The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 29

Aveline

"I'm teaching him reality," Orion replied, his voice tight with control. "He doesn't have a mother. He never will. It's better that he accepts that now rather than living in fantasy."

I saw Mitchell start to rise from his chair, clearly intending to intervene in this escalating confrontation. But something fierce and protective rose up in me, and I held up my hand, gesturing for him to stay back. This was my fight now.

"But your approach is completely wrong," I said, standing fully now, my professional training overriding my personal caution. "You're creating shame and fear around a natural human need. Children who are denied the ability to process grief and loss often develop attachment disorders, anxiety, and depression." 

Orion's eyes flashed dangerously. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're forcing him to suppress his emotional needs instead of helping him work through them," I continued, my voice gaining strength. "I understand that the topic of motherhood is obviously painful for you—it's clearly a trauma response you haven't processed—but projecting that onto Ryan is damaging his psychological development."

"Ms. Reeves," Orion said, rising slowly from his chair, his voice dropping to something deadly quiet. "I suggest you remember your place. You are not my therapist. You are an employee that I pay to—"

I stepped closer, meeting his gaze directly, refusing to be intimidated. "I'm a child psychologist, and that little boy is hurting. Your unresolved trauma doesn't give you the right to damage his emotional health."

For a moment, we stood facing each other across the elegant dining room, the air crackling with tension. Orion's dark eyes were blazing with fury, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping.

But then something shifted. His gaze faltered, sliding away from mine as if he couldn't bear the direct confrontation. His shoulders tensed, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough.

"I... I apologize for my outburst," he said stiffly, not looking at me. "You're right to be concerned about Ryan's well-being."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone in the dining room with the echo of his footsteps and the distant sound of Ryan's muffled sobs.

After Orion left, Mitchell stood almost immediately, his face creased with concern and embarrassment.

"Ms. Reeves, I must apologize," he said quietly, wringing his hands. "Mr. Blackwell isn't usually like this. It's my fault—I shouldn't have made that comment about family. I should have known better."

I shook my head, still processing what had just happened. "It's not your fault, Mitchell. The topic is clearly painful for him."

"Still, I hope you won't take his words to heart," Mitchell continued, his voice earnest. "You should know, Ms. Reeves, that Mr. Blackwell has never invited a woman to join us for a family dinner. Not once in all my years here. In his mind, you're far more than just Ryan's teacher."

The words sent a complex mix of emotions through me—warmth, guilt, and something I didn't want to examine too closely. But right now, none of that mattered.

"I need to check on Ryan," I said, already heading toward the stairs.

I found him in his bedroom, curled up on his bed with his face buried in a pillow, his small shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. My heart broke at the sight.

"Hey, sweetheart," I said softly, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Can I sit with you?"

He looked up at me with red, tear-stained eyes and immediately threw himself into my arms. "Miss Aveline! I thought you left too!"

"I'm here," I whispered, holding him close. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Daddy hates me," Ryan said against my shoulder. "He gets so angry when I talk about... about having a mommy."

"Your daddy doesn't hate you," I said gently, stroking his hair. "He loves you very much. Sometimes grown-ups have feelings that are hard to understand, even for themselves."

"But I just want someone to take care of me like other kids have," Ryan whispered. "Is that bad?"

Looking down at his tear-stained face, his round cheeks still flushed from crying, I was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of maternal protectiveness so strong it took my breath away. For a moment, I saw another child's face—one that had never had the chance to grow up, to ask for a mother's love.

"It's not bad at all," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "It's perfectly normal to want that."

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Ryan asked, his voice small and hopeful. "I don't want to be alone."

Every professional boundary I'd ever learned screamed against it, but looking at this lonely, hurt little boy, I couldn't bring myself to say no.

"Of course I'll stay," I said. "Just for tonight."

Ryan's face lit up with relief, and he curled up beside me on his bed, his small hand clutching mine as if afraid I might disappear.

It didn't take long for exhaustion to claim him. Within an hour, he was sleeping peacefully, his breathing deep and even. But despite my own exhaustion from the emotional rollercoaster of the day, sleep eluded me.

I lay there in the darkness for what felt like hours, my mind racing through everything that had happened—the medical center, the dinner, the confrontation with Orion. The way he'd looked at me when I'd challenged him, the way his anger had crumbled into something that looked almost like vulnerability.

That's when I heard it.

At first, I thought it was just the old house settling, but as I listened more carefully, I realized it was something else. A low, pained sound—almost like a growl, but human. It came in waves, broken and distressed.

I carefully extracted myself from Ryan's grip and slipped on my shoes, following the sound down the hallway. It was coming from behind a door I hadn't noticed before—larger than the others, probably the master bedroom.

I hesitated at the door. This wasn't my place, wasn't my responsibility. But those sounds—the raw pain in them—made my chest tight with concern.

Before I could second-guess myself, I gently pushed open the door.

The room was bathed in moonlight streaming through tall windows, and I could see Orion's figure on the bed. He was thrashing restlessly, his face flushed, sweat beading on his forehead. Even from the doorway, I could see he was burning with fever.

My psychology training had covered crisis intervention, but this wasn't a mental health emergency—this was medical. I should wake Mitchell, but I didn't even know where his quarters were in this massive house. And how would I explain why I was wandering the halls at midnight, why I'd been in a position to hear Orion's distress?

The sound of his pained groaning decided for me. Whatever embarrassment might come later, I couldn't just leave him like this.

I rushed to his bedside and placed my hand on his forehead—he was dangerously hot.

"Orion?" I whispered, but he didn't respond, lost in whatever fevered dreams were tormenting him.