The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 121

Aveline

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across our front garden as I walked up the familiar stone pathway to our house. It had been a long day at school—parent conferences, lesson planning, and a particularly challenging discussion with Ryan about his recent distracted behavior in class.

All I wanted was a quiet evening with Grandma Eleanor and maybe a hot bath.

But as I approached our front door, I could hear voices drifting through the open windows—warm, comfortable conversation punctuated by gentle laughter. I paused on the doorstep, key in hand, listening to what sounded like the perfect picture of domestic harmony.

Something about it felt... off.

I pushed open the door to find a scene that belonged in a magazine about family togetherness. Vivian was curled up on our antique sofa, a soft cream throw draped over her legs, one hand resting on her barely visible bump while the other held the morning newspaper. She was reading aloud to Grandma Eleanor, who sat beside her with obvious enjoyment.

Monica bustled around them both like a devoted mother hen, arranging fresh flowers in a vase and periodically checking on a plate of carefully arranged fruit.

"And in local news," Vivian was saying in a gentle, measured voice, "the city council has approved funding for the new children's playground in Riverside Park..."

The whole tableau was undeniably sweet, but something about it made my skin prickle with unease. Maybe it was how perfectly orchestrated it all seemed, or maybe I was just being paranoid. I couldn't tell if I was witnessing genuine change in Vivian or an elaborate performance.

"Aveline!" Vivian looked up the moment I entered, her face brightening with what appeared to be genuine pleasure. "You're home! How was your day? You look tired—was everything alright at school?"

Her concern seemed real enough, but there was something about the way she immediately set aside the newspaper, as if my arrival was the most important thing in her world, that felt slightly too practiced.

"Long day," I said carefully, setting down my bag and accepting Grandma Eleanor's welcoming hug. "Lots of conferences with parents."

"Well, you're home now," Monica said with maternal warmth. "Vivian's been such wonderful company for Mother today. She even helped me with the garden this morning—very carefully, of course, considering her condition."

Before I could respond, the sound of heavy engines rumbling up our usually quiet street made everyone pause. Through our front windows, I could see neighbors emerging from their houses to stare at something approaching.

"What on earth...?" Grandma Eleanor murmured, moving to peek through the curtains.

"Oh my God," she breathed, her hand flying to her chest. "Aveline, there are enormous trucks outside our house."

I joined her at the window and felt my jaw drop. Three massive transport vehicles were pulling up to our front garden, along with what looked like a small army of uniformed delivery personnel. A man in an expensive suit was consulting a clipboard and gesturing toward our front door.

The doorbell rang—a long, formal chime that seemed to echo through the house.

"I'll get it," I said, my voice slightly higher than usual.

The man on our doorstep looked like he managed deliveries for royalty rather than ordinary families. His suit was impeccable, his smile professional but warm.

"Good afternoon. I'm Bruce Anderson from Manhattan Elite Deliveries. I'm looking for Ms. Aveline Reeves."

"That's me," I managed.

"Excellent. We have a delivery for you. Quite a substantial one, I'm afraid. May we use your driveway and front garden for the unloading process?"

Twenty minutes later, our entire family stood on our front lawn, watching in stunned silence as three luxury vehicles were unloaded with military precision. A pearl white Bentley Continental GT that gleamed like fresh snow, a midnight blue Porsche 911 that looked like it belonged on a racetrack, and a sophisticated gray Range Rover that screamed both luxury and safety.

Our neighbors had gathered at respectful distances, phones out, clearly documenting what was probably the most exciting thing to happen on our street in decades.

Bruce approached me with a leather portfolio, his expression one of professional satisfaction.

"Ms. Reeves, these vehicles are being transferred to your ownership, effective immediately. I have all the necessary paperwork here."

I stared at the documents he was holding, my mind completely blank. "I'm sorry, there must be some mistake. I didn't order any cars."

"No mistake, ma'am. These are a gift. Anonymous, but I was instructed to tell you they come with... deepest regrets for past wrongs."

Just as I was trying to process this situation, my phone buzzed in my pocket. An email notification. When I saw the sender's name, my stomach clenched with a mixture of irritation and something uncomfortably close to panic.

*Mr. Sterling.* My husband.

I opened the message reluctantly, very aware of my family watching my every expression.

*Aveline,*

*I know these gifts may seem excessive, but please don't refuse them. My mother always believed that when someone has been wronged, amends should be made proportionally to the harm caused. Six years of stolen freedom demands significant recompense.*

*One month from now, you'll never have to think about me again. Until then, please allow me this gesture toward honoring her memory.*

*These come with no strings attached. They are yours, completely and unconditionally.*

*Respectfully,*

*S.*

I stared at the screen, feeling my face flush with embarrassment and anger. The presumption of it—assuming I needed or wanted his guilt money, his expensive gestures of atonement. As if luxury cars could somehow balance the scales of what his family had done to me.

"Who sent them, sweetheart?" Grandma Eleanor asked gently, clearly reading the conflict in my expression.

I looked up from my phone to find my family watching me with varying expressions of curiosity and excitement. And that's when I saw it—the flash of something raw and hungry in Vivian's eyes as she stared at those three sets of keys in Bruce's hands.

It was gone so quickly I might have imagined it, replaced immediately by her usual mask of sweet concern. But I knew what I'd seen.

"They're from my husband," I said slowly, watching everyone's reactions carefully. "An apology for... everything that happened."

The response was immediate and telling.

Monica's eyes lit up like someone had just announced she'd won the lottery. "Your husband? Oh my goodness, Aveline! Is he really that wealthy?"

Grandma Eleanor looked worried. "Sweetheart, this is quite a grand gesture. Just be careful—sometimes men give gifts like this because they want something in return."

But it was Vivian's reaction that caught my attention. She stared at those cars, and I could practically see her calculating their value.

"Jesus Christ," she breathed, "three luxury cars? That's probably close to half a million dollars right there."

Then the mask snapped back into place, and she was all sisterly excitement again.

"Oh, Aveline!" she said, linking her arm through mine with apparent delight. "This is wonderful! He must really care about making things right with you. I'm so happy for you!"

But her arm was trembling slightly against mine, and her grip was just a little too tight.