The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 91

The CEO’s Midnight Remedy

Chapter 91

Aria’s POV

The Bentley’s engine purred quietly as Devon drove through Manhattan’s late–night streets. His knuckles

were white against the steering wheel, jaw clenched tight enough that I could see a muscle twitching beneath his skin. The silence between us felt weighted, oppressive.

I touched my forehead gingerly, wincing as my fingers rushed against the bandage. The doctor had been clear–the laceration might leave a scar. Perfect timing, with Ethan’s and my wedding only three days away. The thought made my stomach twist, though not for the reasons anyone would expect.

“You never explained what happened back there,” I said breaking the silence. “With Noah in the VIP room.”

Devon’s eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. “Business disagreement.”

“About Caroline?” I pressed, recalling the name I’d heard before the glass hit me.

His only response was a slight tightening of his grip on the steering wheel. The streetlights cast rhythmic

shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the darkness in his eyes.

My phone buzzed in my purse. When I pulled it out, Ethan’s name flashed on the screen.

“I’m waiting at your father’s house,” Ethan said when I answered. “We need to talk about the merger details

before tomorrow’s meeting.”

Before I could respond, Devon suddenly slammed on the brakes. My body jerked forward, the seatbelt

cutting into my shoulder and sending a fresh stab of pain through my injured forehead.

“What the hell?” I gasped, pressing my palm against the bandage.

“Sorry,” Devon said flatly. “Had to avoid a cyclist crossing against the light.”

But the road ahead was empty, and I caught a glimpse of his eyes in the rearview mirror–stormy,

possessive, jealous. The realization sent an unwelcome thrill through me.

I hung up abruptly. “Pull over,” I ordered.

“What?”

“Pull. Over. Now.” Each word was its own sentence, chis led from ice.

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Chapter 91

Devon steered to the curb, the Bentley’s tires crunching against fallen leaves. “You’re injured. I’m taking

you home.”

I’m perfectly capable of getting a cab.”

A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Afraid Blake might discover our… arrangement?”

I returned his smile with equal coldness. “There’s nothing to discover. Our business concluded weeks ago.”

“Business?” He laughed without humor. “Is that what you call it? One month ago, when you climbed into

my bed, you weren’t so concerned about boundaries.”

His words landed like a slap, reminding me of our first night together–of how I’d used him to get back at

Ethan, of how that plan had spiraled so far out of control.

“Let me out,” I said, reaching for the door handle.

Devon leaned across me, his arm brushing mine, his cologne–sandalwood and something uniquely him—

filling my senses. He locked the door. “I’ll take you home.”

“This isn’t up for debate.”

“Your head is injured. It’s past midnight. I’m driving you to the Harper estate.”

I could have argued further, but the throbbing in my head was getting worse. Besides, something in his

tone–beneath the arrogance and command–sounded almost like concern.

The rest of the drive passed in tense silence. As we pulled up to the wrought–iron gates of my father’s

Upper East Side mansion, I spotted Ethan pacing by the entrance, his tailored suit incongruous against the

backdrop of the sprawling gardens.

When Ethan saw Devon’s Bentley approaching, his expression morphed from anxiety to open hostility. The

car had barely stopped when I pushed open the door, desperate to escape the suffocating tension inside.

Ethan immediately stepped forward, possessively sliding his arm around my waist. “Thank you for bringing

my fiancée home, Mr. Kane,” he said, voice dripping with false gratitude.

Devon exited the car, his tall frame unfolding with predatory grace. His eyes lingered on Ethan’s arm

around my waist for a beat too long.

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