The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 50

Orion

Today was going to be a good day. Hell, it was going to be a great day.

I'd finished lunch with an appetite I hadn't felt in weeks, actually enjoying the perfectly prepared meal instead of mechanically consuming fuel for my body.

Back in my bedroom, I stood before the full-length mirror, making final adjustments to my appearance. The charcoal Tom Ford suit fit perfectly across my shoulders, the Italian silk tie was knotted with precision, and my hair was styled just enough to look effortless while being anything but. The man looking back at me was polished, confident, devastatingly handsome if I did say so myself.

Today, I was going to meet my mystery wife and end this farce once and for all.

"Sir?" Mitchell's voice came from the doorway, accompanied by his characteristic soft knock. "Forgive the intrusion, but I must ask—why are you taking such care with your appearance for a divorce meeting?"

I turned from the mirror with a satisfied smile. "Simple, Mitchell. No matter who I'm divorcing, I want to ensure she's the one who leaves with regrets."

Mitchell stepped into the room, his expression thoughtful as he approached with something in his hand. "Sir, I feel compelled to ask—are you certain about this approach?" He held out a sleek black credit card. "This seems rather... presumptuous."

I took the card, feeling its substantial weight in my palm. American Express Centurion, with a one million dollar limit that I'd activated specifically for today's meeting.

"Look, Mitchell," I said, my voice taking on a harder edge, "I don't know this woman, but I know her type. She married a stranger for money six years ago. That tells me everything I need to know about her character. She's a gold digger who saw an opportunity and took it."

I slipped the card into my jacket pocket with deliberate care. "I'm not taking any chances. If she tries to make this divorce complicated, if she thinks she can squeeze more money out of the Blackwell family, this will shut down any arguments before they start. One million dollars should be more than enough to convince her to sign whatever papers I put in front of her."

Mitchell's expression remained carefully neutral, but I could see the disapproval in his eyes. "As you wish, sir."

Twenty minutes later, I was navigating Manhattan traffic in the Lamborghini, my mood as bright as the afternoon sunshine. The Meridian Club was only fifteen minutes away, and I was looking forward to finally putting this ridiculous chapter of my life behind me.

My phone rang just as I was making the turn onto Fifth Avenue.

"Daddy! Daddy, something terrible happened!" Ryan's voice came through the speaker, high-pitched with panic and what sounded like tears.

I frowned, automatically shifting into concerned parent mode despite my tight schedule. "What's wrong, buddy? Did someone hurt you at school? Did you fall down?"

"No, Daddy, this is really, really serious! You need to—"

"Ryan," I interrupted gently, "today is a very important day for Daddy. I have the biggest meeting of my life that I absolutely cannot miss. Whatever happened at school, we can talk about it when I pick you up, okay? I promise we'll fix whatever's wrong."

"But Daddy!" Ryan's voice cracked with genuine distress. "You need to go to the hospital! Right now!"

That stopped me cold. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Hospital? Ryan, what are you talking about?"

The words that came pouring out of my five-year-old son were delivered with a clarity and composure that would have impressed most adults:

"Daddy, Miss Aveline is hurt! She didn't come today, and I was worried. So I borrowed Mrs. Peterson's phone to call her. But when I was taking it back, the phone rang! It was the hospital. They said Miss Aveline had a bad accident and they couldn't find her family, so they called the last number. I told them you would come right away and fix everything, because she's our family! They're waiting for you, Daddy!"

I pulled over to the side of the road, my heart hammering against my ribs. The matter-of-fact way Ryan had handled the situation, the immediate assumption of responsibility, the mature decision-making—it was remarkable for a child his age.

But underneath my pride in his maturity, a cold dread was spreading through my chest.

"Ryan," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the growing panic, "that was very smart and brave of you, buddy. Where is Miss Aveline? Which hospital?"

"Mount Sinai Hospital, Daddy. Room 314 in the trauma wing. I wrote it down on my hand so I wouldn't forget any of the numbers." His voice broke slightly. "Daddy, you have to go make sure she's okay. She takes such good care of me every day, and she always makes sure I'm not scared when things are bad. Now she needs someone to make sure she's not scared."

The simple wisdom in his words hit me like a punch to the chest.

"I'm already turning around," I said, executing a sharp U-turn that earned me several angry honks from other drivers. "You did exactly the right thing calling me, Ryan. I'm so proud of you for being responsible and thinking so clearly when something scary happened."

"You'll really go right now? Even though you said today was super important?"

The hope mixed with worry in his voice made my throat tight. "Miss Aveline is more important than any meeting, buddy. I'm already on my way to take care of her."

"Promise you'll tell her that I hope she feels better soon?"

"I promise, buddy. I'll give her your message. Now you be brave for me at school and don't you worry, okay? Daddy's got this. I'm going to make sure she has the very best doctors."

I disconnected the call and floored the accelerator, the Lamborghini roaring in protest. My hands tightened on the steering wheel, and I found myself weaving through traffic with a reckless precision I hadn't used in years. I glanced down at the speedometer and was shocked to see how fast I was going.

Twenty minutes later, I was striding through the sterile corridors of Mount Sinai, my expensive shoes clicking against polished floors. The smell of disinfectant and fear hung in the air, and despite not knowing the extent of Aveline's injuries, my chest felt tight with apprehension.

Room 314 was easy to find—the cluster of medical staff outside the door was a clear indicator. But when I pushed through the door and saw the figure on the hospital bed, my world tilted completely off its axis.

Aveline.

She lay unconscious, her usually vibrant face pale as marble, her honey-blonde hair spread across the pillow like spilled silk. There were bandages wrapped around her head, and I could see the dark shadow of bruising already forming along her jaw. An IV drip fed into her arm, and the steady beeping of monitors filled the room with their mechanical rhythm.

She looked so small in that hospital bed, so fragile. Nothing like the confident, brilliant woman who'd challenged me about my parenting, who'd stood up to my grandfather's theatrics, who'd made my son smile for the first time in years.

The sight hit me like a physical blow. All thoughts of divorce meetings and mystery wives evaporated completely. My carefully planned day, my million-dollar credit card, my expectations about finally ending this marriage—none of it mattered anymore.