The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 11

Orion

I pushed through the front door of the estate, the familiar marble foyer doing nothing to ease the frustration that had been building all day. Three deals had gone south, two key investors had pulled out without explanation, and the Shanghai division was hemorrhaging money faster than I could plug the holes.

But none of that compared to the rage simmering in my chest over the complete dead end in finding the woman from the hotel. Two days of Marcus running every lead, checking every jewelry store, following every fucking breadcrumb, and we had nothing.

"Good evening, sir." Mitchell appeared instantly, as if he'd been waiting by the door. His movements were smooth and practiced as he helped me out of my jacket, his expression radiating that calm competence that had kept this household running seamlessly for years.

I felt some of the tension ease just from being home. Thank God for Mitchell. In a world where everyone wanted something from me, where every conversation was a negotiation and every smile hid an agenda, he was the one constant. The man had dedicated his life to caring for this family, and while he'd managed to create a perfect home environment, there was one puzzle even his decades of experience couldn't solve.

*Ryan.*

"Rough day?" Mitchell asked mildly, hanging the jacket with precise care.

"That's one word for it." I loosened my tie, feeling grateful for his steady presence. "How's Ryan today?"

"Actually, sir..." Mitchell's eyes lit up with something I rarely saw—genuine excitement. "I believe you should hear for yourself."

Before I could ask what he meant, the sound of piano music drifted down from upstairs. Someone was playing—not the halting, mechanical scales I was used to hearing during Ryan's lessons, but actual music. A children's song, played with surprising fluency and confidence.

And then I heard something that made me freeze completely.

*Singing.* Ryan's voice, pure and sweet, carrying the melody in perfect pitch. Every note matched the piano exactly, his voice soaring with a confidence I'd never heard from him before.

"Jesus," I breathed, already heading for the stairs. "When did he learn to play like that? And more importantly—when did he start singing? Miss Hart must actually know what she's doing after all."

Mitchell followed, clearing his throat delicately. "Sir, I'm afraid you're mistaken. It wasn't Miss Hart. This happened after his session with the new psychology teacher."

I stopped mid-stride, turning to face him. "The new what?"

"The psychology teacher, sir. Dr. Reeves. She started working with Master Ryan this week."

I took the stairs two at a time, drawn by the sound of my son's voice and this sudden revelation that someone new—someone I apparently knew nothing about—had accomplished what no one else could. At the music room doorway, I stopped and looked in.

Ryan sat at the grand piano, his small fingers moving across the keys with new confidence. His dark hair caught the late afternoon light, and his face—his face was animated in a way I'd rarely seen. He was completely absorbed in the music, singing along with obvious joy.

But the moment Mitchell and I stepped into the room, the music stopped abruptly. Ryan's hands fell to his lap, and his expression shifted dramatically—the light in his eyes dimming, his mouth settling into that familiar blank line.

I felt my heart sink. "Hey there, buddy. That sounded beautiful. Why'd you stop?"

Ryan looked at me for a long moment, then said in that matter-of-fact way children have: "I was happy when I was by myself. And I was happy when my new mommy was here. But when you come in and interrupt, I'm not happy anymore."

The words hit me like a physical blow—not because they were cruel, but because they were honest. For once, my son was telling me exactly what he felt instead of retreating into silence.

"Ryan," I said, my voice thick with emotion I couldn't hide. "That's... that's exactly how you should talk to me. Tell me what you think, what you feel."

Before I could stop myself, I crossed the room and pulled him into my arms, lifting him off the piano bench. "You're so smart, buddy. So brave for telling me the truth."

But Ryan squirmed in my embrace, pushing against my chest with his small hands. "You're squishing me," he protested.

I loosened my grip but didn't put him down immediately. "Sorry, I just—wait a minute." The full weight of his words finally hit me. "Did you say 'new mommy'?"

Ryan nodded seriously. "Miss Aveline. She's going to be my new mommy because she understands about music conversations and she smells like roses and she doesn't think I'm broken."

I looked over at Mitchell, who was beaming like he'd just witnessed a miracle.

"The new psychology teacher, sir," Mitchell explained, his voice warm with approval. "Dr. Aveline Reeves. Master Ryan and she connected quite remarkably today. He's been asking when she'll return to be his... well, as he puts it, his new mother."

My stomach dropped. I set Ryan down gently, then took a step closer to Mitchell, lowering my voice to a dangerous whisper.

"She's not like the others, is she? Not another gold-digger trying to get close to me through my son?"

Mitchell's hands flew up in a gesture of immediate denial. "Oh no, sir. No, absolutely not." His eyes grew bright with emotion, and his voice took on a reverent quality I'd never heard before. "Sir, you should have seen Master Ryan today. He smiled. Actually smiled—not just a polite expression, but genuine joy."

Mitchell paused, his eyes growing bright. "Dr. Reeves never asked about you, showed no interest in our family's wealth. She was here entirely for Master Ryan, treating him like he was the most important person in the world."

To my shock, Mitchell's eyes began to glisten with unshed tears. "Sir, we've tried so hard, you and I, to give Master Ryan everything he could need. But we've failed to give him the one thing every child deserves—simple happiness. The kind of warmth and unconditional love that only a mother can provide."

I could see where this was heading, and every instinct in my body recoiled from the direction of his words.

Mitchell wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, his voice growing more emotional. "You grew up without that, sir, and I've watched how it shaped you. I don't want Master Ryan's childhood to be as lonely as yours was. If she can give Ryan what he needs, we must keep her close. Perhaps she could even become the mother he so desperately—"

"Mitchell." My voice came out sharper than I intended, a flash of old pain and anger cutting through me.

The words hit too close to home, dredging up memories I kept buried. My own childhood—cold, isolated, raised by nannies and tutors while grieving a mother I'd never known. I'd sworn Ryan would have better.

But looking at my son, watching him hum quietly as he touched the piano keys with more joy than I'd seen in months, the anger drained out of me. Mitchell was right. We'd given Ryan everything money could buy, but we'd failed to give him what mattered most.

And this Dr. Reeves had done in one afternoon what we couldn't do in years.

"You're right about all of it," I said quietly, my voice rough. "Since she's accomplished what we couldn't, have Marcus prepare something special for the next time she visits. She deserves our appreciation."

Mitchell nodded eagerly. "Of course, sir. What would you suggest?"

I looked at Ryan again, watched him smile as he played a simple melody with one finger. For the first time in years, my son looked like what he was supposed to be—a happy child.

"Whatever it takes," I said quietly. "Just make sure she knows how much this family values what she's done."