The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 42

Aveline

My blood ran cold. The young lady from the Hartwell dynasty? Could he possibly mean Vivian? But how would Bryce even know her well enough to extend such a personal invitation?

A murmur rippled through the crowd, and I heard someone ask loudly, "Hartwell Industries? Do they even have any relevance anymore?"

Bryce shifted uncomfortably but tried to maintain his enthusiastic tone. "Well, every family goes through... temporary setbacks! The Hartwells are simply experiencing a minor downturn. These things are cyclical, you know!"

The murmurs turned into barely concealed snickers and outright disdain.

"Oh, Bryce's losing his touch," someone whispered with cruel amusement. "Inviting the dregs of society to his own birthday party."

"Temporary setbacks?" another guest scoffed. "That company has been circling the drain for decades! They're practically bankrupt!"

"The poor old man must be getting senile," came a third voice, dripping with false sympathy. "Imagine thinking the Hartwells still matter in this city."

I barely registered the cruel commentary swirling around us, but what caught my attention was Orion's reaction when he heard the Hartwell name. His expression darkened with unmistakable disdain, as if the very mention of that family left a bad taste in his mouth.

Despite the obvious disdain rippling through the crowd, Bryce pressed on with determined cheerfulness, refusing to acknowledge the whispers surrounding him.

"Miss Hartwell," he called out with exaggerated enthusiasm, clapping his hands together to encourage applause, "would you grace us with your presence? Please, stand and let us welcome you!"

The ballroom responded with reluctant, scattered applause—the kind of polite but unenthusiastic clapping that comes from social obligation rather than genuine welcome. You could practically feel the collective eye-roll from the audience as they grudgingly followed Bryce's lead.

But as the seconds ticked by, no one rose from their seats. I scanned the room, but there was no sign of Vivian anywhere.

The half-hearted applause gradually died away, leaving an awkward silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity.

Then the whispers started.

"Well, this is excruciating," someone tittered from a nearby table, not bothering to lower their voice.

"Publicly snubbed by the daughter of a bankrupt," another guest added with barely concealed glee. "You simply can't buy class, it seems."

"I heard the Hartwells can barely afford to keep their lights on," came a third voice, dripping with satisfaction. "Probably couldn't even afford a decent dress for tonight."

Bryce's face was turning an interesting shade of red, his practiced smile becoming more strained with each cutting comment, but he cleared his throat loudly and forced himself to stand straighter, trying to regain control of the situation with whatever dignity he had left.

"Well," he said, the forced cheerfulness now sounding almost manic, "it appears Miss Hartwell wasn't able to join us this evening. Her... her great misfortune, certainly!"

The pause before "great misfortune" was telling—you could practically see him swallowing his wounded pride.

"Now then," he continued with desperate brightness, "shall we begin dinner?"

As servers began bringing out the first course, I stole another look at Orion. I watched his expression shift from what looked like disdain to something more relaxed, as if he'd just dodged an annoying problem. I couldn't understand the logic behind it—why would he have any emotional reaction to Vivian at all? He clearly didn't even know her.

Still, I couldn't help but find the situation somewhat amusing. Vivian had managed to get herself kicked out right before Bryce Blackwell started asking for her by name. If she hadn't been busy attacking children, she could have been here enjoying her fifteen minutes of fame. She would have milked this story forever.

Dinner passed in a blur of exquisite courses and polite conversation, but my mind kept circling back to Bryce's mysterious invitation. By the time dessert was served, I was no closer to understanding what was going on.

Finally, Bryce stood again, clapping his hands together like an excited child. All traces of his earlier embarrassment had vanished completely, his eyes bright with anticipation and eager expectation.

"Now for my favorite part of any birthday celebration—the gifts! Please, everyone who brought something, hand your presents to the staff so we can see what treasures await!"

Servers began moving through the room, collecting elegantly wrapped packages from each table. When they reached us, Orion immediately stood and handed over a large, beautifully wrapped box with my name clearly visible on the card.

I stared at him in dismay. "You bought me a gift to give your grandfather?"

"It's fine," Orion said quietly, clearly uncomfortable with my reaction. "I just thought—"

"You thought what?" I interrupted, keeping my voice low but unable to hide my irritation. "That I couldn't afford to buy an appropriate present? That I needed you to cover for me because I'm some kind of charity case?"

"That's not—" he started.

"Is this why you had those dresses sent over? Because you assumed I was too poor to dress myself properly?" The more I thought about it, the more insulted I became. "What's next, are you going to start paying my rent because you think I can't manage my own finances?"

Ryan, who had been quietly eating his dessert, looked up with innocent curiosity. "Miss Aveline, you do take the bus everywhere. And you said you don't have a car. Are you saving money for something important?"

His words, though spoken without malice, only made things worse. I could see the other guests at our table exchange knowing looks, their expressions a mixture of pity and amusement.

"You know what?" I said, reaching into my purse and pulling out a small, somewhat battered jewelry box. "I brought my own gift."

I handed the modest box to the server, ignoring the way conversations at nearby tables suddenly stopped. Compared to the elaborate packages other guests had contributed, my offering looked distinctly shabby.

"Oh my," someone whispered behind me. "What could possibly be in such a tiny box?"

Another voice, not quite quiet enough: "Probably something from a discount store. How embarrassing."

Orion reached for my arm gently. "Ms. Reeves, you don't have to—"

"Actually, I do," I said firmly, pulling away from his touch. "Because unlike some people, I don't assume others can't handle their own responsibilities."

Bryce, oblivious to the tension at our table, was practically bouncing with excitement as he surveyed the collection of gifts now arranged before him.

"This is like Christmas morning!" he declared. "Now, let's see what wonderful surprises you've all brought me!"

Orion rubbed his temples, looking genuinely pained. "I apologize for his... enthusiasm. Grandfather has always loved this sort of theatrical presentation. If you'd prefer to leave before this gets more embarrassing, I completely understand."

Looking at the elderly man's childlike joy and the small, worn box that contained something more precious than anyone in this room could imagine, I shook my head.

"Actually," I said with a slight smile, "I think I'll stay. This should be interesting."