The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 236

Aveline

After my revelation about the insider threat, Vivian's face suddenly lit up with recognition.

"There's only one person it could be!" she exclaimed, her voice tight with realization. "Mrs. Patterson! She's the only one I didn't see tonight."

The name hit me like a cold wave. Rosa Patterson had been our head housekeeper for three months—ever since I'd purchased the estate. She was a gentle woman in her late fifties, soft-spoken and incredibly dedicated. Grandmother adored her, often saying she reminded her of the kind of proper staff they'd had when she was young.

"I don't want to believe it's her," I said hesitantly. "Her character has always been beyond reproach. She treats this house like it's her own family."

But even as I spoke the words, I could see Vivian's mind working, connecting dots I'd been too emotionally invested to notice.

"That's exactly why I should have seen it sooner," Vivian said, pacing the room with growing agitation. "She's been acting strange all week—distracted, jumpy. Today was the worst I've ever seen her. When she served Grandmother her afternoon tea, she used Earl Grey instead of the chamomile Grandmother always requests. Mrs. Patterson would never make that kind of mistake normally."

Orion nodded grimly. "If someone's been compromised, we need to know immediately. Every hour we delay gives them more opportunity to cause damage."

The three of us made our way through the house's quiet corridors to the staff quarters. Mrs. Patterson had a small but comfortable apartment on the ground floor—a perk I'd insisted on when she'd accepted the position. As we approached her door, I could see light filtering beneath it.

I knocked gently, trying to keep my voice warm and non-threatening. "Mrs. Patterson? Are you awake? We have a few questions, if you don't mind."

There was a pause, then the sound of hurried movement. "Just a moment! Coming, Miss Aveline!"

When she opened the door, my heart sank. Rosa's usually immaculate appearance was disheveled—her graying hair was loose around her shoulders instead of in its typical neat bun, and she was still wearing her work clothes despite the late hour. Worse, there were obvious tear tracks on her cheeks, and her hands were trembling.

On the small table behind her, I could see her phone glowing with an active call or message.

I tried to maintain my composure, searching for a gentle way to approach what could be a very delicate situation. But before I could speak, Vivian stepped forward with characteristic directness.

"Mrs. Patterson, you've worked for this family for a long time. We respect you, and I hope you know we think of you as family." Her tone was kind but firm. "Because of that relationship, I'm not going to dance around this—something happened in this house tonight that shouldn't have been possible. And you're the only person who was unaccounted for."

I shot Vivian a look, hoping she'd soften her approach, but she met my eyes and continued with surprising gentleness.

"I'm worried that you might be in some kind of trouble yourself. Your behavior today has been completely unlike you—your hands have been shaking, you made errors you'd never normally make, and you disappeared entirely during dinner service." Vivian gestured toward the illuminated phone. "And it looks like you've been communicating with someone late into the night, which isn't your usual habit."

Mrs. Patterson's face crumpled at Vivian's words, and I felt my heart breaking for her.

"Are you in danger?" I asked softly. "Has someone been threatening you?"

That was apparently the breaking point. Mrs. Patterson collapsed to her knees in the doorway, her composed facade shattering completely.

"Two days ago," she sobbed, the words coming out in broken fragments. "They took my Michael. My son—he's only nineteen, still at university..."

She was crying too hard to continue coherently, so I knelt down beside her and took her hands.

"Who took him, Mrs. Patterson? What did they want?"

"The Crimson Brotherhood," she whispered, as if saying the name too loudly would summon demons. "They sent me a video of Michael tied to a chair, his face all bloody from where they'd beaten him."

My stomach turned as the pieces began falling into place.

"They said..." she struggled to continue through her tears, "they said if I wanted to see him alive again, I had to do one simple task. Use my position in your house to place something in your bedroom. A message."

She looked up at me with desperate, pleading eyes. "I had no choice, Miss Aveline. They showed me what they'd do to him if I refused. I couldn't... I couldn't let them hurt my baby."

"Mrs. Patterson," I said gently, helping her to her feet, "why didn't you come to us? We could have helped. We could have found another way."

"They said if I told anyone—anyone—they would kill Michael immediately and then come for all of you." She was shaking so violently I was afraid she might collapse again. "I thought if I just did this one thing, they'd let him go and leave us all alone."

Behind me, I could hear Orion's voice, low and dangerous. "Bastards. Using an innocent woman's son as leverage to get to us."

I was about to offer some useless but necessary words of comfort to Mrs. Patterson, whose fragile control had finally shattered. But then I realized Vivian was no longer beside us. She was at the table, holding Mrs. Patterson's phone with a clinical stillness.

The moment Mrs. Patterson saw the phone in Vivian's hand, a jolt of frantic energy shot through her. The helpless grief was instantly replaced by the desperate, active fear of a mother whose child was in mortal danger. Her eyes widened, her hands flying to her mouth as she stared at the device.

It was into that rising fear that Vivian spoke. "You need to contact them now," she said, holding the phone out, her voice having shifted back to that cold efficiency I'd witnessed before. "You need to confirm your son's safety. This is your most immediate concern."

I started to object—it seemed heartless to push the poor woman when she was in such distress—but Orion placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Vivian's right," he said quietly. "We need to know what we're dealing with, and Mrs. Patterson needs to know about her son."

Mrs. Patterson nodded through her tears and took the phone with shaking hands. "You should... you should step outside. If they hear voices..."

"No," Vivian said firmly. "Put it on speaker. We need to understand what kind of people we're facing, and you need our support right now."

I wanted to argue with Vivian's harsh approach, but before I could speak, a look of complete defeat washed over Mrs. Patterson's face. With a trembling hand, she had already dialed.

The phone rang twice before a man answered. His voice was heavily accented—Eastern European, possibly Russian—and carried the kind of casual menace that made my skin crawl.

"Is it finished?"

Mrs. Patterson tried to steady her voice. "Yes. I placed the items exactly where you instructed. Please, you promised—release my son now."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. When the man spoke again, there was amusement in his tone that sent ice through my veins.

"Mrs. Patterson, your acting skills leave much to be desired. Your voice is trembling, and I can distinctly hear at least three people breathing in your vicinity."

Mrs. Patterson went completely pale. "No! I swear I didn't tell anyone! Please, don't hurt—"

"You have betrayed our agreement," the voice continued with chilling calm. "You have involved your employers in our business. This shows a disappointing lack of trust."

I grabbed Orion's arm, terror flooding through me as I realized what was about to happen.

"Please!" Mrs. Patterson screamed into the phone. "I'll do anything! Just don't hurt my son!"

The man said something in what sounded like Russian to someone else. Then, through the phone's speaker, we heard a young man's voice—terrified, desperate, calling out:

"Mom! Help me! Please, I don't want to—"

The gunshot was impossibly loud through the small phone speaker. It was followed immediately by the sickening thud of a body hitting the floor.

Mrs. Patterson's scream of anguish echoed through the small room as she collapsed, the phone clattering to the floor.

The line went dead.