The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 52

**Dust Writes New Stories by Rei Holt Wilder**
**Chapter 52**

**Aria’s POV**

In the refined and tastefully decorated living room of the Blake residence, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. Marianne, my future mother-in-law, was already immersed in a sea of bridal magazines and colorful fabric swatches, her enthusiasm palpable. As soon as Ethan and I stepped inside, she looked up with a radiant smile, patting the space beside her on the plush sofa as if inviting me into a world of dreams.

“Aria, darling, come and sit with me!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with inspiration. “I’ve been mulling over the details of your engagement party, and I believe I’ve stumbled upon the most marvelous idea.” With a swift motion, she flipped open a glossy magazine, the pages glimmering under the soft light. “Considering your esteemed position in the fashion industry, Ethan, I thought we should create an announcement that is nothing short of spectacular.”

Curiosity piqued, Ethan leaned in, his arm draping casually across my shoulders, a gesture of support and affection. “What did you have in mind, Mother?” he inquired, his tone a mix of intrigue and anticipation.

With a flourish, Marianne continued, “I’ve arranged for us to visit Pierre Montagne’s atelier tomorrow. He has graciously agreed to design a custom gown specifically for Aria’s engagement portrait.” Her gaze shifted to me, eyes wide with expectation. “What do you think, dear? His designs are nothing short of extraordinary, and with your beauty, the photographs will be truly breathtaking.”

Pierre Montagne was a name that resonated throughout the fashion world, one of the most exclusive designers in New York, with a waiting list that stretched for months. It was a feat only Marianne could accomplish, securing an appointment on such short notice.

“That sounds lovely,” I replied, though my mind was drifting elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of Devon. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had caught wind of my engagement party. Would he even care? Did I want him to care? The questions swirled in my mind like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind.

“Excellent!” Marianne clapped her hands together, the sound echoing with excitement. “We’ll go tomorrow afternoon. The atelier is located on Fifth Avenue, right next to Bergdorf’s.”

I nodded absently, my thoughts still wandering through the maze of my emotions. The façade of planning this engagement was becoming increasingly burdensome, but I reminded myself of the endgame—the life I was supposed to embrace.

“Aria?” Marianne’s voice broke through my reverie. “Is three o’clock tomorrow good for you?”

“Perfect,” I replied, mustering a practiced smile that felt more like a mask than genuine happiness. “I’ll meet you there.”

The day after the cameras were installed, I found myself standing outside Pierre Montagne’s Fifth Avenue atelier for the fitting that Marianne had orchestrated. Each step of this elaborate charade needed to be executed flawlessly, and I was determined to play my part.

Arriving precisely at three o’clock, I entered the sleek, minimalist space that exuded an air of exclusivity. The atelier was adorned with only a handful of exquisite gowns, each displayed like a masterpiece in a gallery. The atmosphere was charged with creativity and artistry.

Pierre’s expression tightened, caught between the demands of two powerful clients. “I see. Please inform them I’ll be right with them.”

As the receptionist retreated, I noticed Marianne’s face darken, her indignation barely contained.

“Devon Kane?” she whispered, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her handbag as if seeking solace. “The man who ran Ethan off the road and put him in the hospital? And now he expects to be served first?”

“Mrs. Blake, I do apologize,” Pierre said, clearly caught in a difficult position. “Perhaps we could—”

“It’s fine,” Marianne interrupted, her tone clipped but controlled. Her eyes darted toward the entrance, aware of the other clients who might overhear our conversation. “The Kane family does hold considerable influence. I understand your… position.”

The resignation in her voice spoke volumes about the social dynamics we all navigated. Even the Blakes, with their fashion empire and old money connections, couldn’t afford to openly antagonize someone of Devon Kane’s stature.

Before Pierre could respond further, the door to the private lounge swung open, and there stood Devon, flanked by Caroline Hayes and an elegant older woman I assumed was his mother, Eleanor Kane. Devon looked commanding as ever in his tailored suit, but I couldn’t help but notice the dark circles shadowing his eyes, hinting at sleepless nights. Our gazes locked for a fleeting moment, electricity sparking between us before Caroline gently tugged on his arm, breaking the connection.