Chapter 5

Aria’s POV

Three hours later, we were still deep in revision mode when Sophia finally broke the silence.

"You should ask your father for help," she said quietly, looking up from her laptop. "Harper Group has resources we could use, connections that could strengthen our position."

I shook my head firmly. "Absolutely not. I didn't build this company to crawl back to my father when things get tough."

"This isn't about pride, Aria. It's about survival." Sophia's voice softened. "I've been looking at our financials. If we don't land a major client soon, we won't make payroll next month."

The weight of her words settled on my shoulders. Sixteen employees depended on us. Including Sophia, whose mother needed that heart surgery.

"I know what you're thinking," she continued. "But this isn't just about us anymore. Our employees—"

"I'll figure it out," I interrupted, my resolve hardening. "I won't let him control my life again, Sophia. I won't give him that power."

She sighed, recognizing the stubborn set of my jaw. "Then we need this Kane contract. Whatever happened between you and Devon Kane last night—"

"I'll get the Kane contract," I said firmly, standing up and gathering my things. "Whatever it takes."

The afternoon sun was setting by the time I arrived at my father's Upper East Side mansion. After the disastrous meeting with Devon and hours of reworking the proposal, all I wanted was to collect some documents from my old room and retreat to my Brooklyn apartment.

As I pushed open the heavy front door, the house was quiet except for distant voices coming from the terrace. I followed the sound, stepping through the French doors to find an unexpected scene: my father, William Harper, reclined in a wicker chair with a whiskey in hand, while Ethan Blake and my step-sister Scarlett sat across from him, engaged in what appeared to be a pleasant conversation over afternoon tea.

All three heads turned toward me simultaneously, their expressions shifting from surprise to varying degrees of calculation.

"Aria," my father said, his voice immediately taking on that familiar note of disappointment. "Where were you last night? Ethan was here waiting for you for hours."

Ethan stood quickly, his handsome face arranged in a mask of concern. "Baby, I was worried sick. You didn't answer any of my calls or messages."

I felt a cold smile spread across my face as I looked between him and Scarlett, who was wearing one of her signature white dresses, playing the innocent angel as always.

"How thoughtful of you to worry," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I see you found company easily enough." I gestured between him and Scarlett. "Look at this cozy little scene. The intimacy is touching. What's next? A romantic dinner? Or perhaps another night at The Plaza like yesterday?"

Scarlett's face paled slightly, while Ethan's jaw tightened.

"What are you insinuating?" my father demanded, setting down his whiskey glass with a sharp click.

Before I could respond, a sharp crack echoed across the terrace as my father's palm connected with my cheek. The force of the slap knocked me sideways, and I caught myself against the doorframe, my face burning from the impact.

"You will show some respect!" he thundered. "This family has a reputation to maintain. I will not have you throwing around baseless accusations and embarrassing us with your theatrics."

I touched my stinging cheek, too shocked to respond immediately. My father had never hit me before—not even when I was a child.

"William!" The smooth, controlled voice of Victoria Harper cut through the tension as she appeared in the doorway. My stepmother glided onto the terrace with perfect poise, her blonde hair styled in an immaculate bob, designer sundress fitting her slim figure precisely. Five years ago, she had been my father's public relations director before becoming his wife mere months after my mother's death. Now, she played the role of concerned spouse flawlessly, her voice calibrated to sound shocked while her ice-blue eyes glittered with barely concealed satisfaction.

"Violence solves nothing," she added, placing a manicured hand on my father's arm while giving me a look that conveyed both false sympathy and quiet warning.

Scarlett seized the opportunity, her face transforming into a picture of distress. "Daddy, please don't be angry with her. She's probably upset because..." she hesitated dramatically, "...well, because of that man she was with last night. The one who doesn't even show his face on social media."

My father's eyes narrowed as he turned back to me. "What man? What is she talking about?"

"Oh, didn't you know?" Scarlett continued, her voice dripping with false concern. "Aria posted quite the suggestive photo from some hotel room. That's probably why she didn't come home."

"Is this true?" my father demanded.

I laughed bitterly, ignoring the throbbing in my cheek. "Interesting deflection, Scarlett. But if we're talking about inappropriate behavior, maybe we should discuss the photos I have of you and Ethan. Very explicit ones. I never realized hotel beds could be so... versatile."

The color drained from both Ethan and Scarlett's faces.

"You're bluffing," Ethan said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Am I?" I pulled out my phone. "Would you like me to forward them to Dad? Or maybe to Page Six? I'm sure they'd love a scandal involving the Blake Fashion Group heir and his girlfriend's step-sister. Great publicity for your failing spring collection."

"Aria, stop this nonsense," my father warned.

"It's not nonsense," I replied, finding a strange calm settling over me. "But I don't need to play this game anymore. Ethan, we're done. I don't want your explanations or your pathetic excuses."

I turned to Scarlett, who was watching me with barely concealed panic. "You can have him. You've always wanted what was mine anyway—my room, my clothes, and now my boyfriend. Congratulations. I hope your wedding makes the cover of Vanity Fair."

"You've always been so dramatic," Scarlett attempted to recover, her voice shaking slightly. "You're just jealous because—"

"Jealous?" I cut her off. "Of what? Your habit of taking my leftovers? First my childhood bedroom, now my ex. What impressive achievements."

I turned to leave, but Ethan grabbed my arm, his fingers digging painfully into my skin.

"Aria, we need to talk privately," he insisted, his voice low and urgent. "You don't understand what's happening."

I yanked my arm free. "I understand perfectly. And I don't speak designer lies, Ethan. Everyone saw how disastrous your spring collection was. Your father must be thrilled."

His face darkened with anger, but before he could respond, there was a dramatic gasp behind us. We turned to see Scarlett swaying on her feet, one hand pressed to her forehead.

"I feel... I don't feel well," she murmured, before collapsing in an artfully arranged heap onto the chaise lounge.

The reaction was immediate. Victoria cried out in distress, rushing to her daughter's side. My father bellowed for someone to call a doctor. And most tellingly, Ethan abandoned our conversation instantly, practically sprinting to Scarlett's side with far more concern than a family friend should show.

I turned and walked away, their voices fading behind me. As I reached the foyer, I heard my father's voice booming after me: "Aria! Who is this man? What have you done?"