The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 71

Orion

"Well, well," Aveline shot back, her words slightly slurred but her defiance crystal clear. "Look who's talking. What are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be home tucking Ryan into bed instead of prowling around nightclubs?"

I felt my jaw clench. Even drunk, she had an uncanny ability to hit exactly where it hurt. Looking at her swaying in front of me—hair mussed, cheeks flushed, that black dress clinging to every curve—I was struck by how completely different she looked from her usual composed self. This version of Aveline was pure danger wrapped in silk and alcohol, and every rational thought in my head was abandoning ship.

The scent of whiskey on her breath mixed with her perfume, creating something intoxicating that made my pulse spike in ways I didn't want to analyze.

When she swayed dangerously on her heels, instinct took over. I reached out and caught her waist, steadying her against me, but she immediately pushed my hand away with surprising force.

"I can handle myself, thank you very much," she said, though she immediately reached for the wall for support. Her smile was pure mischief as she looked up at me. "Let me guess—you're about to lecture me about how teachers shouldn't frequent establishments like this?"

"Your private life is none of my business," I lied smoothly, though watching her laugh and dance with that bastard had been anything but indifferent. "But as Ryan's teacher, I'd appreciate it if you kept your... extracurricular activities... slightly more professional."

"Professional?" She laughed, pushing off from the wall and attempting to walk away with exaggerated dignity. "I had a few drinks with a friend after work! Since when is that a federal offense?"

She made it exactly three steps before stumbling. This time I didn't hesitate—I caught her arm and pulled her firmly against my side.

"That's enough. I'm taking you home."

"Let go!" she struggled, trying to twist out of my grip. "I don't need a babysitter!"

"In this condition, you absolutely do," I said, tightening my hold as I guided her toward the exit. "I'm not letting you stumble around Manhattan drunk off your ass. God knows what kind of trouble you'd find."

That seemed to penetrate her alcohol-fogged brain, because she suddenly stopped fighting and turned to face me with a wickedly amused expression.

"Aw, what's wrong?" she asked, moving closer with deliberate provocation. "Worried I might do something... inappropriate? Maybe take advantage of someone who can't fight back?"

The reference to our hotel encounter hit like a sledgehammer, and I felt my face flush dark. Behind me, I could hear Marcus barely containing his laughter at the exchange.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" I snapped over my shoulder. "You're walking home tonight. Keys. Now."

Marcus quickly tossed me the car keys, his expression immediately sobering as he beat a hasty retreat.

Getting Aveline to the parking garage was like herding a particularly stubborn cat. She kept up a steady stream of accusations that made my blood pressure spike.

"You've got some nerve criticizing me," she muttered, leaning heavily on my arm while somehow managing to sound indignant. "What were you even doing at that club? Let me guess—important business meetings that just happen to take place in nightclubs with beautiful women everywhere?"

"I was conducting legitimate business," I said through gritted teeth.

"Of course you were," she said with bitter sarcasm. "And I'm sure you hated every minute of being surrounded by all that attention. Poor little rich boy, forced to endure beautiful women throwing themselves at him. My heart just bleeds for your suffering."

Something in her tone—a kind of inexplicable fury that seemed far too personal—made me stop walking and pull her around to face me. I yanked out my phone and activated the camera function.

"Take a look at yourself," I said, holding up the screen so she could see her reflection. "You can barely stand upright. You're completely wasted. I'm trying to figure out how someone who gets tipsy off two glasses of wine managed to drink herself into this state."

She grinned at her disheveled appearance, apparently delighted with what she saw. "Sometimes you just gotta celebrate properly!"

"Celebrate what, exactly?" The question came out sharper than I'd intended, driven by the memory of her laughing with that tall, dark stranger. "Quality time with your boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend?" She snorted with laughter. "What, have you been following me around all night? Lurking in the shadows like some kind of stalker?"

I guided her to the passenger seat, not bothering to deny the accusation. "Maybe I have been," I said, moving around to the driver's side. "And I plan to keep digging until I figure out every single one of your secrets."

Instead of getting in the front, she flopped dramatically into the back seat, her hair a complete mess and her legs sprawled carelessly. "Good luck with that, detective," she said with drunken confidence. "I've got resources you can't even imagine. You'll find exactly what I want you to find, and not one damn thing more."

The way she said it—like she had the power and connections to outmaneuver someone like me—only added fuel to my growing obsession with unraveling her mysteries. This woman was absolutely infuriating when drunk, but I found myself completely defenseless against this unfiltered version of her personality.

"We'll see about that," I said, starting the engine.

"Where are we going?" she asked, suddenly sounding drowsy.

"I'm taking you home to sleep this off. I'm sure your parents are worried sick about where you are this late."

The moment I mentioned parents, something shifted in her expression. The playful defiance faded, replaced by something darker and more vulnerable.

"No." The word came out sharper than her previous responses, with an edge that cut through her drunken haze. "I don't want to go there."

"Why not? What's wrong?" I glanced at her in the rearview mirror, remembering something. "Though I have to say, when I dropped you off last time, your parents didn't seem... particularly concerned about your wellbeing. The relationship looked a bit strained."

She let out a cold, bitter laugh that was more painful than any scream.

"The only person in this world who gives a damn about me is my grandmother," she said, her voice turning vicious. "Those two? They can go straight to hell for all I care."

The raw hatred in her voice caught me off guard. This wasn't just family drama—this was something deeper, more toxic.

She fell silent after that outburst, curling up on the seat with her eyes closed, apparently having revealed more than she'd intended.

I drove in silence for several minutes, watching her in the mirror as she dozed fitfully. When I finally spoke, my voice was quieter than usual.

"You can crash at my place tonight. Sober up properly."

She didn't respond, having apparently passed out completely, leaving me alone with my thoughts as I navigated the empty Manhattan streets.