Chapter 3
Aria's POV
I woke with a start, my eyes flying open to darkness. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was until the weight of an arm across my waist registered. The events of the night before came rushing back in vivid detail, sending heat to my cheeks despite being alone with my thoughts.
The digital clock on the nightstand glowed 4:17 AM in harsh red numbers. Beside me, Devon Kane slept soundly, his breathing deep and even. In sleep, his face had softened considerably. Without the intensity that usually radiated from him, he looked almost peaceful—the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones less severe, his lips slightly parted. I found myself staring longer than I should have, studying the fan of dark lashes against his cheeks and the way one lock of hair had fallen across his forehead.
My body ached in unfamiliar places as I carefully slid out from under his arm. Time to go. I'd gotten what I came for—material for my revenge. No need to stick around for the awkward morning after.
I tiptoed to the bathroom, closing the door silently before turning on the light. The mirror reflected a woman I barely recognized—hair wild, lips slightly swollen, small red marks dotting my neck and collarbone. I stepped into the shower, letting hot water wash away the evidence of the night.
Devon had been... unexpected. Not just his intensity, which had overwhelmed me, but the way he'd been attentive despite his obvious experience. I'd expected coldness, maybe even roughness, but not the careful guidance or the moments when he'd checked if I was okay.
After drying off, I slipped back into my black slip dress, now wrinkled beyond salvation. I emerged from the bathroom to find Devon still sleeping deeply. This surprised me—I'd heard rumors about his insomnia, how he rarely slept more than a couple of hours at a time. Yet here he was, dead to the world.
I gathered my borrowed hotel uniform from the floor where I'd dropped it last night. As I moved around the room, collecting my things, an idea struck me. I pulled out my phone and opened the camera app. Carefully, I positioned myself beside the bed, angling to capture my hand reaching toward Devon's outstretched one against the backdrop of rumpled sheets. The photo caught his bare chest and torso without showing his face—identifiable enough for those who knew what to look for, but discreet enough to maintain plausible deniability.
Perfect. I opened Instagram and posted it to my story with the caption "Upgrading." Ethan would see it within minutes; he always checked my social media first thing in the morning.
Just as I slipped my phone into my purse and turned to leave, a strong hand grabbed my wrist. I gasped, spinning around to find Devon awake, his gray eyes alert despite having been asleep seconds ago.
"Taking photos in my room has a fee, you know," he said, his voice rough with sleep but his eyes sharp. Before I could respond, he pulled me back onto the bed with surprising strength. I landed against his chest with an undignified yelp.
"I was just leaving," I managed, breathless as he rolled me beneath him.
"Were you?" His mouth found my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "Without saying goodbye?"
Whatever clever response I might have had dissolved when his lips met mine. One kiss led to another, and soon my carefully retrieved dress was back on the floor.
When I woke again, sunlight streamed through the windows and Devon was gone. The clock read 10:23 AM. I sat up, wincing at the soreness in muscles I didn't even know I had. The suite was silent except for the distant hum of the air conditioning.
In the bathroom, I surveyed the damage in the harsh light of day. Red marks dotted my skin like a connect-the-dots puzzle—on my neck, my breasts, my inner thighs. "Devon Kane is as wild as the rumors say," I murmured to myself, touching a particularly vivid mark near my collarbone.
After another quick shower, I wrapped myself in a plush hotel bathrobe and returned to the bedroom. On the nightstand where the clock sat, I found a business card with "Devon Kane, CEO, Kane Ventures" embossed in sleek silver letters. Beside it was a small pill in a blister pack—the morning-after pill. My cheeks burned at the implication, though I appreciated his thoughtfulness.
I plugged in my dead phone and waited for it to power up. The moment it did, notifications flooded the screen: twenty-seven text messages, fifteen missed calls, and dozens of Instagram notifications.
Most of the texts were from Ethan, starting with casual questions that quickly spiraled into panic: "Where are you?" followed by "Is everything ok??" then "WHO THE HELL IS THAT GUY???" and "ANSWER ME!!!" The messages grew increasingly frantic: "I'm coming to find you" and "This isn't funny Aria!" By 6AM, they'd devolved completely: "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME" and "I'M NOTHING WITHOUT YOU." The last one, sent at 7 AM, was a jumbled mess of pleas: "Please baby please call me we can fix this I'll do anything I swear."
I deleted every message and blocked his number. Then I did the same with his Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. Ethan Blake might know me as his faithful girlfriend who forgave every indiscretion, but he'd forgotten I was born with a talent for holding grudges.
My phone rang just as I finished my digital purge. Sophia's name flashed on the screen.
"Oh my god, finally!" she squealed the moment I answered. "That photo was so hot! I can't believe you and Ethan finally did it! Was he good? Please tell me he was worth the wait. How was his stamina? Did he—"
"It wasn't Ethan," I cut her off, unable to keep the smugness from my voice.
A beat of silence. "Wait, what? Then who...?" Another pause. "Aria Harper, please tell me that wasn't who I think it was in your story."
"If you're thinking Devon Kane, then yes, it was."
"WHAT?" Sophia's voice rose to a pitch I'd never heard before. "Devon Kane? The man who owns half of Manhattan? The tech mogul who eats startups for breakfast?"
I laughed. "Relax, Soph. It's just a bit of fun."
"Fun? With Devon Kane?" She sounded genuinely alarmed. "Do you know how dangerous he is? He'll use you and toss you aside like yesterday's newspaper."
"Perfect," I said, examining my nails. "That's exactly what I want. Make sure you spread the word that I'm the one who dumped Ethan Blake, by the way. Not the other way around."
Sophia sighed heavily. "You're playing with fire. Devon isn't like the college boys we dated. He's... calculated. He never does anything without a reason."
"So am I," I countered. "I only need him for a month. Just long enough for Ethan to realize who he lost."
"A month? With Devon Kane?" She laughed incredulously. "Aria, nobody dates Devon Kane for that long. He's notorious for one-night stands."
"We'll see," I said confidently, though doubt flickered briefly. "Anyway, don't you have that meeting with the potential celebrity client today? I should get back to the office."
After hanging up, I dressed quickly in last night's clothes and gathered my things. As I rode the elevator down to the lobby, I realized I hadn't thought about how to get home. I'd been so focused on executing my "chance encounter" with Devon that I hadn't even brought my car.
The lobby was bustling with business travelers checking out. As I considered calling a rideshare, a familiar figure caught my eye. Devon stood by the reception desk, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that had to be custom-made to fit his broad shoulders so perfectly. He looked startlingly refreshed—no trace of the dark circles that had been visible last night. The transformation was remarkable, as though our encounter had somehow cured his insomnia.
I watched as he signed something at the desk, his posture radiating authority. When he turned, his eyes met mine across the lobby. My heart stuttered embarrassingly, but his face remained impassive. He simply nodded in acknowledgment.
"You can ask the front desk to call you a car," he said as he passed me, adjusting his cufflinks. "I've got a meeting. Have to run."
As the doorman held open the front entrance for him, I stood frozen, anger bubbling up inside me. So that was it? A nod and directions to the front desk? "Men are all the same," I muttered. "Cold and callous."
Just before stepping into his waiting black Bentley, Devon turned back, his eyes finding mine across the lobby. His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile that seemed to say he knew exactly what game I was playing—and that he intended to win. The look was so intensely possessive that heat rushed to my cheeks instantly.
