The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 72

Orion

The Manhattan streets were quieter now, late enough that traffic had thinned to the occasional taxi or delivery truck. In the rearview mirror, Aveline lay unconscious across the back seat, her breathing deep and steady, finally peaceful after the chaos at the club.

Part of me felt relief seeing her like this—safe, contained, no longer stumbling around where anything could happen to her. But I couldn't shake the image of her face when I'd mentioned her parents. That flash of raw pain, quickly hidden but impossible to miss.

What the hell had this woman been through? And why did the thought of her hurting make something twist uncomfortably in my chest?

The shrill ring of her phone cut through my brooding. I glanced back—still dead to the world, completely oblivious to the sound coming from somewhere near her.

The ringing continued, insistent and sharp. After the fourth ring, I couldn't stand it anymore. I reached back blindly, following the sound to where her phone had slipped between the seat and her body.

My hand fumbled in the darkness, searching, when suddenly my fingers encountered something soft and warm through silk.

Jesus Christ.

I'd accidentally brushed against her breast, and the contact sent electricity straight through my nervous system. Even through the fabric of her dress, I could feel the curve of her, and my body reacted with devastating immediacy.

I jerked my hand back, heart hammering as I checked to make sure she hadn't stirred. But she remained blissfully unconscious, completely unaware of my inappropriate reaction.

The phone kept ringing.

Steeling myself, I reached more carefully, finally locating the device. The caller ID made me pause.

Laurent.

This had to be him—the European jewelry designer Grandfather had mentioned, the "close friend" with connections to exclusive ateliers. The famous Laurent.

I answered on what felt like the final ring.

"Hello."

"Ah, bonjour!" came a smooth, accented voice that was unmistakably French. "You are Aveline's friend, yes? Where is my Aveline? She was drinking quite a bit tonight—I wanted to make sure she arrived home safely."

Every muscle in my body went rigid.

*My Aveline.*

This was him. The bastard who'd been drinking with her all evening, who'd made her laugh like she didn't have a care in the world. The man who'd had his hands on her, who'd been close enough to know exactly how much she'd been drinking.

"This is Orion Blackwell," I said, my voice turning deadly quiet. "I'm driving her home now. She's sleeping."

The silence that followed stretched for several seconds. When Laurent spoke again, his tone had shifted completely—the casual warmth replaced by something more careful, almost wary.

"Ah. It's you." Another pause. "You will take good care of my girl, yes? Sometimes she... she makes mistakes when things get... foggy for her. But you'll be gentle with her?"

The implication hit me like a sledgehammer. *She makes mistakes.* The careful way he phrased it, the protective undertone—he knew. Somehow, this French bastard knew about the hotel room, about what Aveline had done to me that night.

Which meant she'd told him. She'd confided in this stranger about using my body while I was unconscious.

Rage flooded through me so suddenly I could barely speak.

"How I take care of her is my choice," I said through gritted teeth. "And I don't care if you're her boyfriend or her lover or whatever the hell you are—"

"I'm not—" Laurent started.

I hung up before he could finish, fury coursing through my veins.

The rest of the drive passed in tense silence, my knuckles white on the steering wheel as I processed the humiliation of knowing she'd shared our most intimate encounter with someone else.

By the time I reached my building, Aveline was completely dead weight. Mitchell appeared immediately when we entered the penthouse, his eyes widening at her condition.

"Sir, is Ms. Reeves—"

"Drunk," I said curtly, adjusting my grip as she mumbled incoherently against my shoulder. "Help me get her upstairs."

Together, we managed to carry her to one of the guest rooms. But the moment her body touched the mattress, she exploded into motion.

"Let go!" she screamed, her arms swinging wildly at invisible attackers. "Let go of me!"

Mitchell stepped forward instinctively, but I caught his arm, stopping him.

"Don't," I said quietly, watching as she thrashed against the bed. "Sometimes when people are drunk, their subconscious needs to work through things. Suppressing it won't help. Go check on Ryan, make sure he's sleeping. Have one of the maids come up in a few minutes to help her change clothes. I'll stay with her."

Mitchell nodded and retreated, closing the door behind him. I stood watching as Aveline continued to fight demons I couldn't see, her face flushed with exertion and distress.

"You bastards," she muttered, swinging at empty air. "You can't... you can't make me..."

I sighed, sinking into the chair beside the bed. "What the hell did they do to you?"

That's when her entire demeanor changed. The fighting stopped abruptly, replaced by something infinitely more heartbreaking.

"Grandma?" she called out, her voice small and lost. "Grandma, where are you?"

Her hands began searching frantically across the bed, patting the sheets like she was trying to find someone who wasn't there.

Without thinking, I reached out and took her hand in mine, offering whatever comfort I could.

But she pulled away immediately, her fingers clawing at my forearm as tears began streaming down her face.

"Grandma, Grandma," she sobbed, her nails digging into my skin. "I lost my baby. The baby's gone."

The words hit me like ice water.

She'd lost a child?

I stared down at this brilliant, complicated woman who was breaking apart in front of me, my mind reeling with the implications. When? How? With who?

But there was no time to process the revelation. She was spiraling deeper into whatever grief the alcohol had unlocked, her quiet sobs echoing in the room.

Instinct took over. I began humming softly—no real melody, just a gentle, rhythmic sound like someone might use to soothe a frightened child. I made no move to restrain her, letting her claw at my arms while I provided what little comfort I could through sound alone.

Gradually, her desperate searching slowed. Her grip on my arm loosened, though she didn't let go completely. The sobbing quieted to occasional hiccups, then to steady breathing.

I don't know how long I sat there, humming nonsense while she worked through whatever demons were chasing her. Twenty minutes? An hour? Time seemed suspended in that quiet room, marked only by the gradual return of peace to her face.

Finally, her hand went limp in mine, and her breathing deepened into true sleep.

That's when I heard the soft creak of the door opening behind me.

"Daddy?" Ryan's small voice cut through the quiet darkness. "Are you humming Miss Aveline to sleep?"