The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 118

Aveline

The evening air felt crisp against my face as I walked home, my mind still processing the afternoon's unexpected turn of events. I'd gone to that café prepared for battle, armed with righteous fury and an arsenal of accusations. Instead, I'd encountered a man whose genuine remorse and quiet dignity had completely disarmed me.

Maybe it was something in his demeanor—the way he'd carried himself with such careful respect. Or perhaps it was those striking blue eyes that had seemed to radiate genuine sincerity when he spoke about his mother's dying wish.

Whatever it was, I found myself choosing to believe him.

The psychological explanation was fairly straightforward, I reasoned as I walked through the grand entrance hall toward our living quarters. His earlier emails, with their inappropriate romantic declarations, had probably been a classic case of displaced grief—transferring his emotional attachment from his deceased mother onto the nearest available target. It was textbook sublimation of loss into misguided romantic fixation.

Now that he'd had the chance to process his grief properly and face me in person, his perspective had clearly shifted to something more mature and appropriate.

I felt a weight lift from my shoulders as I unlocked our front door. For the first time in weeks, the divorce felt manageable rather than like an ongoing crisis. One month. I could certainly wait one month to give a grieving man the closure he needed.

I headed to the kitchen to make myself a well-deserved cup of coffee, but as I passed through the living room, I noticed Grandma Eleanor's bedroom was empty. That was odd—she was usually settling in with her evening tea and a book by this time.

Then I heard it: laughter. Warm, genuine laughter coming from the guest room where Vivian was staying.

I paused outside the door, listening to the cheerful conversation within. The voices were muffled, but I could make out Grandma Eleanor's distinctive chuckle mixed with Vivian's lighter tones.

Before I could decide whether to knock or retreat, the door suddenly swung open. Grandma Eleanor emerged carrying a crystal glass filled with what looked like a thick, creamy smoothie garnished with fresh berries.

"Oh! Sweetheart, you're home!" she said brightly, though I caught a flicker of something—guilt? defensiveness?—in her expression. "How did your meeting go today?"

My eyes drifted to the elaborate smoothie in her hands. It looked expensive and carefully prepared, like something from one of those high-end pregnancy nutrition programs.

"I made Vivian a prenatal protein shake," Grandma Eleanor explained, following my gaze. "She's so young, she doesn't really understand proper nutrition during pregnancy. I've been doing some research on what's best for the baby."

From inside the room, Vivian's voice called out cheerfully, "Is that Aveline? Come say hello!"

I stepped into the doorway and took in the scene. Vivian was propped up against a mountain of pillows, her golden hair spread across the white linens like something out of a pregnancy magazine photoshoot. She was wearing a soft pink nightgown that emphasized the barely visible curve of her belly, and her complexion had that famous "pregnancy glow" that made her look almost ethereal.

The picture of vulnerable expectant motherhood was so perfectly composed it made my teeth ache.

"Aveline!" she said with apparent delight. "Grandma Eleanor was just telling me the funniest story about you when you were little. And I was telling her about this crazy incident yesterday where I had to climb a fire escape to get away from this pack of stray dogs! They must have smelled food on me or something."

"Really?" I managed, forcing a smile. "That sounds... eventful."

The easy familiarity between them, the intimate way Grandma Eleanor was fussing over Vivian's needs, sent an unpleasant twist through my stomach. But I pushed down my irritation. Vivian was pregnant and homeless. Of course Grandma Eleanor's maternal instincts would kick in.

"I heard you went to see your husband today," Vivian continued, her expression growing concerned. "Please tell me you finally got that divorce! I hate the thought of you being tied to some man who doesn't appreciate you."

Her voice caught slightly on the last words, and I watched as her eyes began to shimmer with unshed tears.

"Actually," she continued, pressing a hand to her stomach, "I keep thinking that maybe... maybe if things had been different, if I hadn't been so selfish and vain, it should have been me who ended up in that marriage contract. I was completely irresponsible; I chose to run away. You were just a kid trying to take care of your grandmother."

The tears spilled over now, tracking down her cheeks with picture-perfect timing.

"Oh, honey, don't upset yourself," Grandma Eleanor said immediately, moving to Vivian's side with obvious concern. "Stress isn't good for the baby."