The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 58

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

**Chapter 58**

Aria’s POV

I jolted awake, my heart racing, as the eerie stillness of my apartment enveloped me like a heavy blanket. Sunlight streamed through the slats of my blinds, casting elongated shadows that danced across the wooden floor of my bedroom. I had drifted off after returning from the Harper mansion, my spirit utterly spent from the emotional turmoil of confronting both my father and Victoria.

The sensation of betrayal weighed heavily on my chest, pressing down on me as if it were a tangible force. I felt utterly forsaken by everyone I once trusted—my father had callously taken my mother’s beloved beach house and handed it over to Scarlett; Ethan was coercing me into an engagement while secretly indulging in a relationship with my stepsister; and Devon Kane was treating me like a mere business deal, something he could manipulate at will.

The silence in my apartment was suddenly unbearable, wrapping around me like a vice. I craved noise, the buzz of conversation, the laughter of friends—anything to drown out the cacophony of dark thoughts spiraling through my mind. Remaining here, isolated and alone, would only plunge me deeper into a chasm of anger and resentment. I needed to escape.

With a determined shake of my head, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, feeling the coolness of the floor beneath my feet. I made my way to the closet, pushing aside my usual business attire that hung neatly on wooden hangers, until I reached the small section reserved for those rare nights when I felt the need to break free. My fingers grazed over the fabric until they landed on a sleek black slip dress I had impulsively purchased just last month. The satin fabric felt luxurious against my skin, and the delicate straps crisscrossed at the back, revealing just enough skin to be tantalizing without veering into the realm of desperation. I paired it with strappy black heels that elongated my legs and added a bold swipe of red lipstick to my lips. The woman staring back at me from the mirror bore little resemblance to the polished CEO of Stellar Impressions or the dutiful daughter of William Harper. Good.

“Tonight is about forgetting,” I murmured to my reflection, determination fueling my voice as I snatched my clutch from the dresser and made my way toward the door.

Elysium, one of Manhattan’s most exclusive nightclubs, beckoned to me with its pulsing lights and rhythmic bass, promising the sensory overload I desperately craved. I breezed past the line, slipping a generous tip to the bouncer, and made my way to the bar. “A ‘Manhattan Burning,’ please,” I ordered, the specialty cocktail known for its blend of bourbon, vermouth, and a flame-torched orange peel. The first sip ignited a pleasant warmth as it traveled down my throat.

“Make it another,” I called out to the bartender, my impatience evident before I’d even finished the first drink.

As the second drink flowed through me, I felt the sharp edges of my anger begin to dull. The music enveloped me, vibrating through my body and drowning out the haunting echoes of my father’s cold dismissal, Victoria’s smug triumph, Scarlett’s feigned innocence, and Devon’s emotionless proposition. I polished off my second drink and made my way to the VIP dance platform, the heart of the club.

Lost in the rhythm, I allowed myself to move with an abandon I rarely permitted in public. My body swayed to the beat, arms lifted high above my head, feeling the music pulse through me. For a few blissful minutes, I was no longer Aria Harper, the daughter of media mogul William Harper, or the fiancée of fashion heir Ethan Blake, or the secret lover of tech billionaire Devon Kane. I was simply a woman in a black dress, dancing away her troubles, liberated from the weight of my reality.

“I prefer to dance alone,” I asserted firmly, turning my back to him.

But Grayson was relentless. His hand clamped around my wrist, yanking me toward him. “One drink. What’s the harm?”

“Let go,” I warned, my voice low and laced with danger.

“Don’t be such a tease,” he hissed, his other hand sliding down to cup my backside, his intentions all too clear.

In a moment of instinctive defiance, I seized a champagne bottle from a nearby ice bucket and, without a second thought, tipped it over his head. The expensive liquid cascaded down, soaking his suit and streaming down his shocked face, leaving a trail of disbelief in its wake.