The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 112

Aveline

I skipped breakfast entirely, too desperate to escape before any awkward encounters. I called a taxi and hurried out of the building like my life depended on it.

The cool morning air that hit me when I stepped outside helped clear my head, though it took the entire taxi ride home before my heart rate returned to normal. Next time I needed to discuss anything with Orion Blackwell, I was definitely doing it somewhere public—preferably with a table between us. Something about being alone in a room with him made it impossible to think straight, let alone say what I actually meant to say.

"Ridiculous man," I muttered under my breath, trying to shake off the memory of his hands on the wall beside my head, the way his voice had dropped to that sinfully low whisper. "Always talking nonsense."

But this time felt different. Before, he'd asked me if I wanted to be Ryan's mother—like he was giving me a choice. This time, he'd stated it like a fact, with such absolute certainty. Like he suddenly had some kind of power to decide my future, like the decision was no longer mine to make.

I shook my head firmly. "Not your problem right now, Aveline. You've got bigger fish to fry."

And I did. The moment I got home, I went straight to my laptop and opened my email, determined to handle this marriage situation once and for all. I started typing, keeping my tone reasonable and business-like:

*Subject: Regarding our divorce arrangements*

*I understand your reluctance to sign the papers, but I think we can work something out that benefits both of us. I'm prepared to offer substantial financial compensation for your cooperation. Name your price—I'm sure we can reach a mutually beneficial agreement.*

*This arrangement has served its purpose for both our families. Now it's time to move on.*

The response came back within minutes, and the tone immediately set my teeth on edge:

*My dear wife,*

*I appreciate your generous offer, but this isn't about money. Over these six years, I've come to realize that perhaps fate brought us together for a reason. I've grown quite fond of you, even without meeting face to face.*

*I think it's time we got to know each other properly, don't you?*

*Fondly yours,*

*Your husband*

I stared at the screen, feeling my blood pressure rising. "Fond of me?" I muttered. "Is he serious right now?"

I typed back, my fingers hitting the keys harder than necessary:

*Are you playing games with me? You've grown 'fond' of someone you've never even seen? This is ridiculous. What exactly do you want from me?*

His response was even more infuriating:

*Darling, you wound me. Can't a man fall in love with his wife? I've felt connected to you from the moment we were joined in marriage. I know it might seem unconventional, but I truly believe we're meant to be together.*

That did it. The patronizing tone, the casual way he threw around words like "love" and "meant to be"—he was clearly mocking me. I started typing furiously:

*Are you out of your goddamn mind? You think this is some kind of joke? Let me remind you how this 'marriage' came about—your family's lawyer abused his position of power to coerce a desperate teenager into signing papers she barely understood.*

*I was eighteen years old and my family needed money for my grandmother's medical bills. Your people took advantage of that desperation. And now you have the nerve to sit there and play romantic fantasy games with me?*

*I hate everything about this situation, and I especially hate manipulative men like you who think they can toy with people's lives for their own amusement.*

This time his response took longer, and when it came, the tone had shifted:

*I see I've upset you, and that was never my intention. Perhaps I can offer some form of compensation for the inconvenience this has caused you. I truly didn't realize how difficult this situation has been. I want to spend the rest of my life making amends for the pain this has caused you.*

*Please allow me to make amends.*

But I was beyond reasoning now. The fact that he thought he could just throw money at me after playing these mind games made me see red:

*Compensation? COMPENSATION? You think you can jerk me around with your little love declarations and then buy your way out when I don't play along?*

*Here's what's going to happen: You have exactly 48 hours to show up at the Brew St on 5th Avenue at 2 PM this Tuesday. We're going to sit down and have a proper conversation about this, or we're going to the courthouse together to file for divorce properly. No games, no more bullshit romantic fantasies.*

*If you don't show, I will hunt you down like the coward you are. I'll use every resource I have to find you, and when I do, I'm going to make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of pathetic man hides behind lawyers and plays games with people's lives. I'll expose you for the manipulative bastard you really are.*

*Don't test me. I'm done playing games.*

I hit send and slammed the laptop shut, my hands shaking with rage.

"Asshole," I muttered, then kicked my desk chair so hard it rolled across the room.

The noise brought Grandma Eleanor hurrying to my doorway, her face creased with concern.

"Sweetheart, what's gotten into you? Sounds like you're about to tear the house down."

I turned to her with wild eyes. "My bastard husband is playing games with me, Grandma! First he refuses the divorce, then he starts spouting nonsense about falling in love with me—someone he's never even met! He's obviously mocking me, treating this whole thing like some kind of sick joke!"

Grandma Eleanor shook her head with a mixture of concern and understanding.

"Well, you certainly know how to handle difficult men," she said dryly. "Did you give him what for?"

"I gave him an ultimatum," I said. "Show up Friday and sign the papers, or I expose his family's dirty legal tricks to the press."

Before I could say more, urgent, frantic knocking erupted from our front door. The sound was so aggressive it made both Grandma Eleanor and I freeze.

"Aveline! Mom! Please, we need to talk to you!"

My stepfather's voice, high with panic.

"It's an emergency! Please!"

My stepmother's voice, equally desperate.

And underneath it all, the unmistakable sound of sobbing. Loud, dramatic, attention-seeking sobs that I would recognize anywhere.

"Oh, hell no," I breathed, feeling my blood pressure spike instantly. "That's Vivian crying out there."

The audacity was breathtaking. After what she'd tried to do to me—setting me up to be assaulted by that pig Dwayne—she had the nerve to play the victim?

Grandma Eleanor's expression immediately hardened as she recognized the voices. She squeezed my hand, her voice dropping to a steely whisper. "One thing at a time, sweetheart. Let's see what story they're trying to sell us now. But if they can't give us a damn good explanation for being here..." Her eyes flashed dangerously. "I'm calling the police."

I nodded, feeling a surge of protective fury. Whatever game Vivian was playing now, I was ready for her.

"Let's go see what kind of performance she's putting on this time," I said grimly, and together we walked toward what I was sure would be another round of family drama.

Some days I really hated my life.