The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 133

Aveline

That night, I couldn't bring myself to sleep alone. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Richard's cold, calculating stare—the same look he'd worn six years ago when he'd systematically broken down an eighteen-year-old girl who'd dared to exist in his house.

Grandma Eleanor's room smelled like lavender and old books, comforting in a way that made my chest tight with emotion. I curled up beside her in the antique four-poster bed, feeling like a child seeking shelter from monsters.

"I'm so sorry, darling," Grandma Eleanor whispered, her frail hand stroking my hair. "If I hadn't gotten sick all those years ago, if I'd been stronger, I could have protected you from him."

I lifted my head to look at her, seeing the guilt etched in every line of her face. "Grandma, don't you dare blame yourself. Richard is unhinged. And Monica and Vivian..." I thought about the naked envy in their faces at dinner. "Their jealousy is eating them alive. This house isn't safe for either of us anymore."

Grandma Eleanor's eyes widened. "You want to leave permanently?"

"Tomorrow, after we see the house, we're not coming back. I'll have movers pack everything you love while we're gone." I tried to keep my voice steady, but fury was building in my chest like pressure behind a dam. "We can't stay here another night."

"But sweetheart, shouldn't we take some time to think about such a big purchase—"

I smiled, some of the tension leaving my shoulders. "Grandma, I'm going to call the moving company tonight. By the time we finish the paperwork tomorrow, your favorite china will already be on its way to your new home."

Grandma Eleanor's eyes misted over. "Oh, you've thought of everything, haven't you?" Then her voice turned serious, determined. "Well, don't worry about me, sweetheart. Wherever you go, I'm going with you. I can't stand living in this house any longer either!"

I nodded, feeling a surge of relief at her words. "Once we have the new house, I'm hiring you a full staff—personal assistants, security, the works. I won't let them bother you for even a second."

Grandma Eleanor chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know them too well! They'll probably camp outside the gates like vultures."

I hugged her tighter, breathing in her familiar lavender scent. "And Grandma, tomorrow I have another surprise for you—besides the new house."

Grandma Eleanor's hand flew to her chest in mock alarm, but she was grinning. "Oh dear, you'd better not give this old lady too many shocks! You know my heart isn't what it used to be!"

The next morning, we rose before dawn like generals preparing for battle. I'd laid out Grandma Eleanor's outfit the night before—a navy Chanel suit that had been tailored to perfection decades ago, pearl earrings that had belonged to her mother, and Italian leather pumps that cost more than most people's monthly rent. Her silver hair was swept into an elegant chignon, and with the right lipstick, she looked like she could buy half of Manhattan without blinking.

I'd chosen a cream-colored Alexander McQueen blazer over a silk blouse, paired with tailored trousers and heels that added just enough height to make me feel invincible. My grandmother's sapphire necklace—the one that matched my ring—completed the look.

"Good lord," Grandma Eleanor said, catching sight of herself in the full-length mirror. "I look like I should be running a Fortune 500 company."

"You look like the wealthy matriarch you are," I corrected, adjusting her jacket collar. "Trust me, dressed like this, you're going to have every eligible widower in that community fighting for your attention."

Grandma Eleanor actually giggled—a sound I hadn't heard in years. "Well, I suppose there are worse problems to have."

---

Riverside Gardens was everything the brochures had promised and more. As our car wound through tree-lined streets where every lawn looked like it belonged in a magazine, I felt something loosen in my chest that had been knotted tight for months. The houses were spaced far apart, surrounded by mature oaks and carefully tended gardens. It was the complete opposite of the Hartwell family house—no shouting, no tension, just peaceful prosperity.

"My goodness," Grandma Eleanor breathed, pressing her face to the window. "It's like something from a fairy tale."

The real estate agent, Marcus Webb, was exactly what I'd expected—immaculately dressed, perfectly groomed, and radiating the kind of professional competence that came with selling eight-figure properties. He led us directly to the crown jewel of the community: a modern riverside estate with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the Hudson like living artwork.

"This property features five bedrooms, six bathrooms, a chef's kitchen with imported Italian marble—" Marcus began his practiced spiel.

But I wasn't listening. I was watching Grandma Eleanor.

She'd walked straight to the private garden, where white roses climbed a pergola overlooking the water. Her fingers trembled as she touched one perfect bloom, and when she turned back to me, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"Your grandfather always said..." her voice broke. "He promised me that someday, when his business deals were finished, when we had enough money, he'd build me a garden just like this. White roses by the water, where we could watch the sunrise together."

My throat closed up completely. This wasn't just a house anymore—it was a promise fulfilled forty years too late.

Marcus was still talking about property values and architectural details when I held up my hand.

"We'll take it."

He blinked. "I'm sorry, Miss Reeves, but perhaps you'd like to see the rest of the—"

"I said we'll take it." I reached into my purse and pulled out the card I'd been saving for exactly this moment—a Centurion Black Card that weighed more than most people's credit cards and had no preset spending limit. "Full asking price, cash payment. I want the keys and all ownership documents in my grandmother's name by two o'clock this afternoon."

Marcus's professional composure cracked slightly. "Miss Reeves, this property is listed at—"

"Four point eight million. I know." I placed the card on the marble kitchen counter where it gleamed like a small black weapon. "My legal team will handle the paperwork. Do we have a deal?"

The silence stretched for exactly three heartbeats. Then Marcus Webb smiled like a man who'd just won the lottery.

"We have a deal."