The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 7

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

As I sat there, the atmosphere felt charged with unspoken tension. Devon’s calm demeanor was like a thin veil over a storm brewing beneath the surface. He turned to me with a measured gaze, his voice smooth yet laced with an undercurrent of something sharper. “It seems that my sudden arrival this evening has proven beneficial for you,” he remarked, a hint of irony dancing in his words.

“Thank you,” I replied, my mind still reeling from the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded. The gratitude felt like a fleeting shadow, quickly eclipsed by the weight of uncertainty that settled in my stomach.

Devon’s eyes scrutinized me, studying every nuance of my expression. “Your name is quite ironic, wouldn’t you agree? Aria, reminiscent of a princess from a fairy tale. Yet your actions hardly embody the grace and nobility one would expect from such a title,” he observed, his tone shifting from casual to accusatory.

My momentary sense of appreciation evaporated like morning mist under the sun. “Excuse me?” I shot back, my voice edged with disbelief.

“I’ve come across some rather intriguing information today,” he continued, his voice growing colder, more resolute. “It concerns your step-sister’s relationship with Ethan Blake. The timing of your actions is rather telling, wouldn’t you say?”

A chill coursed through me, and my heart plummeted as the implications of his words sank in. “What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of confusion and dread swirling within me.

“You approached me the very night after you discovered your boyfriend’s betrayal,” he stated, his gaze sharpening like a blade. “Let’s not pretend otherwise, Ms. Harper. You had no genuine interest in me; you sought revenge against Blake, and I was merely a pawn in your game.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I held my ground, lifting my chin defiantly. “I don’t see how you can complain. We both indulged in the moment, didn’t we? You hardly suffered any loss in our arrangement.”

His expression darkened, a storm brewing behind his carefully composed facade. “I refuse to be a mere prop in whatever vendetta you’re orchestrating. I don’t care how mutually pleasurable our night was; I have no tolerance for manipulation.”

“Do you honestly think I orchestrated this encounter?” I challenged, attempting to redirect the conversation away from the uncomfortable truth he was laying bare.

“No, but I suspect you’ve been calculating from the very start,” Devon replied, leaning closer, his intensity palpable. “You’ve been using people as pawns in your personal vendettas.” With a swift motion, he pressed the intercom button. “Thomas, pull over here.”

The car gradually slowed, coming to a halt near the iconic Brooklyn Bridge. Devon’s demeanor was now entirely closed off, a fortress of indifference.

“I detest being used as a tool in someone else’s schemes, Ms. Harper,” he declared coldly, his voice devoid of warmth. “Consider our association terminated. We’re even.”

“What?” I blinked in bewilderment, the words barely registering in my mind.

“Get out,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

I stared at him, disbelief washing over me. “You’re leaving me here? At night? In the middle of nowhere?” Panic bubbled within me, my heart racing at the thought of being abandoned.

“There’s a subway station just two blocks away. I’m certain a resourceful woman like you can manage,” he replied, reaching across me to open the door. “Good evening, Ms. Harper.”

When the train arrived, it rushed in with a gust of stale air, and I stepped inside, taking refuge in a corner seat of the nearly empty car. Just two stops later, a group of boisterous young men boarded, clearly coming from a night of revelry. One of them, dressed in an expensive suit with his tie loosened, spotted me immediately. His gaze roamed over my dress in a way that made my skin crawl.

I focused intently on my phone, hoping he would take the hint and move on, but luck was not on my side.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, plopping down beside me. “Going home alone tonight? That’s a crime in that dress.”

“Not interested,” I replied curtly, refusing to look up.

“Come on,” he persisted, his cologne invading the confined space like an unwelcome guest. “I’m just being friendly. You look like you could use some company.”

Finally, I lifted my eyes to meet his, annoyance flaring within me. “I said I’m not interested.”

Instead of backing off, he leaned in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “That dress says otherwise. Red’s the color of passion, right? You’re clearly looking for a good time.”

I could only roll my eyes at the audacity of men like him, who assumed that a woman’s attire was an invitation for unwanted advances. As the train rattled along the tracks, I silently vowed to reclaim my dignity, no matter how many arrogant fools crossed my path.