The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 370

Chapter 370

Aria’s POV

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I picked up one of the cookies, still warm enough that the chocolate melted slightly against my

fingertips. The first bite released that familiar burst of sweetness–rich, buttery dough studded with

massive chunks of dark chocolate. My eyes closed involuntarily.

“It really is Levain,” I breathed. The taste transported me instantly to those Saturday mornings at Princeton, standing in line with Sophia outside the tiny bakery on West 74th Street, our breath fogging in the winter air as we debated whether to get walnut or chocolate chip.

Devon sat across from me at the dining table, watching me eat with that unreadable expression he wore so well. Then his nose wrinkled. He waved a hand in front of his face as if dispersing smoke.

“The entire apartment smells like chocolate now.”

Something impish stirred in my chest–maybe it was the sugar rush, maybe it was the simple fact that he’d gone to the Upper West Side himself to buy these. I broke off a piece of the cookie and held

it out toward him, leaning forward.

“Want to try?” I kept my voice light, teasing. “You went all the way there to get them.”

Devon’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in those gray eyes. “I don’t eat sweets.”

“Not even one bite?” I shifted closer, extending the cookie fragment toward his lips. The chocolate was melting on my fingertips. “Come on, you specifically bought these for me. Don’t you want to

know what they taste like?”

He stood, but he didn’t move away–instead, he leaned forward, bracing both hands on the table between us. The sudden proximity made my breath catch. His eyes had darkened, that cool gray turning to storm clouds.

“Aria.” His voice dropped to that dangerous register that made my spine tingle. “I told you. I don’t

eat sweets.”

But I was feeling reckless. Playful, even, for the first time in days. I rose from my own chair, the cookie piece still in my outstretched hand, and took a step toward him. “Just one little taste-”

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“Stop. The single word cracked like a whip.

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I froze, suddenly aware of how close we were. Of the way his jaw had tightened, the muscle jumping beneath the skin. Of how his hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white with tension.

His eyes burned into mine. “If you don’t want to be unable to get out of bed,” he said slowly,

deliberately, “behave yourself.”

Heat flooded through me–shock and something else entirely. My hand dropped to my side, the

cookie forgotten.

Devon’s gaze traveled down to my stomach, then back up to my face. Something raw flashed across his features–hunger, frustration, restraint. “I’m trying,” he said, his voice rough, “to be careful. With you. With the baby. So unless you want me to forget all about being careful, I suggest you sit down

and finish your cookies. Alone.”

He straightened, adjusted his tie with sharp, controlled movements, and walked toward the door. At the threshold, he paused without turning back.

“Emily,” he called down the hallway, his voice once again perfectly level. “Clean up the dining room

when she’s finished.”

Then he was gone, leaving me standing there with melted chocolate on my fingers and my heart

racing.

I sank back into my chair, staring at the half–eaten cookie on the table. That look in his eyes–that barely leashed control–it told me more than any words could. Devon wanted me. Even now, especially now, he wanted me. But he was holding back, restraining himself because of the baby.

That afternoon, Devon drove us out of his apartment. I’d assumed we were heading to his office or maybe just for a drive to get me out of the apartment. Instead, the car pulled up in front of a discreet building on the Upper East Side with a small brass plaque: “Ashford Women’s Medical

Center“.

My blood turned to ice.

Dr. Richardson, a silver–haired man in an immaculate white coat, stood waiting at the entrance. He

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Chapter 370

approached Devon’s side of the car immediately.

Mr. Kane, everything’s been prepared according to your instructions.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, I stared at the building–at the pristine brick facade, the

frosted glass windows that promised privacy. The medical center specialized in women’s health.

Discreet procedures. No questions asked for the right price.

He’s brought me here to finish what I tried to do yesterday.

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All of it–last night’s tenderness, the soup this morning, the cookies at lunch–it had all been theater. A way to lower my defenses before he brought me here to make the final decision for me.

My hand moved instinctively to my abdomen, pressing against the barely–there swell. My whole body

started to shake.

Devon’s hand closed around my wrist. “Get out.”

I tried to pull away, but his grip was iron. “Devon, please-

“Now, Aria.”

He practically dragged me from the car. I stumbled on the sidewalk, my legs refusing to cooperate. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to fight, but where would I go? He’d just track me down again.

Dr. Richardson held the door open with a professional smile that made my skin crawl. But when we stepped inside, he didn’t lead us toward what I’d feared. Instead, we turned down a warmly lit corridor decorated with soft watercolors of flowers. He stopped at a door marked “Ultrasound Suite“.

I looked at Devon, confused. His expression gave nothing away.

“Right this way, Miss Harper, Dr. Richardson said gently.

The room was nothing like the cold, clinical space I’d imagined. Soft lighting, comfortable furniture,

a leather examination table with pale blue coverings Medical equipment, yes, but arranged to

minimize intimidation.

“If you’ll lie back, please,” the doctor instructed.

I climbed onto the table, my muscles so tense they ached. Devon remained standing near the door,

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Chapter 370

hands in his pockets, watching. Just watching.

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The doctor applied cool gel to my abdomen–1 flinched at the temperature–and began moving the

ultrasound wand across my skin. The monitor beside me flickered to life, showing shadows and

shapes that meant nothing to me.

“There we are,” Dr. Richardson murmured, adjusting something. ‘Development is excellent. You can

already see the basic form taking shape.”

He pointed at the screen, indicating what looked like a tiny bean with small protrusions. “That’s the head. And here, you can see the beginnings of limbs.

Then sound filled the room. Rapid, rhythmic, impossibly fast.

“Thump–thump–thump–thump–thump.”

“That’s the heartbeat,” the doctor said, smiling. “Strong and healthy. About 150 beats per minute,

which is perfect for this stage.”