The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 90

Chapter 90

90%

Aria’s POV

Before I could respond, the line went dead. I stared at my phone, indignation bubbling up as my cheeks

flushed with irritation.

Arrogant, high–handed jerk,” I muttered through gritted teeth, gathering my things with more force than

necessary.

The sound of my Louboutins echoed against the marble floors as I left the empty building. My mind raced

with all the cutting remarks I would deliver to his arrogant face. Outside Elysium, I tried calling Devon

again, but the call went straight to voicemail. I checked my Instagram and WhatsApp only to discover I’d been blocked on both. A small pang of hurt flashed through me, more intense than I cared to admit.

I touched my pendant for courage, fingers lingering on the cool metal before approaching the doorman. When I mentioned Devon’s name, the doorman’s expression shifted immediately to one of deference as he

ushered me toward the elevator. A manager escorted me to the third–floor VIP lounge.

As the manager pushed open the gilded double doors, I had just enough time to register raised voices before something came flying toward me. A crystal champagne flute shattered against my forehead,

sending sharp pain through my skull and warm blood trickling down my temple.

The jazz music and conversation ceased abruptly. I felt blood dripping onto my white silk blouse—a $3,000

investment I’d treated myself to after landing the Cartier account.

“Shit, Devon, you hit someone,” a male voice said.

I looked up to see Devon Kane standing by the floor–to–ceiling windows, shirt sleeves rolled up to expose

tanned forearms, top buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of his chest. His face was tight with anger, gray

eyes stormy. Sweat glistened at his temples.

Our eyes met, and I saw concern flash across his features before it disappeared, replaced by something

darker, more intense. His jaw tightened as he looked away, but his eyes returned to me seconds later,

lingering on the blood at my temple.

I dabbed at the blood with my hand, my fingers trembling slightly. “In civilized society, Mr. Kane,” I said,

voice dripping with sarcasm, “people typically apologize when they assault someone with glassware.”

Before Devon could respond, Noah stepped forward, offering a silk handkerchief.

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Chapter 90

The glass was meant for me,” he said apologetically. Devon’s aim was off, unfortunately for you.”

“Not your fault, I replied, pressing the handkerchief to my forehead.

Let me take you to a hospital, Noah offered. That might need stitches.”

Til handle it, Devon interrupted, his voice leaving no om for argument. He stepped closer to Noah, speaking quietly but with tension. “Make sure you explain the Caroline situation clearly this time, or don’t expect our friendship to survive it.”

Noah nodded as Devon gripped my wrist. His fingers were warm and firm against my skin, sending unwanted electricity up my arm. He pulled me toward the elevator, his thumb unconsciously brushing against my pulse point.

In the parking garage, he practically marched me to his Bentley, opening the passenger door and shoving me inside. The movement sent pain through my head, and I cried out.

Devon froze, something raw crossing his face before his expression softened. His breathing changed as he gently, almost tenderly, fastened my seatbelt, his hands lingering near my waist. The scent of his cologne- sandalwood and something distinctly him–filled the small space between us.

At a high–end private medical facility, a distinguished doctor examined my forehead with grave concern.

“The laceration could leave a scar if not treated properly,” he said.

I tensed, my stomach dropping. A scar? I have the wedding in three days!

The doctor glanced between Devon and me, his expression changing. Devon stood close behind me, his

presence palpable even without touching me. While preparing a suture kit, the doctor slipped a domestic

violence hotline card into my hand when Devon wasn’t looking.

“Your partner should wait outside,” the doctor said pointedly.

“He’s not my- I began, but Devon cut me off.

“I’ll stay,” he said firmly, placing his hand on the back of my chair, fingers just grazing my shoulder.

I saw an opportunity to make him squirm. “Some men resort to physical solutions when they feel they’re losing control,” I told the doctor with a sad smile, my voice softening deliberately to sound vulnerable.

The doctor’s expression hardened as he reached for his phone. Devon snatched it away, his face inches

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Chapter 90

from mine now.

“Enough, Aria, he growled, his breath warm against my ear. Your acting skills are impressive, but now isn’t the time.”

I couldn’t suppress my laughter, relishing the flash of frustration in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I told the confused doctor. “He didn’t hit me. A glass flew out of room as I was entering.”

The doctor proceeded to stitch my forehead, explaining he was using a technique to minimize scarring.

“Will it be noticeable for the wedding?” I asked anxiously, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my

bloodstained blouse.

Devon looked up sharply at the mention of the wedding His eyes darkened, jaw clenching visibly before he abruptly left the room. I watched him go, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands formed

fists at his sides.

“With proper makeup, no one will notice,” the doctor assured me.

In the parking lot, Devon leaned against his Bentley, an unlit cigarette between his fingers. The moonlight

cast shadows across his face, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Smoking kills,” I remarked, stopping a few feet from him.

“I don’t smoke. Just a reminder of bad habits,” he replied, offering his black credit card. His gaze traveled

slowly down my body before returning to my face. “Name your price for the medical expenses and the

blouse.”

“I crashed into your car, you shattered glass against my head,” I said, stepping closer. “We’re even. Just give

me my car keys.”

Devon studied me before opening his car door, standing so close I could feel the heat radiating from his

body. “Get in, Aria. It’s late, your head is injured, and New York isn’t a place for you to wander alone.” His

voice was soft but firm, almost protective.

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