The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 146

Vivian

We'd been lurking outside the upscale grocery store for over two hours now, hidden behind a cluster of delivery trucks like common criminals. My fake pregnancy padding was making me sweat, and the constant hunched posture was giving me a real backache to go with my pretend one.

"Dad, are you absolutely sure Grandma will leave that fortress of hers?" I whispered, shifting uncomfortably and shooting nervous glances toward the street. "We've been waiting forever."

Monica paced anxiously behind the truck, wringing her hands like she always did when she was stressed. "I have to agree with Vivian. The way Aveline watches over her like a hawk, treating us like we're thieves trying to break in... there's no way she's letting the old woman out of her sight! And those security guards..." She shuddered. "That head guard has arms like tree trunks and the build of a professional bodybuilder. He's definitely ex-military or police!"

Richard leaned against the truck's bumper with infuriating calm, taking slow, deliberate drags from his cigarette. He had that smug expression he always wore when he thought he was the smartest person in the room.

"You're both overthinking this," he said, exhaling smoke in a steady stream. "Eleanor Hartwell is a creature of habit. Sixty-plus years of the same routines don't just disappear because she's moved to a fancy new house."

He flicked ash onto the pavement with casual confidence. "She's never been able to sit still when she wants to do something special for someone. Mark my words—she'll want to personally select ingredients for some elaborate meal to show her gratitude to her precious *granddaughter*. And where else would someone like Eleanor shop but here?" He gestured toward the gleaming storefront. "This is the only place in a fifty-mile radius that carries imported truffles and aged balsamic vinegar. She wouldn't be caught dead buying groceries anywhere else."

The way he emphasized that word—*granddaughter*—made my chest tighten with familiar rage. *Granddaughter, granddaughter, always Aveline.* It was like I didn't even exist in that old woman's mind anymore. *Does she have selective dementia? I'm her blood relative too!*

"But what if—" Monica started.

"She'll come," Richard cut her off firmly. "Trust me. I know my mother better than anyone."

The casual certainty in his voice both reassured and irritated me. This whole plan hinged on his psychological read of an old woman who'd already proven she was sharper than most people gave her credit for.

Monica suddenly grabbed my arm, her fingernails digging into my skin. "Oh God, what if this doesn't work? What if she sees right through us?"

"It'll work," I said, though my own voice sounded shakier than I'd intended. "It has to work. This is about more than just money—it's about respect. About finally being seen as the real granddaughter instead of living in Aveline's perfect shadow for the rest of my life."

I touched my fake belly protectively, thinking about Dwayne waiting for me in Monte Carlo. He'd promised me a new life, a fresh start where nobody knew about my golden girl stepsister and her endless string of accomplishments.

"Besides," I added with more conviction, "I'm not planning to stick around this godforsaken place much longer anyway. Once we get what we need, I'm gone. Permanently."

Richard's expression softened. He stubbed out his cigarette and pulled me into a gentle embrace.

"Don't talk like that, sweetheart," he murmured against my hair. "You're our most precious daughter. You always have been, and you always will be, no matter what anyone else thinks."

For a moment, wrapped in my father's arms, I felt like that little girl who used to believe she was special, before Aveline came along and made me feel invisible in my own family.

Monica suddenly went rigid beside us. "There!" she hissed, pointing toward the street. "That's her car!"

A gleaming Bentley was pulling up to the curb with the smooth precision of expensive engineering. My heart started hammering as I watched the driver emerge and walk around to the passenger side with practiced efficiency.

When Grandma Eleanor stepped out of the car, I was struck by how much older she looked than the last time I'd seen her. She moved slowly, leaning heavily on her ornate walking stick, but there was still something regal about her posture. Her eyes were bright with the satisfaction of someone who'd finally escaped confinement.

A well-dressed woman—clearly some kind of personal attendant—hovered nearby, ready to offer assistance. The whole scene screamed money and comfort and everything I'd been denied while Aveline got to play princess.

"She looks... happy," Monica observed with a note of surprise.

"Of course she does," I muttered bitterly. "She's finally free to spoil her *real* granddaughter some more."

Richard checked his watch, then straightened his tie with the careful precision of a man preparing for performance. "Showtime. Remember—we're desperate family members who've exhausted every other option. Vivian, you're in genuine distress. Monica, you're a terrified mother. I'm the frustrated father who's swallowed his pride to ask for help."

"What if she doesn't believe us?" Monica whispered one last time.

"She will," Richard said with cold certainty. "Because despite everything, she still loves this family. That's always been her weakness."

I took a shaky breath, centering myself for the performance of my life. Everything I wanted—my escape, my freedom, my chance to finally matter—depended on the next few minutes.

"Okay," I whispered. "Let's do this."