The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 190

Orion

**2:17 AM - Blackwell Industries CEO Office**

The numbers on my computer screen blurred together as I rubbed my bloodshot eyes. Finally. After eight grueling hours of watching our stock price fluctuate like a patient on life support, the market had stabilized. The buyback strategy had worked—barely.

I leaned back in my leather chair, allowing myself one moment of relief as I watched the green numbers hold steady on the trading platform. But the victory felt hollow when I looked at the company's account balance.

$9.47 billion. Gone. Just like that.

All of it poured into buying back our own shares to prevent a complete market collapse. We'd spent nearly everything we had—money that had taken months to accumulate through strategic partnerships and cost-cutting measures—in a single night of corporate warfare.

I pulled up the calculation I'd been avoiding all evening. The Artery of the Future project required a one billion dollar deposit by 6 PM today. We had maybe fifty million left in liquid assets across all accounts. The gap wasn't just significant—it was insurmountable.

My phone buzzed with a text from Marcus: *Stock price holding at $127. Media attention dying down. Market confidence appears restored.*

At least something had gone right tonight. But tomorrow's deadline loomed like a guillotine blade.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts, looking for anyone—*anyone*—who might have the kind of money I needed. The irony wasn't lost on me. Hours ago, I'd been the untouchable CEO of a billion-dollar corporation. Now I was about to start begging.

First call: William Henderson, CEO of Henderson Holdings.

"Orion?" His voice was groggy with sleep. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Will, I need a favor. A big one."

The pause that followed told me everything. "Jesus, Orion. I heard about the stock situation. Are you... are you calling to ask for money?"

"I need to borrow eight hundred million," I said, abandoning any pretense of dignity. "Short term. Excellent returns guaranteed."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"Look, I'd love to help," Will said, and I could hear him choosing his words carefully. "But we've got our own cash flow issues right now. The shipping industry isn't exactly thriving, and most of our assets are tied up in long-term investments."

*Liar.* I'd seen Henderson Holdings' quarterly reports. They had the liquidity. They just didn't want to risk it on someone who might be going down.

"Will—"

"I'm sorry, Orion. I really am. But I can't justify that kind of exposure to my board, especially given... well, the current circumstances."

The line went dead.

Second call: Margaret Chen, head of Chen Financial Group.

"Orion Blackwell," she answered on the first ring, which told me she'd been expecting this. "I assume this isn't a social call at two in the morning."

"Margaret, I'll cut straight to the point. I need eight hundred million by tomorrow evening. Name your terms."

Her laugh was cold and calculating. "My terms? How about this—when you lose that government contract and your stock price crashes again, I'll buy Blackwell Industries for pennies on the dollar. How's that for terms?"

"You know that's not—"

"What I know," she interrupted, "is that smart money doesn't bet on bleeding horses. Good luck, Orion. You're going to need it."

Another dead line.

Third call, fourth call, fifth call. Same story, different variations. *Cash flow problems. Board concerns. Risk management protocols.* All elegant ways of saying they could smell blood in the water and weren't about to throw me a lifeline.

By the time I'd worked through half my contact list, it was clear what was happening. Word had spread through Manhattan's financial elite about the internal power struggle at Blackwell Industries. They were all waiting to see who came out on top before choosing sides. And after tonight's market chaos, none of them wanted to bet on me.

I was staring at my phone, trying to decide who else I could humiliate myself by calling, when it rang.

"Orion?" Grandfather's voice was sharp with concern. "I know about the bet with your uncle. What the hell were you thinking?"

Any remaining composure I had left cracked. "Grandfather, unless you're calling to help, I don't have time for lectures."

"Help? Of course I want to help! But Orion, this is madness! You've bet your entire position in the company on some government contract! Do you have any idea what Devan will do if he gets control?"

"I know exactly what he'll do," I said, my voice turning ice-cold. "Which is why I'm not going to let that happen."

"But this isn't just about you anymore!" Grandfather's voice cracked with emotion. "If Devan takes over, his whole bloodline gets elevated above ours! What happens to Ryan? What happens to our family's legacy?"

The mention of Ryan hit like a physical blow. In all my calculations and strategic planning, I'd been thinking about corporate power and personal pride. But Grandfather was right—if I lost, Ryan would lose too. The next generation of Blackwells would be relegated to secondary status, with Dwayne's children inheriting what should have been Ryan's birthright.

"I understand your concerns," I said, fighting to keep the emotion out of my voice. "But this is my war, Grandfather. I started it, and I'll finish it."

"Your war?" His voice rose with frustration. "This isn't some game! You're gambling with everything we've built! Look, I can put together maybe sixty million, but that's nothing compared to what you need. Please, let me talk to Devan. Maybe we can call off this insane bet—"

"No." The word came out harder than I'd intended. "This ends now, one way or another. Either I find the money and crush them, or I lose everything trying. But I won't spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if I'd been brave enough to fight."

"Orion—"

"It's 2:30 AM, Grandfather. If I don't find a solution in the next sixteen hours, none of this will matter anyway."

I hung up before he could respond and immediately felt guilty about it. But I couldn't afford to waste time on conversations that wouldn't change the fundamental math of my situation.

I turned back to my phone, scrolling through contacts I'd already dismissed as long shots. Small-time investors, business acquaintances, people who owed me favors but didn't have the kind of money I needed.

That's when I heard the office door open.

I looked up, expecting to see Marcus with more coffee or an update on the market. Instead, a figure in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit walked into my office with the confident stride of someone who belonged there.

The silhouette was unmistakably feminine—a fitted blazer that emphasized an hourglass figure, a pencil skirt that suggested both professionalism and power, and heels that clicked against the hardwood floor with military precision. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek chignon that screamed executive authority, and she carried herself with the kind of presence that commanded attention in boardrooms full of men who thought they owned the world.

When she stepped fully into the light, I found myself smiling for the first time in hours.

"Well," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Look what the cat dragged in. And might I say, the CEO look is definitely working for you."

Aveline Reeves smiled back, and there was something in her expression that made me think of what Grandfather had always said: *Your wife is your lucky charm.*

For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt like maybe—just maybe—I wasn't fighting this battle alone.

"My ally is in trouble," she said, moving closer to my desk. "Did you really think I wouldn't come?"