The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 115

Aria’s POV

“Mmm,” was Devon’s only response, a noncommittal sound that revealed nothing.

I switched to an unnaturally sweet voice, while my eyes hardened. “Those photos… they were taken at The Pinnacle Hotel, and the restaurants where we dined together. Aren’t you worried people will talk about you?”

A low, cold chuckle came through the phone. “The photos don’t show my face. This has nothing to do with me.”

I glanced around my office, feeling the weight of Sophia’s concerned gaze. My jaw tightened as I realized how alone I was in this fight. “I just need these photos to disappear.”

“I can help with that,” Devon’s tone turned playful. “But you need to adopt the attitude of someone asking for a favor. Understand?”

My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles turned white. The familiar heat of indignation rose in my chest. I might need help, but I wouldn’t sacrifice my dignity. “I don’t lack gratitude, Devon, but I won’t beg on my knees for help.”

I hung up before he could respond, my heart racing despite my calm exterior. I set the phone down with deliberate care, though what I really wanted was to throw it across the room.

“I can’t accept his conditions,” I told Sophia, running a hand through my hair, my movements agitated. “Let’s find another way.” The determination in my voice couldn’t quite mask the uncertainty I felt.

I scrolled frantically through my contacts, desperation growing with each person I called. Charles from The New Yorker politely declined to help. A TMZ reporter I’d once done a favor for suggested an exclusive interview in exchange for pulling the story: “Tell us the truth about you and Ethan breaking up?”

“I won’t fight lies with more lies,” I said firmly, though my voice wavered slightly. “And I won’t sell my dignity for sympathetic headlines.” I dropped my phone onto the desk, pressing my palms against my eyes. The pressure behind them was building, but I refused to cry. Not here. Not now.

My phone buzzed with a message from our social media analyst: [Someone leaked your office address. Reporters are on their way. The hashtag #AriaAffair has over a million engagements.].

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Melanie knocked and entered without waiting. “Vogue and Michael Kors have put our projects on hold. PR has received over a dozen interview requests.”

I walked to the window and saw several reporters already gathering at the building entrance. My reflection in the glass showed a composed businesswoman, but inside I was crumbling. Taking a deep breath, I turned to Sophia, defeat evident in my slumped shoulders. “We need stronger support.”

Our eyes met, and she nodded slightly. The realization settled heavily in my stomach–I had no choice. I redialed Devon’s number, swallowing my pride with each ring. When he answered, I kept my voice carefully controlled but noticeably softer, though my free hand gripped the edge of my desk. “About your offer… we should discuss details.”

There was a smile in his voice as he replied, “Six tonight, my lakeside villa in the Emerald Cove district. Private road access. No reporters can follow you there.

I paused for several seconds, biting the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood before answering with a reluctant, “Fine.”

Seventeen minutes later, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Melanie burst into my office, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“It’s incredible! All the negative stories about you are vanishing. Instagram and Twitter have removed the

content!”

At the same time, negative news about Ethan was trending, including security footage from my apartment elevator this morning, showing him attempting to force himself on me. My face had been technically blurred, but anyone who knew the situation could guess it was me.

I stared at my phone, a chill running through me despite the warm office. “His efficiency is terrifying.” I

whispered the words, conflicted between gratitude and unease.

I sent Devon a brief text: [Ethan’s new stories–your doing?]

His reply came immediately: [Feeling sorry for him?]

I looked at the screen without responding, my expression hardening. I placed my phone face–down on the

desk and turned to Sophia. “Devon Kane is truly dangerous.”

She nodded grimly. “But right now, we need him. At least until this crisis passes.”

I had barely begun sorting through the pile of work documents when the intercom buzzed.