The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 44

Aveline

Orion had been gone for at least twenty minutes now, disappearing through those ballroom doors with that tense, almost disturbed expression on his face. But his absence did absolutely nothing to dampen the surge of triumph coursing through my veins.

Around me, the atmosphere had completely shifted. The same people who'd been snickering at my "shabby little box" minutes earlier were now approaching our table with eager smiles and effusive compliments.

"Ms. Reeves, what exquisite taste you have!"

"That ring is absolutely magnificent!"

"You must tell us where you found such a treasure!"

I found myself enjoying their transparent about-face, sipping champagne and basking in their sudden attention. It was satisfying to watch these social climbers scramble to curry favor now that they realized I wasn't the poor little teacher they'd assumed me to be.

"Oh, you know," I said with false modesty, taking another sip of champagne, "I just have an eye for quality pieces."

On stage, Bryce continued to admire the ring I'd given him, turning his hand this way and that to catch the light, completely oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface.

That's when it hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

The design. The proportions. The Art Deco styling.

*Wait. Why did this ring look so familiar?*

My ring—the one I'd left in that hotel room as "compensation"—had been almost identical to this one. Same craftsmanship, same aesthetic, same unmistakable signature of the artisan. The only differences had been the size and the stone: mine had featured an emerald where this one showcased a sapphire.

The champagne I'd been drinking went down the wrong way entirely, and I sprayed it across the white tablecloth in a spectacular display of shock.

"Miss Aveline!" Ryan burst into concerned laughter. "Why do you keep spitting out your drinks? First the tea at home, now this! What's wrong?"

"I... my stomach," I managed to croak out, grabbing a napkin to dab at the mess. "I have digestive issues."

The blood drained from my face as the implications crashed over me.

*Oh God. Oh no.*

I'd been so proud moments ago, so confident in my gift's impact. Now I felt like I was going to be sick. If Orion had noticed the similarities—and given his sharp mind, how could he not have?—then I was completely fucked.

That's when a familiar voice cut through the conversation like a blade.

"Stomach problems?" Orion had returned to the table, and there was something in his smile that made my blood run cold—a knowing expression that suggested he understood far more than he was letting on. "You really should be more careful with alcohol, Aveline. Drinking too much can make you lightheaded. And when you're lightheaded, you tend to make poor decisions."

The way he said it—casual, conversational, but with an undertone of something infinitely dangerous—made every nerve in my body scream danger.

I forced myself to sit up straighter, putting on my most composed expression despite the panic clawing at my chest. "You know me," I said, managing what I hoped was a carefree laugh. "I hardly ever drink. I prefer to stay clear-headed at all times."

Orion's smile didn't waver, but something flickered behind his dark eyes. "Of course. Clear-headed. That's always best, isn't it?"

"Speaking of which," I said, desperately trying to steer the conversation to safer ground, "it's funny about that ring. I got it from a friend—a very good friend in France. I had no idea it was worth so much money."

It wasn't completely a lie, I told myself. I had designed it with my French business partner. That counted as getting it from a friend, technically. And the friend was definitely a he, not a she.

Orion's dark eyes focused on me with laser intensity. "Really? Is she still in the country?"

The way he said "she" made my skin crawl, but I forced myself to maintain eye contact. "I'm not sure. She was here for a while, but then she disappeared again. You know how it is with women like that—wealthy, mysterious, always moving around. She enjoys her freedom."

Orion leaned closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne and see the dangerous glint in his dark eyes. When he spoke, his voice was soft, conversational, and absolutely terrifying.

"Next time she's in town, you absolutely must introduce us. I'd love to thank her personally for such an... exceptional piece."

The way he said "thank" made it sound like he was planning a murder. My heart began racing, but I managed to keep my voice steady.

"Of course, of course," I said quickly. "I'll definitely let you know if she comes back around."

But looking into his cold, sharp-featured face—beautiful and merciless as a blade—I found myself silently praying: *Please, God, let you two never meet. I mean, let us never meet with you knowing my... other identity. The one who slept with you.*

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of forced smiles and small talk. When Orion finally offered to drive me home, I accepted with as much grace as I could muster, though sitting in the confined space of his car with him felt like being trapped in a cage with a sleeping tiger.

The drive was mostly silent, tension crackling between us like electricity. When we pulled up to the townhouse, I practically threw myself out of the passenger seat.

"Thank you for a lovely evening," I said, my voice artificially bright.

"The pleasure was all mine," Orion replied, but something in his tone made the polite words sound like a threat.

As his car disappeared around the corner, I finally allowed myself to breathe. My legs felt shaky as I climbed the front steps, but I was starting to convince myself that maybe—just maybe—I'd managed to deflect his suspicions.

I mean, what were the odds that he'd connect a ring from his grandfather's birthday party to a drunken night he probably barely remembered?

I was so lost in my thoughts that it took me three tries to realize the door code wasn't working.

*What the hell?*

I tried again, carefully inputting each digit. Nothing. The electronic lock remained stubbornly red, refusing to grant me entry.

Realization dawned like ice water in my veins.

Vivian. That vindictive bitch had changed the locks.

I stood there for a moment, weighing my options. I could call Grandmother, but it was nearly midnight and she needed her rest. I could find a hotel, but that felt like letting Vivian win.

Instead, I looked up at the townhouse's facade, noting the old ivy that climbed the walls and the window on the second floor that I'd always known had a faulty latch.

A cold smile spread across my face.

If Vivian wanted to play games, I'd show her exactly who she was dealing with.

I slipped off my expensive heels, hiked up my elegant dress, and made my way to the side of the building.