The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 132

Aveline

By the time I returned home that evening, arms loaded with shopping bags from Madison Avenue's finest boutiques, I was in an unexpectedly good mood. The weekend was shaping up to be interesting, if nothing else.

The dinner table looked like a study in contrasts. On one side, Eleanor had laid out delicate china plates with perfectly arranged beef wellington, roasted vegetables that actually had color, and wine that didn't come from a box. On the other side sat the usual suspects—overcooked meatloaf, instant mashed potatoes, and whatever discount vegetables had been on sale.

The invisible line down the middle of our dining room had never been more obvious.

Richard and Monica's faces were thunderclouds personified as they picked at their sad excuse for a meal, shooting poisonous glances between Eleanor's spread and the shopping bags I'd dumped by the door. Vivian, their precious biological daughter, sat between them looking like she'd swallowed something sour.

"Eleanor," I said, setting down the last of the designer boutique bags, "I got you some new outfits for tomorrow."

My grandmother looked up from her perfect dinner with curious eyes. "Darling, these look expensive. Why on earth would I need so many fancy clothes?"

I smiled, settling into my chair and savoring the way David's fork froze halfway to his mouth. "Tomorrow we're going to Riverside Gardens. You know how those high-end communities can be—they judge everything from your shoes to your handbag. I want you dressed like the wealthiest woman in the room so nobody dares say a word out of line."

The word 'wealthy' hit the table like a bomb.

Richard's fork clattered against his plate. "Wait, what? Riverside Gardens?" His voice cracked slightly. "Mom, what are you doing there? Please tell me you're not... you're not looking for work because you heard about the company's financial troubles. I mean, at your age, nobody's going to hire—"

"You worthless piece of shit," Eleanor snapped, her voice cutting through his rambling like a blade. "Still expecting your mother to bail you out, are you? My granddaughter is successful enough to buy me a house, not that it's any of your damn business."

Vivian's plastic surgery couldn't hide the way her eyes went wide. She actually stopped chewing. "Buy a house? In Riverside Gardens? Aveline, they require financial verification just to tour those properties."

The naked greed that flashed across Monica's botoxed features was almost comical. She leaned forward like a vulture scenting carrion.

"Sweetheart," Monica said in that sickeningly sweet voice she used when she wanted something, "if you're doing so well financially, maybe we could discuss—"

"A loan," Richard interrupted, his voice suddenly eager, all pretense of paternal authority evaporating. "Just a hundred thousand. Maybe two. We could turn the whole company around with that kind of capital injection."

Eleanor's fork went still. I felt her entire body tense beside me.

"Actually," Richard continued, warming to his theme, "make it a round million. That would really set us up for success. Think of it as an investment in the family—"

"No."

The word dropped into the silence like a stone into still water.

"Excuse me?" Richard's face was already turning that dangerous shade of red I remembered from childhood.

I reached over and took Eleanor's hand, feeling her arthritic fingers squeeze mine with surprising strength. When I spoke, my voice was steady as granite.

"When I was a baby, Eleanor and my grandfather built a company that brought in ten million a year. By the time I was old enough to understand money, you'd run it into the ground through sheer incompetence and greed. You think I'm going to throw good money into a black hole that's been swallowing cash for two decades?"

Eleanor gave my hand another squeeze—approval, solidarity, pride.

Richard's chair scraped against the floor as he stood, and I felt that familiar knot of dread form in my stomach. The way his jaw twitched, the vein bulging in his forehead—I'd seen this before.

"You ungrateful little bitch." His voice started low, controlled, but I could hear the rage building underneath like steam in a pressure cooker. "I raised you for eighteen years. Fed you, clothed you, put a roof over your head. And this is how you repay me?"

The knot in my stomach turned to ice. That tone—I remembered that tone.

*After the DNA test came back. After he learned I wasn't his blood.*

"I've been patient with you since you came back," Richard continued, taking a step closer to my chair. "Real patient. But you seem to have forgotten who holds the cards in this house."

Monica and Vivian had gone completely silent, watching like spectators at a gladiator match.

"Do you remember what I told you the night you turned eighteen, Aveline?" His voice dropped to that whisper that made my skin crawl. "When we found out the truth about what you really are?"

*Oh God. Not here. Not in front of Eleanor.*

The memories came flooding back whether I wanted them or not. Richard cornering me in the hallway after Eleanor had gone to bed. His hands on my shoulders, squeezing until I had bruises.

*"You're nothing but a little bastard who's been stealing food from my real daughter's mouth for eighteen years. You want to keep living in my house? You'll earn your keep. And if you ever think about telling anyone what a disappointment you are to this family..."*

The bruises on my arms that I'd hidden with long sleeves for weeks. The way he'd made me scrub floors until my hands bled, telling everyone I was "learning responsibility." The nights he'd lock me in the basement for "talking back" when I'd barely spoken at all.

"That scared little girl is still in there, isn't she?" Richard's smile was sharp as broken glass. "Still remembering how quickly things can change when you don't show proper respect?"

My hands were shaking now. I couldn't stop them.

"Maybe you need a reminder of what happens when you cross me. What really happens to ungrateful children who bite the hand that feeds them."

The threat hung in the air like poison gas. Eleanor was on her feet before I could blink, her hand connecting with Richard's cheek in a crack that echoed through the dining room.

"Get away from her! How dare you threaten my granddaughter in my own house!"

Richard's head snapped to the side, but when he turned back, that cold, calculating look had only deepened. The man who'd systematically broken down an eighteen-year-old girl was still there, just beneath the surface.

"Careful, Mom," he said quietly, rubbing his cheek. His eyes shifted to me with cold calculation. "You know what desperate people are capable of when they're pushed too far."

The threat was unmistakable, hanging in the air between us like a blade. I felt my hands tremble slightly under the table, but I forced myself to meet his stare without flinching.

*I'm not that broken eighteen-year-old anymore,* I told myself fiercely, even as old fears clawed at my chest. *You don't get to terrorize me. Not anymore.*

My voice came out steady, stronger than I felt. "Try me."