The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 40

**Dust Writes New Stories by Rei Holt Wilder**
**The CEO’s Midnight Remedy**

**Chapter 40**

Aria’s POV

Ethan’s expression brightened instantly, and a flicker of satisfaction coursed through me, knowing exactly what was about to unfold.

“Fantastic!” he declared, grasping my hand with enthusiasm. “My car’s just outside.”

As we exchanged farewells with our parents on the bustling sidewalk outside Le Bernardin, I caught my father’s approving nod. He believed he had triumphed, convinced that I was aligning myself with his grandiose plans for my future. If only he could fathom the true thoughts swirling in my mind.

Ethan led me to his sleek, silver Mercedes convertible, opening the door with a flourish that felt almost theatrical. Once I settled into the passenger seat, he morphed into an exuberant teenager, revving the engine and lurching into traffic with a jolt that made me clutch the dashboard in surprise.

“Jesus, Ethan! Can you slow down a bit?” I exclaimed, hastily fastening my seatbelt as the car surged forward.

He chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes, as he pressed the accelerator even harder, weaving through the congested streets. “Come on, Aria. Live a little! I’m just thrilled to have you back.”

“I’m not ‘back,'” I muttered under my breath, but he was too engrossed in the thrill of the drive to catch my words.

As we approached Fifth Avenue, its glittering storefronts beckoned with promises of luxury and indulgence. Ethan took a sharp corner, sending my stomach into a freefall.

“I can’t wait to spoil you,” he announced, glancing over at me with a grin that radiated pride. “Now that you’ve agreed to be my fiancée again, we ought to celebrate in style. I want to buy you something special—clothes, jewelry, anything your heart desires.” His smile broadened. “You’re going to be Mrs. Blake soon. We might as well start enjoying the perks.”

The title “Mrs. Blake” tasted bitter on my tongue, but a spark of inspiration ignited within me—the perfect opportunity to teach Ethan a lesson.

“You’re absolutely right,” I replied sweetly, feigning enthusiasm. “I should definitely start enjoying those perks.”

Ethan beamed, his confidence soaring as he handed his keys to the valet at one of Fifth Avenue’s most upscale shopping venues. “That’s my girl! Let’s go all out today.”

Linking my arm through his, I allowed a genuine smile to surface—though it was not for the reasons he assumed. “Let’s kick things off with Chanel,” I suggested, my eyes sparkling with mischief. “I could really use a new handbag.”

The Chanel boutique welcomed us with its iconic black and white decor, the air infused with the unmistakable scent of No. 5. A sales associate approached us with a bright smile, her demeanor shifting to one of eagerness as soon as Ethan introduced himself as Ethan Blake.

“We’re celebrating our engagement,” he announced with pride, puffing out his chest. “Show my fiancée your finest bags.”

For the next forty-five minutes, I reveled in the experience of trying on increasingly extravagant handbags, finally settling on a limited-edition alligator Classic Flap that cost more than some people’s yearly salaries. Ethan’s smile tightened as he reluctantly handed over his credit card, but he maintained his composure, determined to keep up appearances.

“Nothing but the best for my future wife,” he proclaimed loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear.

Next, we ventured into Gucci, where I selected two stunning dresses and a chic leather jacket. Then it was off to Prada for a luxurious coat and stylish boots. With each purchase, I noticed Ethan’s smile growing more strained, though he continued to insist that nothing was too good for his bride-to-be. I observed him with a detached curiosity as beads of sweat began to gather on his forehead with each total that was announced.

By our fourth store, Ethan was glancing at his watch more frequently, a hint of anxiety creeping into his demeanor. “Maybe we should take a break? Get some coffee?” he suggested, desperation creeping into his voice.

“Just one more stop,” I insisted, guiding him toward Tiffany & Co. “We really ought to look at engagement rings, don’t you think? If there’s going to be an announcement in the Times, I should have something spectacular to flaunt.”

The color drained from Ethan’s face, yet he nodded stiffly, clearly apprehensive. “Of course. Lead the way.”

I recognized his evasion for what it was—an attempt to nudge me toward something less extravagant without outright admitting he couldn’t afford it.

“You’re right,” I said, surprising him. “Let me see that one instead.” I pointed to an even more elaborate piece, its price tag likely enough to buy a small apartment in Brooklyn.

As the consultant retrieved it, I caught a glimpse of movement in the store’s mirrored wall. A figure partially concealed behind a display column was watching us, and the flash of blonde hair was unmistakable.

Scarlett.

A surge of anger and disgust twisted in my stomach. Was she following us? Spying for Victoria or my father? Or was she simply here for Ethan?

I needed to uncover the truth.

“Actually,” I said abruptly, rising from my seat, “would you excuse me for a moment? I need to use the restroom.”

Ethan looked relieved at the prospect of a brief reprieve. “Take your time.”

Instead of heading to the restroom, I stealthily maneuvered around a display case and positioned myself behind a tall jewelry armoire, where I could observe without being noticed. Pulling out my phone, I opened the camera app, ready to record whatever drama was about to unfold.

Sure enough, the moment I slipped out of sight, Scarlett emerged from her hiding place and approached Ethan. Her face wore a mask of feigned distress, eyes wide and lips quivering slightly. Clad in a pale pink sundress, she appeared younger and more innocent than her twenty-two years suggested.

“Ethan,” she said in a stage whisper that carried clearly to where I stood, her voice dripping with faux concern.

Ethan’s head snapped up, his expression cycling through shock, alarm, and finally settling on irritation. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, glancing around nervously, as if expecting someone to catch us in this tangled web of deceit.