn't help the small shiver that ran through me.
"Cold?" he asked, his voice oddly husky.
"No," I admitted, meeting his eyes. "Just... not what I expected."
A corner of his mouth twitched. "What did you expect?"
"Not this. Not you here, doing this." I gestured vaguely. "Don't worry, I know you're not Blake. You wouldn't do something so classless."
His hands stilled against my skin, his eyes darkening slightly. "No," he agreed quietly. "I wouldn't."
For a moment, we were both silent, the air between us charged with something I couldn't quite name. Then Devon closed the first aid kit with a decisive click, breaking the spell.
"Thank you," I said softly. "For showing up when you did."
Devon stood, straightening his tie. "I was in the area."
I raised an eyebrow skeptically, but didn't challenge the obvious lie. Instead, I found myself saying, "Let me take you to dinner. To properly thank you."
He looked at me with mild surprise. "Is that necessary?"
"Yes," I insisted, feeling suddenly determined. "I'd like to, if you'll accept."
Devon studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "When?"
"Tonight?" I suggested, surprising myself with my boldness. "I can get us a table at Le Bernardin."
He seemed to consider this, then nodded once. "Tonight it is."
As he moved toward the door, I called after him, "Devon? How did you know to be here this morning?"
He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "My security team lost track of Blake last night after intercepting him. When they reported his disappearance, I had them check the most likely locations." His eyes met mine. "Your address was at the top of the list."