The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 54

Orion

By the time I returned to the hospital, it was nearly eleven o'clock. The corridors were quieter now, most of the daytime bustle replaced by the soft sounds of night shift activities. I made my way to Aveline's private suite, my footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors.

The room was dimly lit, with only the bedside lamp casting a warm glow across the space. Aveline lay motionless under the pristine white sheets, her breathing deep and even. In the chair beside her bed, Marcus sat slumped forward, clearly asleep but maintaining his vigil even in unconsciousness.

I couldn't help but smile slightly. He'd taken my instructions seriously—hadn't left her side for a moment.

The soft sound of my footsteps woke him immediately. Marcus's head snapped up, his eyes alert despite the late hour, and when he saw me, he quickly stood and straightened his rumpled suit.

"Sir, you're here very late. I thought you wouldn't be back until tomorrow."

I didn't answer his implied question, instead focusing on what mattered. "Did she wake up?"

"Yes, sir. For several hours this evening. She was quite alert and seemed to be recovering well." Marcus consulted his phone briefly. "The doctor gave her some medication about an hour ago—pain management with some sedative properties. She fell back asleep almost immediately."

I nodded, satisfied with his report. But as my eyes swept the room, I noticed something that made me pause. A elegant arrangement of white flowers sat on the side table, their delicate petals catching the lamplight.

"Where did those come from?"

Marcus shifted uncomfortably, clearly wishing he didn't have to answer. "A colleague of Ms. Reeves brought them. Someone named Colin."

"And?" I could sense there was more to the story from his obvious reluctance.

"Well, sir..." Marcus looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. "It's just that of all the flowers he could have chosen..."

My gaze sharpened. "What's wrong with bringing flowers to a colleague in the hospital? That's perfectly normal."

"Yes, sir, of course. It's just..." Marcus was practically squirming now. "The flower language, sir."

"The what?" My voice turned dangerously quiet.

Marcus took a deep breath, clearly regretting that he'd ever learned about floral symbolism. "White camellias, sir. They represent... well, they're associated with unrequited love. Devotion."

I felt my jaw tighten, but forced my expression to remain neutral. "You spend too much time researching useless trivia, Marcus. They're just flowers."

"Of course, sir. You're absolutely right."

"You can go now," I said, settling into the chair he'd vacated. "I'll take it from here."

Marcus hesitated. "Sir, are you planning to stay the night? Should I arrange for a professional nurse instead?"

I shot him an irritated look. "Since when is my schedule any of your concern? Just leave."

After Marcus gathered his things and left, I found myself alone with Aveline in the quiet room. The soft lighting cast gentle shadows across her face, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheek, the way her honey-blonde hair spread across the pillow like spilled silk.

There was something hauntingly familiar about the scene, something that tugged at memories just beyond my conscious reach.

Without thinking, I leaned closer, drawn by an impulse I couldn't name. Her scent was subtle but unmistakable—not the antiseptic smell of the hospital, but something uniquely her. Floral, but not from perfume. Natural, warm, intoxicating.

"Aveline," I murmured, the words barely audible, "for both our sakes, you'd better not be the woman from that night. Because if you are... I honestly don't know what I'll do to you."

But even as I said the words, I knew they were hollow. The fury I'd carried for weeks, the need for revenge, the cold anger—it all seemed to evaporate when I looked at her peaceful face.

I reached out and took her hand in mine, marveling at how small and delicate it felt. "You know, Aveline, you have incredible timing. I postponed my divorce today because of your accident. Of all the days to nearly get yourself killed..."

Aveline stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering though they remained closed. Her lips parted slightly, and she made a soft sound.

"Water," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I need water."

I immediately reached for the glass on her bedside table, carefully lifting her head with one hand while bringing the glass to her lips with the other. But before I could help her drink, her eyes closed again and her body went limp, as if the brief moment of consciousness had exhausted her.

I was lowering her back to the pillow when she suddenly moved again, this time more dramatically. Her arm swept out, knocking the water glass from my hand and sending it crashing to the floor. In the same motion, she rolled toward me with surprising force, her body pressing against mine as I sat on the edge of the bed.

I was pinned, her weight across my torso, her face inches from mine. She was still clearly unconscious, lost in some fever dream, but her proximity sent an electric shock through my system.

The warmth of her body, the way she felt against me, the soft sound of her breathing—it was triggering something deep in my memory. Something visceral and immediate.

I tried to carefully shift her away, but she moved again, this time in a way that made my breath catch. Somehow, in her unconscious state, she'd maneuvered herself so that she was straddling my thigh, her body settling against mine with devastating precision.

My body reacted instantly and involuntarily. Heat flooded through me, and I felt myself hardening despite every rational thought screaming at me to maintain control.

But it was more than just physical arousal.

The position, the weight of her body, the way she moved even in sleep—it was unlocking memories that had been buried under alcohol and time. Fragments of that night came rushing back with startling clarity.

This feeling. This exact sensation of being beneath someone, of being taken rather than taking. The memory of soft skin and desperate movements, of being used while being too drunk to fully comprehend what was happening.

And the face. God, the face that had haunted the edges of my consciousness for weeks. In my alcohol-hazed recollections, it had always been blurry, indistinct. But now, looking down at Aveline's features in the lamplight, I could see the resemblance clearly.

The same bone structure. The same curve of her lips. The same wild abandon, even in unconsciousness.

It was her. It had to be her.

I managed to lift her gently and settle her back onto the bed, my hands shaking slightly as I arranged the blankets around her. But even as I moved away, she continued to shift restlessly, her body seeking something that wasn't there anymore.

I stood a few feet from the bed, watching her unconscious movements with a mixture of fascination and growing certainty. The way she moved, the soft sounds she made, even the way her body sought contact—it all matched the fragmented memories I'd been trying to piece together for weeks.

"You're that desperate for my body, aren't you?" I whispered, the words carrying no real anger despite their harsh content.

Standing there in the dim hospital room, watching this brilliant, complicated woman who'd somehow managed to infiltrate every aspect of my life, I felt something shift inside me.

After a long moment, I spoke again, my voice quiet but carrying absolute conviction.

"You made one critical error that night, Aveline. You touched something that wasn't yours to take. But instead of destroying you for it..." I leaned closer. "I'm going to keep you. You're going to be exactly what Ryan needs—a mother."