The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 42

**Dust Writes New Stories by Rei Holt Wilder**

**Chapter 42**

Aria’s POV

I held her gaze unwaveringly, the weight of my words hanging in the air like a storm cloud. “That beach house was my mother’s. She wanted me to have it.”

Victoria’s response was immediate, her voice sharp as glass. “Your mother desired many things, Aria,” she said, her tone laced with condescension. “But she’s gone now, isn’t she? Maybe it’s time for you to stop living in the shadows of the past and start thinking about your future. A future that hinges significantly on your father’s goodwill.”

The threat in her words was unmistakable, yet I stood my ground, refusing to let her intimidate me. “Victoria, you are an outsider who married into this family. You have no authority over how Harper assets are divided.”

For a fleeting moment, I saw anger flicker across her perfectly composed features before she masked it again, her expression returning to the practiced calm I had come to expect. “Be careful, Aria. The line between heiress and outcast is thinner than you might believe.”

Without waiting for my retort, she turned sharply, following William into the house, her spine straight with indignation, like a soldier marching into battle.

I remained in the driveway, the keys to my new Porsche grasped tightly in my hand. A mix of triumph and exhaustion washed over me. The car was undeniably a lavish gift, but we both understood its true nature—a bribe, a means for my father to secure my compliance, a way for him to pay me to accept a marriage I had no desire for.

I would accept the car, but I had no intention of fulfilling my end of the deal.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I inhaled the intoxicating scent of new leather and felt the buttery softness beneath me. With a gentle press of the start button, the engine purred to life, a sound that resonated with my own rebellious spirit. I pulled out of the driveway, already reaching for my phone to text Sophia.

[Dinner at Williamsburg Social? Need to talk. It’s urgent.]

Her reply came almost instantly, as if she had been waiting for my message: [Meet you there in 30.]

The sleek Porsche glided through Manhattan traffic with an ease that felt almost magical as I made my way toward the Brooklyn Bridge. The restaurant I had selected was a trendy establishment nestled in Williamsburg, a haven for creative professionals—a far cry from the Upper East Side spots where I might encounter someone from my father’s social circle.

When I arrived, Sophia was already waiting, her brow furrowed with concern as she observed me park the new car.

“Nice wheels,” she remarked, a hint of curiosity in her voice as I approached our table on the softly lit patio. “I’m guessing there’s a story behind this?”

“A bribe from my father,” I confirmed, sinking into the seat across from her. “A payment for agreeing to marry Ethan.”

Sophia’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Wait, what? You’re actually marrying Ethan now? The same Ethan who cheated on you with your stepsister?”

“God, no,” I replied vehemently, shaking my head. “I’m just letting my father think I am while I figure out how to extricate myself from this mess.” I pulled out my phone and displayed the video I had captured at Tiffany. “See for yourself. They’re still together.”

Sophia watched the video, her expression darkening with anger. “That sleazy bastard. And your stepsister is just as bad.” She handed my phone back, her eyes narrowing. “So what’s your plan?”

“Use this engagement to my advantage,” I explained, accepting the menu from our server. “I’ll gain access to Blake resources for the company, forge the connections we need, and then expose Ethan when the moment is right.”

“Playing with fire, Aria,” Sophia cautioned, her voice low and serious. “The Blakes aren’t people you want as enemies.”

“I know,” I sighed, the weight of my choices pressing down on me. “But I refuse to be sold off in some modern business merger masquerading as a marriage. Not while Ethan is still sneaking around with Scarlett behind my back.”

Sophia’s eyes widened, her urgency palpable. “Go! I’ll handle the bill. Just get out of here!”

I dashed out of the restaurant, cursing under my breath as I leaped into the Porsche. Manhattan traffic at this hour was notoriously unpredictable, and Devon’s building was all the way on the opposite side of town.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered, frustration bubbling as I hit yet another red light. The GPS estimated my arrival at 8:05—which was definitely late by Devon Kane standards. I decided to take a chance on a side street, hoping to evade some of the congestion, and miraculously, I began to make up lost time.

I squealed into the underground garage of Devon’s building at 7:55, parked haphazardly in the first visitor spot I found, and sprinted toward the private elevator. My heart raced, fueled by adrenaline and anxiety about how Devon would react if I were late.

The elevator felt like it was taking an eternity, and I used the time to smooth my hair and check my reflection in the mirrored walls. When the doors finally opened at the penthouse level, I hurried across the marble foyer and knocked on the double doors, attempting to steady my breathing.

I checked my phone: 7:58 PM. Just made it.

The doors swung open to reveal Devon, standing there with an air of casual elegance, dressed in dark slacks and a crisp white shirt with the top buttons undone. He held a glass of red wine in one hand, and his steel-gray eyes assessed me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.

“You’re late,” he stated, though a quick glance at my phone confirmed it was exactly 7:58 PM.

“No, I’m not,” I retorted, holding up my phone to show him the time, still slightly breathless from my dash. “I’m actually two minutes early.”

Devon’s expression remained inscrutable, but I noticed something dangerous flicker in his eyes as they traveled from my face down to my shoes and back up again, lingering momentarily on the neckline of my blouse.

“Come in,” he finally said, stepping aside to allow me to enter.