The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 58

Aveline

Soon enough, a sleek black car pulled up outside the townhouse, and Marcus stepped out with his usual professional efficiency. Through the window, I could see Richard and Monica practically falling over themselves with excitement, their faces stretched into those grotesque, obsequious smiles that made my stomach turn.

But it was Grandmother's expression that caught my attention—the worried furrow in her brow, the way she studied my face with those perceptive eyes that had always seen through my pretenses.

She knew something was wrong. She could sense the tension that had gripped me since Orion's phone call.

"Ms. Reeves," Marcus said as he opened the car door for me, "Mr. Blackwell sends his apologies for not collecting you personally. He had some urgent family matters to attend to, but he'll be ready to receive you shortly."

I settled into the leather seat, trying to ignore the way Richard and Monica were practically pressed against the window, watching my departure like it was the most fascinating thing they'd ever seen. "What kind of family matters?"

Marcus glanced at me in the rearview mirror, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Well, sir thought it best to have Master Ryan stay with his great-grandfather for a few days. He mentioned it wouldn't be... convenient... to have the young master at home right now."

My blood went cold. Not convenient? What exactly was Orion planning that wouldn't be appropriate for a five-year-old to witness?

The implications sent my mind spiraling into increasingly paranoid scenarios. Maybe he'd figured out who I was and wanted to confront me without Ryan hearing his father accuse his beloved teacher of sexual assault. Maybe he was planning some kind of revenge that he didn't want his son to see.

I forced myself to take deep breaths, trying to summon some courage. Enough. I was tired of living in fear, tired of walking on eggshells, tired of this secret eating away at me from the inside. If Orion wanted a confrontation, then fine. I'd give him one.

I'd tell him the truth about that night—about the drugs, about the confusion, about how sorry I was. Maybe he'd understand. Maybe he'd even forgive me.

Of course, there was the small matter of actually getting the words out. How exactly was I supposed to look at those intense, all-seeing eyes and casually mention that I'd taken advantage of his unconscious body? "Oh, by the way, that night you can't remember? Yeah, that was me riding you like a stallion while you were passed out drunk."

Right. This was going to go wonderfully.

Mitchell greeted me at the door with his usual warm professionalism, though I noticed he seemed unusually excited about something.

"Ms. Reeves, how wonderful to see you! Please, come in. I've prepared something special for this evening."

He led me to the formal dining room, and I had to stop and stare. The table was set for two with gleaming china and crystal, but it was the food that took my breath away. Mitchell had prepared what looked like a feast straight from a Parisian restaurant—coq au vin with pearl onions glistening in rich burgundy sauce, ratatouille arranged in perfect spirals, a delicate soufflé still rising in its ramekin, and what appeared to be duck confit with roasted pears. The aroma was intoxicating.

"Mitchell, this is incredible," I said, genuinely amazed. "It's like you've brought a piece of France to Manhattan."

He beamed with pride. "I studied classical French cuisine for over a decade, though I rarely get the chance to show off. Mr. Blackwell is usually too busy for elaborate meals, and Master Ryan prefers simpler fare. If you visited more often, perhaps my skills wouldn't go to waste."

The suggestion made me both touched and terrified. The idea of becoming a regular presence in this house, in their lives, was both everything I wanted and everything I was afraid of.

"I hope you enjoy the meal," Mitchell continued, glancing toward the doorway. "I'll leave you and Mr. Blackwell to dine in peace."

That's when I heard footsteps on the marble floor, and Orion appeared in the doorway.

My breath caught in my throat.

He was wearing a midnight blue Tom Ford dinner jacket with subtle velvet lapels that caught the candlelight, paired with a crisp white shirt and a steel-gray silk tie that brought out the intensity in his dark eyes. The cut was impeccable, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean frame, but it was the way he moved that really got to me—with that predatory grace that suggested coiled power beneath the civilized exterior.

He looked like he'd stepped off the cover of a men's fashion magazine, but there was something about his expression that made my survival instincts scream danger.

"Good evening, Aveline," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that somehow made me more nervous rather than less.

"I'll just... be in the kitchen if you need anything," Mitchell said quickly, practically fleeing the room and leaving me alone with whatever Orion had planned.