Chapter 7 7

Rain lashed against the large warehouse windows, blurring the city lights into streaks of neon. The loft was dark, lit only by a few candles Harland had found.

They sat on the rug, a bottle of cheap red wine between them.

Aria took a sip from a coffee mug. The wine was acidic, but it warmed her blood.

"I used to hate the rain," Aria said, staring at the window. "When I was little, Eugenia wouldn't let me in the main house if it was raining. She said I tracked mud. Corina could play in the puddles, but I had to wait in the garage until I was dry."

Harland swirled the wine in his glass. His face was in shadow. "She sounds like a witch."

"She is," Aria laughed, a bitter sound. "And Julian... he used to tell me I was lucky he put up with me. He said my designs were 'derivative.' That I had no eye."

Harland set his glass down. The sound was sharp against the wood floor.

"I saw your sketches," he said.

Aria froze. "What?"

"In your portfolio. When you dropped it at the bar," he lied. He had actually seen them when his team did due diligence on her family. "The Lloyd Center drafts."

"They're messy," Aria mumbled, looking down.

"They're brilliant," Harland said. His voice was firm. "The use of light? The structural tension? Julian is an idiot. He wouldn't know architecture if it fell on him."

Aria looked up. Her eyes were wide, shimmering with unshed tears. "You really think so?"

"I know so," Harland said. "You have a gift, Aria. They tried to bury it because they were threatened by it."

A tear rolled down her cheek. Then another. The dam broke.

She scrambled forward, dropping her mug, and buried her face in Harland's chest. She sobbed, her body shaking with years of suppressed grief.

Harland stiffened. He held his hands up for a second, unsure. Then, slowly, he lowered them. One hand settled on her back, the other on her hair.

He smelled of rain and something else-cedarwood and crisp linen. It was an expensive scent, incongruous with the setting, but Aria was too distraught to notice.

"They're garbage," Harland whispered into her hair. "Let them go."

Aria cried until she was empty. She stayed there, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. It was slow, calm. It made her feel safe.

Eventually, her breathing evened out. She fell asleep right there on the rug, her head on his lap.

Harland looked down at her. Her face was pale, her eyelashes clumped together. She looked fragile.

He carefully scooped her up. She was light. He carried her to the mattress and laid her down, pulling the duvet up to her chin.

He walked to the window. He pulled out his encrypted phone.

"Silas," he said softly.

"Sir?"

"The Young construction project in Jersey. The one Julian is leading."

"Yes, sir."

"Pull the permits," Harland said. "Find the safety violations. I know they're cutting corners. Shut it down."

"That will cost them millions," Silas said.

"I want it to cost them everything," Harland said. "Make him busy. Make him suffer."

He hung up. He looked back at Aria sleeping on the floor. He knew he was crossing a line. He was supposed to be a neutral party.

But looking at her, he realized neutrality was no longer an option.