The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 159

Orion

I stood before the full-length mirror in my dressing room, methodically fastening the buttons of my charcoal Tom Ford suit. The fabric was impeccable, the cut flawless—armor for the battlefield I was about to enter.

"I hear you're attending an art exhibition today, sir," Mitchell said from behind me, his tone carefully neutral as he adjusted the collar of my white dress shirt.

"Less of an exhibition, more of an alliance meeting," I replied, working on my cufflinks. "A chance for everyone to declare where their loyalties lie."

Mitchell's reflection in the mirror showed a flicker of concern. "I understand Miss Sera will be expecting you there. She's been quite... persistent in her efforts to secure your attention. Have you decided how you plan to handle the situation?"

I paused in my movements, meeting his eyes in the glass. "You're right to be concerned, Mitchell. This is their final play—either I accept Sera and everything that comes with that arrangement, or I prepare for total war when they throw their support behind my uncle Devan."

Mitchell didn't flinch at the mention of corporate warfare. Instead, his expression grew thoughtful. "Sir, I believe you already know what your answer will be."

I couldn't help but smile at that. "Mitchell, you understand me far better than my own grandfather does sometimes."

"I've had more practice observing what makes you truly happy, sir."

With that simple statement, he'd summarized everything. I straightened my tie one final time and headed for the door.

As I settled into the back of my car, I caught Mitchell's subtle nod of approval through the window. That small gesture meant more to me than any boardroom victory ever could.

---

The charity auction was being held at the Metropolitan Museum's private event space, and the moment I stepped out of my car, I was surrounded by a sea of flashing cameras and shouting reporters.

"Mr. Blackwell! Is it true you're considering a merger with Ashford Industries?"

"Any comment on your relationship with Sera Ashford?"

Before I could even think about responding, Sera materialized at my side like she'd been waiting in the wings. She immediately linked her arm through mine with practiced ease.

"You finally made it!" she said, loud enough for the cameras to catch.

I started to pull away, but she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Are you really going to embarrass me in front of all these photographers? Think about how that would look."

I glanced down at her, taking in her outfit for the first time. She was wearing a form-fitting black cocktail dress with a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination, paired with sheer black stockings and heels that added at least four inches to her height. The overall effect was undeniably sophisticated, but also seemed designed to make a very specific statement.

"Don't you think you're dressed a bit... mature for your age?" I murmured as she guided me through the crowd.

She laughed, the sound bright and calculating. "What, I'm supposed to show up looking like some naive little girl? I thought you might appreciate seeing a more... sophisticated side of me."

"I'm not making any commentary on your appearance," I said stiffly. "You're a beautiful woman, Sera. That's never been the issue."

Her eyes flashed with something dangerous. "Then what is the issue? Because for a moment there, I thought you were actually looking—"

"The issue," I interrupted, keeping my voice low but firm, "is that beauty without the right connection is just... aesthetics. You deserve someone who can appreciate everything you have to offer."

"And that someone isn't you?" she pressed, her grip tightening on my arm.

"That someone isn't me," I confirmed quietly.

Her face went through several emotions—hurt, anger, determination—before settling on a practiced smile just as we approached our destination.

Charles Ashford rose from his seat at one of the prime tables near the front of the auction floor, his considerable presence commanding immediate attention. The expensive Cuban cigar between his fingers wasn't just an accessory—it was a statement of power, a reminder that he was old-money aristocracy who didn't need to follow anyone else's rules.

"Orion!" he boomed, extending a meaty hand for a firm shake. "So glad you could make it tonight. You know, men like your uncle Devan—always scheming, always working angles—they make me nervous. I prefer dealing with straightforward people."

The other shareholders at his table immediately stood as well, their smiles just a touch too eager.

"Absolutely," one of them chimed in. "We're here tonight because we have confidence that you'll make the smart choice. We believe the company will thrive under a partnership between you and Charles."

I looked around the table at these men who'd spent decades building their fortunes on the backs of others, and felt my expression go cold.

"Charles," I said quietly, "I have tremendous respect for you as a businessman, and I value your daughter's... many qualities. I think a business alliance between our companies could be mutually beneficial." I paused, letting the weight of my next words settle. "But in terms of personal arrangements, I'm afraid I can't offer the kind of partnership your family seems to be hoping for."

Charles's face went from jovial to thunderous in the space of a heartbeat. "Watch your tone, boy! You think I'm dying to marry my daughter off to you? If she wasn't foolish enough to have feelings for you—"

"Dad!" Sera interrupted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she shot a mortified look around the table. "Please don't—"

But her protest was cut short by another wave of photographers entering the auction space, cameras flashing as they captured the city's elite taking their seats.

Charles and the other shareholders immediately shifted back into their public personas, all smiles and handshakes. Sera grabbed my arm again, her voice urgent in my ear.

"Whatever you want to say to me, save it for later," she hissed. "You will not embarrass my father in front of the press. Understood?"

Looking at Charles's barely contained fury and the sea of cameras pointed in our direction, I realized I had no choice but to play along—for now.

Sera led me to our assigned seats in the third row, positioning us just close enough to the front to be seen but far enough back to have some privacy. I deliberately chose the chair against the wall, hoping for some breathing room, but Sera had other plans.

The moment we sat down, she began her performance. Her dress had ridden up slightly, and she made no effort to adjust it. Instead, she kept shifting in her seat, occasionally letting her knee brush against mine.

"Sorry," she murmured after the third such contact. "It's so crowded in here."

When that didn't get the reaction she wanted, she became more creative—leaning forward to reach for her program in a way that emphasized her décolletage, adjusting her hair in movements designed to draw attention to her neck and shoulders.

I found myself looking anywhere but at her, scanning the crowd for something—anything—to focus on instead.

That's when I saw her.

Aveline was sitting several rows behind us with a stunning brunette I didn't recognize. She was looking directly at me with an expression of pure disgust, her eyes moving from Sera's obvious display to my apparent participation in it.

Our eyes met for one electric moment, and I saw her expression shift from anger to something that looked almost like hurt before she deliberately turned away with an eye roll that could have powered the building.

*Fuck.*