The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 43

Orion

I watched Aveline's composed expression with growing anxiety, wanting to shake her by the shoulders. Did she have any idea what she'd just done? It was one thing to not bring a gift at all—people would understand that a teacher's salary had limits. But to bring something obviously cheap and shabby to an event like this, in front of guests who measured worth by price tags? These people would tear her apart.

And Grandfather, for all his eccentric charm, had never been shy about his expensive tastes. If that little battered box contained some homemade trinket or discount store jewelry, the humiliation would be excruciating.

Yet something in Aveline's demeanor suggested complete confidence in her choice. Maybe she was just naive—one of those idealistic people who believed heartfelt sentiment could override material value. That worn wooden box certainly didn't look promising.

Bryce stood at the podium like a ringmaster, practically vibrating with excitement as he surveyed the mountain of elegantly wrapped packages before him.

"Let's see what treasures await!" he announced, reaching for the first gift with theatrical flourish.

The initial offering was impressive—a NASA meteorite fragment in a custom display case, accompanied by authentication certificates. "From my dear Felicia Henderson," Bryce read with obvious delight. "How thoughtful! A genuine piece of space history!"

The crowd applauded appreciatively. The Hendersons were old money, one of the top five families in the city. Felicia always knew how to make an impression.

The second gift made an even bigger splash—a vintage bass guitar with diamond inlays from Dwayne. Bryce's eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas morning.

"My boy, this is exquisite!" he exclaimed, running his fingers over the instrument's gleaming surface. "I'll have to dust off my musical skills!"

More applause, more appreciative murmurs. The gifts were exactly what I'd expected—expensive, impressive, chosen more for their price tags than personal meaning.

The third package was enormous, clearly expensive, and when Bryce lifted it to examine the wrapping, I noticed Aveline's small box roll toward the edge of the display table, nearly tumbling to the floor.

Relief flooded through me. Maybe Grandfather would get distracted by the larger gifts and forget about that shabby little box entirely. It wasn't too late to salvage this situation.

But just as I began to relax, Bryce set aside the large package and bent down to retrieve the wooden box from where it had rolled.

"Now this," he said, holding it up with genuine appreciation, "is quite distinctive. Look at this craftsmanship—this isn't ordinary wood. And the patina suggests real age, not artificial distressing."

He squinted at the small nameplate. "From Ryan's teacher, Aveline! How intriguing!"

A wave of snickers rippled through the crowd. I could feel eyes turning toward our table, some curious, others barely concealing their amusement.

"Aveline, if you're short on cash, you can always come to me for help!" Dwayne called out with his trademark leer. "I'm always generous with education professionals—"

"Shut the fuck up," I snarled, shooting to my feet with enough force to make my chair scrape against the floor.

Dwayne's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "Touchy, touchy, cousin. I was just offering—"

Before our argument could escalate, Bryce opened the box, and his sharp intake of breath cut through every conversation in the room.

"My God," he whispered, lifting something from the ancient velvet lining.

It was a men's ring—white gold crafted in the Art Deco style, featuring a rich sapphire surrounded by intricate geometric patterns. Even from my seat across the room, I could see the way it caught the light, throwing brilliant blue fire in every direction.

The crowd's mocking whispers died instantly, replaced by stunned silence.

"This is..." Bryce slipped the ring onto his finger, and it fit perfectly. "I've never seen anything like this. The craftsmanship is extraordinary—look at these micro-settings, the way the metal work frames the stone..."

He held up his hand, and the ring seemed to glow under the ballroom's crystal chandeliers.

"The sapphire alone has to be at least three carats, and the clarity is flawless," Bryce continued, his voice filled with wonder. "This isn't just jewelry—it's art. Museum quality. I'd estimate this piece is worth well over a million dollars."

The room erupted in amazed murmurs, but I heard none of it.

My entire world had narrowed to that ring on my grandfather's finger.

The design, the proportions, the distinctive Art Deco styling—everything about it was hauntingly familiar. It was almost identical to the ring I'd found in my hotel room that morning, the one left as "compensation" by my mysterious assailant.

Almost identical, but not quite.

The hotel ring had featured an emerald where this one showcased a sapphire. The size was different too—the hotel ring had been delicate, clearly meant for a woman's hand, while this was unmistakably masculine.

But the craftsmanship, the design aesthetic, the unmistakable signature of the artisan—they were undeniably from the same source.

My mind flashed back to Catherine Mills, remembering her cheap imitation Art Deco ring, the way it had caught the light so differently from the genuine piece I'd received. The difference between authentic craftsmanship and mass-produced knockoffs was impossible to fake.

The room started spinning slightly as the implications hit me.

Mitchell was speaking to Aveline, his voice full of admiration. "Ms. Reeves, this is incredibly generous! How did you know Mr. Bryce's exact ring size? And where did you find such an exquisite piece?"

But I wasn't listening to her response. I was staring at her face—really looking at her for the first time tonight. The elegant updo that showcased the graceful line of her neck. The subtle makeup that enhanced her natural beauty without hiding it. The way the black dress transformed her into someone who belonged in the most exclusive circles.

And something about the total picture—her poise, her confidence, the way she held herself—triggered another wave of that strange, disorienting familiarity.

"Aveline," I said, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears. "Your gift is... beautiful."

She turned toward me with a radiant smile, completely unaware of the chaos unraveling in my mind.

"I told you I was confident in my choice," she said simply.

Looking at her glowing face, her satisfaction with the evening's success, I felt another surge of that unsettling recognition. There was something about her tonight—something that made my chest tight and my pulse quicken in ways I couldn't explain.

I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor.

"Excuse me," I managed. "I need some air."

I strode toward the ballroom's terrace doors, pushing through them into the cool Manhattan night. The cold air hit my overheated skin, but it did nothing to clear the confusion in my head.

The pieces were all there, scattered in front of me like a puzzle I was afraid to solve.

The ring. The timing. The way she looked tonight.

The growing certainty that Aveline Reeves was connected to that night in ways that would change everything.

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and dialed Marcus's direct line.

"Sir?" he answered on the first ring.

"I need you to investigate someone," I said, my voice sharper than I'd intended. "Aveline Reeves. Everything—background, education, travel history, financial records. I want to know where she's been, what she's done, and every connection she has to this city."