The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 114

Orion

I couldn't stop pacing. Back and forth across my study, the Persian rug beneath my feet worn thin from years of family stress, but never quite like this. My phone lay on the mahogany desk like a loaded weapon, Aveline's latest email still glowing on the screen.

It wasn't the threats that had me unraveled. Hell, I'd faced down hostile corporate takeovers and international business rivals who could make someone disappear without a trace. Aveline's ultimatum was child's play compared to that.

No, what had my chest tight with anxiety was the pure hatred bleeding through every word she'd written. The raw fury of a woman who'd been manipulated, cornered, and exploited by the very man she was supposed to trust as her husband.

The man she thought was someone else entirely.

"God, what have I done?" I muttered, running my hands through my hair for the hundredth time. "Six years of lying, and now she despises him—despises me—so completely that there's no way back."

A gentle knock interrupted my spiral of self-recrimination. Mitchell entered with his usual understated elegance, carrying a silver tea service that caught the afternoon light.

"You seem rather... agitated today, sir," he said diplomatically, setting down a delicate porcelain cup. "Perhaps some chamomile tea might help settle your nerves?"

I paused in my pacing to really look at Mitchell—not as my employee, but as the man who'd been a constant in my life since childhood. The man who'd probably seen me at my absolute worst and somehow still chose to stick around.

"Mitchell," I said suddenly, gesturing to the chair across from my desk. "Sit down. Please."

His eyebrows rose slightly, but he remained standing. "Sir, I don't think—"

"No, I insist." I moved to pour tea into a second cup, my hands steadier than they'd been all morning. "You've been with this family for what, twenty-five years? You practically raised me after my mom died. I think we're past the point where we can't have an honest conversation."

Mitchell's expression softened as he accepted the chair I'd offered. "That's very kind of you to say, Master Orion."

"Just Orion," I corrected, settling into my own chair with my teacup. "And I mean it. You're the one person in this house I can actually talk to without worrying about judgment or ulterior motives."

"Of course," Mitchell said warmly, and I could see the genuine affection in his eyes.

I took a sip of tea, letting the warm liquid calm my frayed nerves. "Mitchell, what do you remember about my... marriage arrangement? The one grandfather forced through six years ago?"

Mitchell's face grew serious. "I remember being quite vocal in my opposition to the entire affair," he said frankly. "If you'll forgive my bluntness, I told your grandfather he was making a terrible mistake. Forcing a eighteen-year-old girl into a legal contract she couldn't possibly understand... well, 'ruined her life' might be putting it mildly."

"You don't mince words, do you?" I said with a rueful smile.

"You asked for honesty." Mitchell set down his teacup with careful precision. "That young woman was exploited by our family's power, and it's weighed on my conscience ever since. Why do you ask? You've seemed unusually troubled since this morning."

I leaned forward, my heart hammering as I prepared to voice the truth that had been eating me alive. "Mitchell, what if I told you that my wife—the woman grandfather arranged for me to marry—is someone you've met? Someone you see regularly?"

The porcelain teacup slipped from Mitchell's fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor in a explosion of delicate fragments. He stared at me in stunned silence for a full minute before seeming to realize what had happened.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry—" he began, reaching for the broken pieces.

"Don't worry about that," I said quickly, waving away his concern. "I had exactly the same reaction when I figured it out."

Mitchell straightened slowly, his eyes wide with dawning comprehension. "You can't possibly mean..."

"Ms. Aveline Reeves," I confirmed. "Ryan's teacher. The woman who's been coming to family dinners, who's been part of our lives for months... she's my wife."

"Good Lord," Mitchell breathed. "Are you absolutely certain?"

"I've had it verified through every channel I could think of," I said grimly. "Birth certificate, legal records, even the original marriage documents. It's her, Mitchell. The woman I've been falling for is the same woman my family destroyed six years ago."

For a moment, Mitchell just sat there processing the magnitude of what I'd told him. Then, incredibly, he began to laugh—not mockingly, but with genuine wonder.

"Well, I'll be damned," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Fate certainly has a sense of humor, doesn't it? Despite everything, despite the circumstances, you two found each other anyway. And from what I've observed, the connection between you is quite genuine."

"That's not the point!" I said, jumping up to pace again. "The point is she's going to meet me—well, she thinks she's meeting her husband—the day after tomorrow. And Mitchell, you should see the email she sent."

I grabbed my phone and pulled up Aveline's latest message, holding it out for him to read. "*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.*"

Mitchell read it twice, then looked up at me with something that might have been admiration. "Well, that certainly sounds like Ms. Reeves. Direct and to the point."

"She hates me," I said flatly. "Or rather, she hates the man she thinks is her husband. How the hell am I supposed to tell her the truth when she's this furious? When she has every right to be this furious?"

"If you don't show up," Mitchell said thoughtfully, "I suspect she'll assume you're exactly the kind of cowardly manipulator she thinks you are. And given her considerable resources..." He gestured vaguely at the phone. "I have no doubt she could track you down if she put her mind to it."

"Her background runs deeper than I realized—she's connected to Laurent and God knows who else. If she wants to destroy her 'husband,' I'll definitely pay for it," I agreed. "But what I'm really afraid of is that she'll leave, Mitchell. She'll leave Ryan, cut all ties with our family, and I'll never see her again."

Mitchell was quiet for a long moment, his fingers steepled as he considered the problem. Then he leaned forward with a conspiratorial glint in his eye.

"Perhaps," he said quietly, "we need to buy you some time. A... tactical delay, you might say."

I looked at him suspiciously. "What are you thinking?"

Mitchell moved closer and lowered his voice. "What if someone else showed up to that meeting? Someone who could pose as your husband just long enough to calm the situation down? Give you time to figure out how to tell Ms. Reeves the truth properly?"

I stared at him in shock. "You're suggesting I send an imposter?"

"I'm suggesting," Mitchell said carefully, "that sometimes the direct approach isn't the wisest one. Especially when dealing with a woman who's been hurt as badly as Ms. Reeves has been."

The idea was so audacious, so completely insane, that it just might work. But it was also another layer of deception, another lie to add to the pile that was already threatening to bury me.

"A body double," I murmured, my mind already racing through the possibilities. "It's crazy enough that it might actually work."

"As it happens," Mitchell said, his tone becoming more practical, "I have a friend who works with actors. Professional ones who specialize in... discrete engagements. I could have someone here tomorrow for you to evaluate."

"Fine," I said, my voice decisive. "Arrange it."