The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 24

Aveline

Catherine's laugh tinkled through the phone like silver bells, sweet and completely oblivious to the danger she was walking into.

"I didn't think you were the impatient type, Mr. Blackwell," she purred, her voice thick with what she obviously thought was seduction. "Maybe we should take some time to get to know each other better first."

I had to bite back a laugh despite my nervousness. Even now, Catherine thought this was some kind of romantic rendezvous.

Then I heard the distinct sound of a door closing—not just closing, but slamming shut with the finality of a prison cell. The click of the lock turning sent ice through my veins.

"Oh, I know everything I need to know about you," came Orion's voice, low and dangerous in a way that made every nerve in my body stand on edge. "But I'll admit, I am very impatient when it comes to getting what I want. Or getting answers to questions that have been bothering me."

Even through the phone, I could feel the shift in atmosphere. The predatory undertone in his voice was unmistakable now, and I found myself gripping the balcony railing without realizing it.

I heard footsteps—measured, deliberate—moving across what sounded like a hardwood floor.

"Oh!" Catherine's voice was still bright, still hopeful. "I know what this is about—you want to examine my ring more closely, don't you? That's why you brought me to this private room, so you could take my hand and really appreciate the craftsmanship."

I could perfectly imagine her extending her hand with that coquettish smile, probably thinking this was some elaborate form of foreplay.

The sharp crack that came through the phone made me jump so violently I nearly dropped it.

"AHHHHH!" Catherine's scream pierced the night air, a sound of pure agony that made my blood run cold.

My legs gave out. I sank down to a crouch on the balcony, one hand pressed over my mouth to muffle any sound I might make. The casual brutality of what I'd just heard—the way he'd apparently just broken her hand without warning—sent terror racing through my system.

"Your hand," Orion's voice was conversational now, almost pleasant, "has been wearing things it shouldn't wear. Touching things it shouldn't touch."

"Please, please!" Catherine was sobbing now, her earlier confidence completely shattered. "What are you talking about? You're crazy! I'm calling the police!"

"The police?" Orion's laugh was genuinely amused, which somehow made it more terrifying than anger would have been. "Oh, I'd love to involve the police. But I don't particularly want to broadcast the fact that I was sexually assaulted by trash like you."

"What the hell?!" Catherine's voice cracked with panic. "Sexual assault? Are you insane? I never laid a hand on you—I would never! What is this?"

I heard the sound of a drawer sliding open, then footsteps moving across the room.

"Look familiar?" Orion's voice was cold as winter. "This little trinket you left behind as 'compensation for any inconvenience.' How thoughtful of you."

The way he said 'compensation' made my skin crawl. I could hear the contempt dripping from every syllable.

"This ring," he continued, "is a limited edition Art Deco piece. Quite rare. Quite distinctive. Amazing how it's identical to the one you're wearing, don't you think?"

"No, no, no!" Catherine was hyperventilating now. "That's not—this one is fake! It's a reproduction! I never—"

"Fake?" Orion's laughter was like broken glass. "But this morning you told me it was a precious family heirloom. You said your family had several just like it. All authentic, all quite valuable. Remember? You were so eager to show me your 'collection.'"

I couldn't help the bitter amusement that cut through my terror. Catherine really had dug her own grave with her desperate lies and social climbing.

"I was lying!" Catherine wailed. "I was just trying to impress you! Please, you have to believe me!"

"Oh, I believe you were lying," Orion said pleasantly. "The question is, what else have you lied about?"

I heard the rustle of papers, like someone shuffling through documents.

"Catherine Mills," Orion read aloud, his voice taking on the tone of someone delivering a verdict. "Twenty-eight years old. Parents divorced when she was twelve. Mother works as a cashier, father disappeared with gambling debts. Lives in a studio apartment in Queens, barely making rent on her teacher's salary. But dreams of marrying rich, don't you, Catherine?"

"How do you—" Catherine's voice was barely a whisper.

"You've made quite a career of targeting wealthy men," Orion continued remorselessly. "Let's see... there was James Richardson from Richardson Industries—you managed to seduce him at a charity gala, convinced him you were from old money. That lasted three months before he figured out you were lying about everything."

Catherine was crying openly now, broken sobs that would have been pitiable if I wasn't so terrified.

"Then there was Michael Chen from Chen Technologies. You got pregnant on purpose with that one, didn't you? Thought you could trap him into marriage. Too bad for you he demanded a paternity test."

"Stop," Catherine whimpered. "Please stop."

"And then you had an abortion because you couldn't afford a child on your real income," Orion's voice was utterly without mercy. "How many others have there been, Catherine? How many men have you targeted with your fake rings and your fake stories and your fake everything?"

The papers rustled again.

"You're nothing but a predator," he said, his voice dropping to something that barely qualified as human. "A parasite who thinks she can take what doesn't belong to her. But you made a mistake when you targeted me. You violated me, left me compensation like I was some kind of prostitute, and thought you could disappear."

"I didn't!" Catherine screamed. "It wasn't me! I swear it wasn't me!"

"And now," Orion continued as if she hadn't spoken, "you're going to disappear. Permanently. Just not the way you planned."

The word 'disappear' hit me like a physical blow. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely hold the phone. He was going to kill her. This wasn't just intimidation or punishment—he was actually going to murder Catherine Mills over a case of mistaken identity.

I should call the police. Right now. This instant. An innocent woman was about to die because of my mistake, because I'd left that ring, because I'd been too much of a coward to face the consequences of what I'd done.

But my hands wouldn't move. My throat was closed. Terror had locked my muscles in place.

If I called the police, they'd ask questions. They'd want to know how I knew what was happening. The investigation would eventually lead back to me, to the real woman who'd assaulted Orion Blackwell in that hotel room.

And then I'd be the one in that room with him.

Tears started rolling down my cheeks as Catherine's sobs grew quieter, more desperate. This was my fault. All of it. She was going to die because I'd been too selfish, too frightened to take responsibility for my actions.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs inside the house made me freeze. Grandmother's voice called out, "Aveline? Are you alright, dear? You've been out there quite a while."