The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 5

Aria’s POV

Three hours later, we were still deep in revision mode when Sophia finally broke the silence.

"You should ask your father for help," she said quietly, looking up from her laptop. "Harper Group has resources we could use, connections that could strengthen our position."

I shook my head firmly. "Absolutely not. I didn't build this company to crawl back to my father when things get tough."

"This isn't about pride, Aria. It's about survival." Sophia's voice softened. "I've been looking at our financials. If we don't land a major client soon, we won't make payroll next month."

The weight of her words settled on my shoulders. Sixteen employees depended on us. Including Sophia, whose mother needed that heart surgery.

"I know what you're thinking," she continued. "But this isn't just about us anymore. Our employees—"

"I'll figure it out," I interrupted, my resolve hardening. "I won't let him control my life again, Sophia. I won't give him that power."

She sighed, recognizing the stubborn set of my jaw. "Then we need this Kane contract. Whatever happened between you and Devon Kane last night—"

"I'll get the Kane contract," I said firmly, standing up and gathering my things. "Whatever it takes."

The afternoon sun was setting by the time I arrived at my father's Upper East Side mansion. After the disastrous meeting with Devon and hours of reworking the proposal, all I wanted was to collect some documents from my old room and retreat to my Brooklyn apartment.

As I pushed open the heavy front door, the house was quiet except for distant voices coming from the terrace. I followed the sound, stepping through the French doors to find an unexpected scene: my father, William Harper, reclined in a wicker chair with a whiskey in hand, while Ethan Blake and my step-sister Scarlett sat across from him, engaged in what appeared to be a pleasant conversation over afternoon tea.

All three heads turned toward me simultaneously, their expressions shifting from surprise to varying degrees of calculation.

"Aria," my father said, his voice immediately taking on that familiar note of disappointment. "Where were you last night? Ethan was here waiting for you for hours."

Ethan stood quickly, his handsome face arranged in a mask of concern. "Baby, I was worried sick. You didn't answer any of my calls or messages."

I felt a cold smile spread across my face as I looked between him and Scarlett, who was wearing one of her signature white dresses, playing the innocent angel as always.

"How thoughtful of you to worry," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I see you found company easily enough." I gestured between him and Scarlett. "Look at this cozy little scene. The intimacy is touching. What's next? A romantic dinner? Or perhaps another night at The Plaza like yesterday?"

Scarlett's face paled slightly, while Ethan's jaw tightened.

"What are you insinuating?" my father demanded, setting down his whiskey glass with a sharp click.

Before I could respond, a sharp crack echoed across the terrace as my father's palm connected with my cheek. The force of the slap knocked me sideways, and I caught myself against the doorframe, my face burning from the impact.

"You will show some respect!" he thundered. "This family has a reputation to maintain. I will not have you throwing around baseless accusations and embarrassing us with your theatrics."

I touched my stinging cheek, too shocked to respond immediately. My father had never hit me before—not even when I was a child.

I turned to Scarlett, who was watching me with barely concealed panic. "You can have him. You've always wanted what was mine anyway—my room, my clothes, and now my boyfriend. Congratulations. I hope your wedding makes the cover of Vanity Fair."

"You've always been so dramatic," Scarlett attempted to recover, her voice shaking slightly. "You're just jealous because—"

"Jealous?" I cut her off. "Of what? Your habit of taking my leftovers? First my childhood bedroom, now my ex. What impressive achievements."

I turned to leave, but Ethan grabbed my arm, his fingers digging painfully into my skin.

"Aria, we need to talk privately," he insisted, his voice low and urgent. "You don't understand what's happening."

I yanked my arm free. "I understand perfectly. And I don't speak designer lies, Ethan. Everyone saw how disastrous your spring collection was. Your father must be thrilled."

His face darkened with anger, but before he could respond, there was a dramatic gasp behind us. We turned to see Scarlett swaying on her feet, one hand pressed to her forehead.

"I feel... I don't feel well," she murmured, before collapsing in an artfully arranged heap onto the chaise lounge.

The reaction was immediate. Victoria cried out in distress, rushing to her daughter's side. My father bellowed for someone to call a doctor. And most tellingly, Ethan abandoned our conversation instantly, practically sprinting to Scarlett's side with far more concern than a family friend should show.

I turned and walked away, their voices fading behind me. As I reached the foyer, I heard my father's voice booming after me: "Aria! Who is this man? What have you done?"