The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 363

Chapter 363

So why did my chest feel like it was caving in?

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The next morning, I ended my Chicago trip a day early. The flight back to New York felt endless,

every moment of turbulence making my stomach turn.

The cramping started somewhere over Pennsylvania a dull ache low in my belly that made me shift

uncomfortably in my seat. Probably stress. Or maybe my body’s way of telling me I’d pushed too

hard. I’d barely eaten in Chicago, surviving on coffee and nervous energy.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, so quietly that even the woman beside me couldn’t hear. My hand moved in

small circles over my stomach. “I’m sorry you’re stuck in the middle of this mess.”

By the time we landed at JFK, the cramping had intensified. I bypassed both Devon’s penthouse and Harper mansion, heading straight to my Brooklyn apartment–the one I’d barely lived in since Devon had pulled me into his orbit. The photos of my mother on the mantle seemed to watch me with knowing eyes as I changed out of my work clothes.

That night, I lay awake in my childhood bed, one hand curved protectively over my stomach as the cramps came and went. Google searches on my phone yielded terrifying results: “early pregnancy cramping“, “miscarriage symptoms“, “bleeding in first trimester“.

I needed to see a doctor. Needed to know if the baby was okay. If “I” was okay.

The decision to visit New York General Hospital the next morning felt simultaneously necessary and terrifying. I chose the hospital specifically because it was large, impersonal–a place where I could be just another patient, not Aria Harper with her scandalous family drama plastered across every gossip

site.

The OB–GYN who examined me was kind but clinical, confirming what I already knew: six weeks pregnant, no signs of immediate danger. The cramping was stress–related, though she couldn’t rule out other complications without more tests.

“You need to reduce your stress levels,” she advised, making notes on her tablet. “Rest when you can. Avoid intense emotional situations. This is a critical development period for the fetus.”

“Avoid intense emotional situations.” If only she knew.

“Does the father know?” Her question was gentle, professional curiosity.

“No.” My voice came out hoarse. “He doesn’t.”

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“You’ll need a support system, Miss Harper. Partner, family, friends–someone to help you through

this.”

I nodded mechanically, accepting the paperwork and appointment card she handed me. But as I left the examination room and walked through the maze of hospital corridors, my mind was already

fracturing.

“Support system.” I had Sophia, maybe. Ryan. But the person I wanted to tell, the person whose hand

I wanted to hold through this-

I rounded the corner toward the elevator bank and stopped dead.

Devon stood twenty feet away, his back to me as he pushed a wheelchair. The woman in it had lustrous dark hair and pale skin, her profile delicate as she tilted her head back to say something that made him smile. Not the cold, calculating expression he wore in boardrooms. Not even the heated look he gave me in private. This was something softer. “Real“.

Evelyn.

My hand found the wall as my knees went weak. I should leave. Turn around right now and take the stairs, avoid this collision of my two fears: Devon’s potential rejection and this woman who apparently held the piece of him I never could.

But I stood frozen as Devon adjusted the blanket over Evelyn’s legs with careful hands. She caught his wrist, her fingers pale against his tanned skin, and said something that made him lean down closer to hear. Her hand came up to touch his face–a gesture of such casual intimacy that my throat

closed completely.

“That’s what Eleanor meant.” This was the relationship I could never compete with. Childhood history, shared trauma, the kind of bond that transcended whatever physical arrangement Devon and

I had stumbled into.

He looked up then, his gaze sweeping the hallway in that habitual security check he always did. Our

eyes met across the distance.

For one heartbeat, his expression opened–surprise, so concern. Then it shuttered closed, smoothing into poli

He kept pushing the wheelchair toward the opposite co her? Aria?” A pause. “You should introduce us properly

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Chapter 363

eyes met across the distance.

For one heartbeat, his expression opened–surprise, something that might have been relief or concern. Then it shuttered closed, smoothing into polite acknowledgment. A nod. Nothing more.

He kept pushing the wheelchair toward the opposite corridor, Evelyn’s voice floating back: “Is that her? Aria?” A pause. “You should introduce us properly sometime!”

suggestion felt like a kate between my ribs. I managed to lift my hand in a small wave

Nature any legs Anally unlocked and stumbled toward the stairwell instead of the elevator. The fire

four changed shur behind me, muffling the normal hospital sounds.

met

e parking garage before the tears came. Sitting in my car with the doors locked and

the medical paperwork crumpled in my fist, I finally let myself break.

Sy werks pregnant with a man’s child when he clearly had someone else–someone “better“, someone war’d known him longer, who made him smile like that. Someone he’d literally just walked

way from me to the with

Eleanor had been right, I was temporary. A transaction that had run its course.

The getting wage was cold and silent as I sat in my car, hands gripping the steering wheel until my Youchles turned white, My breath came in short gasps, each one feeling like it might shatter me

completely,

Focus. Think

The realization hit me like ice water: this hospital had Kane Technology’s investment backing. Eleanor had mentioned it once, casually dropping the information over tea like it meant nothing. YAR 1 MKATA Kverything, now. If Devon wanted to access my medical records, it would take him one phone call, Mayor Vers.

My hands shook as I fumbled with my phone, deleting every trace of today’s appointment from my browser history. The rational part of my brain insisted he wouldn’t care enough to check. But the part that had seen his gray eyes darken with possession, the part that knew how thoroughly he controlled everything in his orbit–that part knew better.

I typed with trembling fingers: “confidential abortion clinics NYC“.

The search results blurred through my tears. I scrolled past the first few options–too close to Manhattan, too well–known. Finally, I found what I needed: a small private clinic in Brooklyn, tucked away on the second floor of an unremarkable building. The website promised discretion. Privacy. No