The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 229

Dwayne

A week of house arrest had nearly driven me insane. Every day felt like torture—endless hours of mind-numbing television, takeout meals, and absolutely zero excitement. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that my father was being completely paranoid.

Hell, he and Charles were out every day, building their new business. And just as I fucking expected, nobody was hunting him down in the streets. Never mind that Orion should hate him even more than me—after all, he was the mastermind behind it all. The truth was becoming crystal clear: he was taking out his frustration over losing to Orion on me. Using his own failures as an excuse to keep me locked up like some kind of prisoner.

I clicked through channels mindlessly until something made me pause. My phone was sitting on the nightstand, and Vivian's contact photo stared back at me. Without thinking, I opened her photo gallery.

There she was in all her former glory—a collection of incredibly explicit photos she'd sent me during our relationship. In one, she was wearing nothing but black lace lingerie, her body arched provocatively for the camera. Another showed her topless in my bedroom, looking up at me with those submissive eyes that used to drive me wild. The third was even more graphic—her on her knees, lips parted, completely naked and utterly willing.

My body responded immediately. God, she had been perfect. The ideal woman—beautiful, obedient, desperate to please me.

"What a perfect little bitch," I muttered, scrolling through the images. "Too bad she forgot who she belongs to."

The thought of putting her back in her place sent heat coursing through me, but I forced myself to think strategically. Last time I'd acted impulsively and nearly gotten myself killed. This time would be different. This time I'd be smart about it.

I needed information—her movements, her habits, her vulnerabilities. Calling in favors from the crew would be too risky, too visible. But a private investigator? That was subtle. Professional.

I scrolled through my contacts until I found Zara Tucker—the best private detective money could buy in New York. Expensive as hell, but worth every penny for sensitive situations.

"Tucker Investigations," came the crisp voice after two rings.

"Zara, it's Dwayne Blackwell. I need your services."

"Mr. Blackwell. What can I do for you?"

I paced my room, choosing my words carefully. "I need surveillance on someone. A woman named Vivian Hartwell. I want to know her daily routine, who she's with, where she goes. But this needs to be completely discreet—she can't know she's being watched."

"Understood. Duration of surveillance?"

"Start with a week. I want comprehensive reports—movement patterns, regular appointments, security detail if any. And Zara? This stays between us. Complete confidentiality."

"Of course, Mr. Blackwell. My standard rate for extended surveillance is—"

"Whatever it costs. Just get me the information."

After ending the call, the silence in the room was suffocating, but not as loud as the roaring in my head. My thumb moved on its own, a traitorous twitch that brought me back to Vivian's photos. I didn't just look; I devoured them. I zoomed in on the curve of her smile in one, imagining the exact pressure needed to wipe it away. In another, her eyes seemed to challenge me from behind the screen, and a low growl rumbled in my chest.

A familiar, coiling heat tightened in my gut. My hand slid down, my grip slick and punishing against my own flesh. Each stroke was a memory, rewritten. The friction wasn't just for pleasure; it was the phantom feel of her skin beneath my fingers, the ghost of her struggling. The phone in my other hand was cold and hard, a stark contrast to the heat I was building. I watched her face, trapped behind the glass, as my own breathing grew ragged. This was control. This was a promise.

"Vivian," I groaned, the sound raw and torn from my throat as I finally found release. My climax was a wave of pure, unadulterated power. "You think you can play the innocent victim?" I whispered to the unblinking image. "Wait until I get my hands on you again. I'll remind you exactly what you are—my obedient little toy."

The next few days passed with newfound purpose. My father noticed the change immediately.

"You seem... different," Devan observed over breakfast. "More focused. It's been days since you've complained about being stuck here."

I smiled mysteriously. "You were right, Dad. I was being impulsive before. But now I understand the value of patience, of planning."

His eyes lit up with something resembling pride. "Finally! Some maturity. What changed your perspective?"

"Just realized that rushing into things only makes problems worse," I said smoothly. "You want me to stay low for a year? I'll stay low for a year. No complaints."

Devan beamed. "That's my son! Yes, exactly right. When the situation isn't in our favor, we wait for it to change. Use this time productively—read some books, expand your mind."

I nodded dutifully while internally smirking. *Oh, I'm expanding something alright. Once I get Vivian back under control, Dad, you'll see exactly how the situation can change.*

Zara called with his report on day five.

"Your subject maintains a fairly predictable routine," he began without preamble. "She's living primarily with an elderly woman—her grandmother—and frequently visits the Blackwell estate to see Aveline Blackwell."

My pulse quickened. She was still close to Aveline—perfect positioning for someone with inside access to Orion's plans.

"The grandmother's house has consistent security—black SUVs with professional operatives. Same with the Blackwell estate. Very thorough protection."

My excitement dimmed. Armed guards made approaches significantly more complicated.

"However," Zara continued, "there's one vulnerability in the pattern. Every Wednesday at 2 PM, she drives alone to Petals & Stems—an upscale florist in the Garment District. She purchases fresh white orchids for her grandmother, along with specialized plant nutrients and crystal vases."

I leaned forward, suddenly very interested. "Alone? No security?"

"None that I observed. The protection detail only activates when she's with the grandmother or visiting the estate. Her solo trips appear unmonitored."

A slow smile spread across my face. Even after betraying me, she still hadn't earned their complete trust. They were protecting the old woman and their precious Aveline, but Vivian was expendable enough to send on errands alone.

"The florist is located in a quiet commercial complex," Zara added. "Underground parking garage, minimal foot traffic, several blind spots in the security coverage. She typically arrives at 2:30 PM and parks in the lower level."

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"That's all I need," I said, already planning. "Send me your final invoice. Our business is concluded."

When Wednesday arrived, I waited until Devan left for his morning meetings before taking action. I selected my father's black SUV—anonymous, powerful, tinted windows for privacy. In the trunk, I packed everything I'd need: zip ties, duct tape, a taser, and chloroform-soaked rags. This time there would be no mistakes, no improvisation.

The underground garage of the Garment District complex was exactly as Zara had described—dimly lit, virtually empty, perfect for what I had in mind. I arrived at 2 PM sharp, giving myself thirty minutes to prepare.

Using a small sledgehammer, I systematically destroyed the two security cameras covering the area where Vivian typically parked. The lenses shattered satisfyingly, leaving me completely invisible to any monitoring systems.

I positioned my SUV with a perfect view of the entrance ramp, engine running, ready for a quick extraction. Everything was falling into place exactly as planned.

*This is how you handle a situation,* I thought smugly. *No messy crew involvement, no witnesses, no trail leading back to me. Just clean, professional execution.*

The garage remained empty for the next twenty minutes—not a single vehicle entered or exited. Zara had been absolutely right about the location being isolated.

At 2:28 PM, a sleek silver Porsche descended the ramp.

My heart rate spiked as I recognized the driver. There she was—my beautiful, traitorous Vivian, completely unaware that her world was about to change forever. She looked as stunning as ever, though there was something different about her posture, something more confident than I remembered.

She parked three spaces away from my position, just as Zara had predicted. Perfect striking distance.

I watched her turn off the engine, check her appearance in the rearview mirror, and gather her purse. She had no idea I was watching her every move, analyzing her every gesture like a predator studying prey.

*So naive,* I thought as she opened her car door. *So trusting. Some women never learn their place.*

The moment she stepped out of the Porsche, I exited my SUV silently. She was walking toward the elevator, her heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete floor, when I made my move.

I approached from behind, my footsteps masked by the echo of her own. At the last second, I reached out and tapped her shoulder.

"Long time no see," I said smoothly as she turned around. "My dear Vivian."