The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 22

Aveline

"I can take a cab from here," I said as we pulled up outside the restaurant, already reaching for my purse. "Thank you for dinner, Mr. Blackwell. Besides, didn't you mention you had some business to handle tonight? I don't want to keep you."

I tried to keep my voice casual, but internally I was desperate to know if his "business" involved whatever terrifying phone call I'd overheard.

"Absolutely not," Orion said firmly, his hand on the steering wheel showing no signs of shifting into park. "You're now officially a VIP client of the Blackwell family. That means VIP priorities always come first in my schedule."

I couldn't help but be curious despite my nervousness. "VIP client? For teaching your son?"

"For giving my son a reason to smile," he corrected, his voice surprisingly serious. "VIP means Very Important Person to our family. And that comes with certain privileges—personal security, priority treatment, and my complete attention when needed. That makes you invaluable to me. So please, let me drive you home. Everything else can wait."

There was something in his tone that made arguing seem pointless. Plus, the thought of trying to hail a cab in Manhattan at this hour wasn't particularly appealing.

"Alright," I said, settling back into the leather seat. "But this really isn't necessary."

The drive to the Upper East Side was quieter than our earlier conversation, both of us seeming lost in our own thoughts. I kept replaying the evening in my mind—his casual mention of consequences, that terrifying phone call, the way he'd looked at me when he asked about the perfume.

My phone rang, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. Grandmother Eleanor's name appeared on the screen.

"Hi, Grandmother," I answered, grateful for the distraction.

"Hello, darling. How was your dinner? When will you be home? I've prepared some late-night snacks for you."

"That's so sweet of you. We're actually on our way now, should be there in about ten minutes."

I could hear voices in the background, and then Vivian's distinctive laugh. "Grandma, you don't understand," came her voice, obviously meant to be overheard. "Aveline probably doesn't want to come home at all. She'd rather spend the night elsewhere, if you know what I mean."

I gritted my teeth, hoping Orion couldn't hear the venom in my stepsister's voice through the phone.

"Don't mind her, dear," Grandmother said, though I could hear the disapproval in her tone. "I'll see you soon."

When we pulled up to the townhouse, I barely had the car door closed before Vivian came flying down the front steps. She must have been watching from the window, because she appeared with the speed of someone who'd been lying in wait.

"Who was that?" she demanded breathlessly, her eyes fixed on the sleek sports car as Orion pulled away. "That car has to be worth at least a hundred thousand dollars! Maybe more!"

"Just a student's parent," I said casually, heading toward the front door.

"A student's parent?" Monica appeared behind Vivian, clearly having rushed to catch the excitement. "My goodness, Aveline, you've certainly moved up in the world! Random parents dropping you off in luxury vehicles now!"

Her voice dripped with false admiration, but I could see the calculating gleam in her eyes.

"If you get the chance, you absolutely must introduce our Vivian to some of these wealthy families," Monica continued. "A girl with her charm and beauty could really make something of herself with the right connections."

I turned to face them both, a sweet smile playing on my lips. "Oh, that's a wonderful idea, Monica. You could do exactly what you did with me—find the highest bidder and sell Vivian off as a bride. I'm sure there's someone out there willing to pay for her."

Monica's mouth fell open, her face flushing red.

"Or," I continued thoughtfully, "maybe not. I mean, when I was sold, I was eighteen and relatively attractive. Vivian's what, twenty-four now? And let's be honest about her... particular aesthetic challenges. The market might not be as robust."

"How dare you—" Monica sputtered.

"Mom, did you hear what she said about me?" Vivian shrieked, her face contorting with rage. "She called me ugly!"

"I didn't call you anything," I said innocently. "I simply pointed out market realities. But don't worry—I'm sure there's someone out there with... unique tastes."

Without waiting for a response, I headed inside and straight to Grandmother Eleanor's room, leaving Monica and Vivian sputtering with indignation behind me.

Grandmother was sitting in her favorite chair by the window, wearing a soft lavender robe and looking genuinely happy to see me.

"There's my girl," she said warmly, opening her arms for a hug. "How have things been going at the academy lately? Are you settling in well?"

"Very well," I said, settling into the chair across from her. "The children are wonderful. I really do love working with them—there's something so pure about helping young minds grow and develop."

"And the parents?" Grandmother asked with a knowing smile. "I imagine these elite families must be quite demanding and particular about everything."

My chest tightened as an image of Orion flashed through my mind—not the charming dinner companion from tonight, but the unconscious man from the hotel room. The man whose body I'd used while he was too drunk to consent.

"The parents are... complicated," I said carefully. "Some more than others."

"Are they giving you trouble, dear? You look a bit flustered."

"No, no trouble," I said quickly, desperate to change the subject. "Grandmother, didn't you mention something about late-night snacks?"

Her face lit up. "Oh yes! I made your favorites from when you were little."

She disappeared into her small kitchenette and returned with a tray that made my mouth water instantly. Perfectly toasted brioche sat golden and warm, accompanied by delicate smoked salmon pinwheels with cream cheese and capers. A small bowl of butternut squash soup, velvety and aromatic, steamed gently beside a plate of miniature quiches still warm from the oven. Everything looked like it belonged in a cozy Parisian café.

"Grandmother, this smells incredible," I said, genuinely touched. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"Nonsense. You've been eating European food for years—I thought you might want something that tastes like home."

I picked up one of the dumplings with my chopsticks, careful not to pierce the delicate skin, and took a small bite. The rich broth burst in my mouth, followed by the perfectly seasoned pork and the slight sweetness of the wrapper.

"This is amazing," I said, closing my eyes to savor the taste. "I'd forgotten how much I missed—"

My phone rang, interrupting the moment. I glanced at the screen and froze.

It was a number I didn't recognize, but somehow I knew exactly who it was before I even answered.

"Miss Aveline?" Ryan's small voice came through the speaker, high-pitched with anxiety. "Are you there? I have an emergency!"