The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 74

Aveline

The first thing that hit me was the pain—a vicious, throbbing headache that felt like someone was using my skull as a drum. The second was the unfamiliar weight of silk against my skin and the scent of expensive fabric softener that definitely wasn't mine.

I cracked my eyes open, immediately regretting it as noon sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows I'd never seen before. The room was all clean lines and muted grays, with furniture that probably cost more than my yearly salary.

This wasn't my apartment.

I sat up slowly, my head spinning as I took in the pristine guest room that screamed money and taste. Designer everything, from the cashmere throw draped over the chair to the original artwork on the walls.

And I was wearing silk pajamas. Expensive ones, in a soft cream color that felt like liquid against my skin.

Oh God.

The memories came flooding back in painful fragments—the club, Laurent, too many drinks, and Orion Blackwell's furious face as he'd dragged me away from the bar. I was in his house. In his guest room. Wearing clothes that weren't mine.

My hands flew to my chest, checking frantically for any signs that he'd... that we'd...

*Please tell me he didn't decide to get his revenge while I was unconscious.*

The door opened with perfect timing, as if he'd been waiting for me to wake up. Orion strolled in carrying a tray with what looked like soup, crackers, and a large glass of water, his expression annoyingly casual for someone who might have just committed a felony.

"Good, you're awake," he said, setting the tray on the nightstand and offering me the water. "Drink this. You're probably dehydrated."

I clutched the silk pajama top to my chest protectively, glaring at him with all the suspicion I could muster through my hangover.

"What did you do to me last night?" I demanded, my voice hoarse and accusatory.

He raised an eyebrow, that infuriating smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "What could I have done? At most, I would have just made the same mistake you did."

The casual way he said it—like violating an unconscious person was just another item on his to-do list—made me bolt upright in bed despite the dizziness.

"How can you say that so casually?!" I shrieked, immediately regretting the volume as my head throbbed in protest. "Do you have any idea that what you're suggesting is illegal? It's assault!"

"Drink your water," he said with maddening calm, settling into the chair beside the bed like he owned the place. Which, I supposed, he did. "You need to be more coherent before we can have any kind of meaningful conversation."

I grabbed the glass and drank deeply, partly because I was genuinely parched and partly to buy myself time to process this nightmare scenario. As I lowered the glass, my eyes caught sight of his forearms where he'd rolled up his sleeves.

Deep red scratches crisscrossed his skin, some of them looking fresh enough to still be tender.

I dropped the water glass onto the nightstand and grabbed his wrist, pulling his arm closer to examine the damage.

"See?!" I said triumphantly, though my stomach was churning with guilt. "You can't tell me you didn't do anything! These scratches are from me fighting you off, aren't they? I must have tried to defend myself even while I was drunk!"

Instead of looking guilty or defensive, Orion just studied me with those dark eyes, his expression unreadable.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" he said finally, his voice oddly gentle. "You have this charming habit of crying for your grandmother when you're drunk."

The words hit me like ice water.

I stared at him, feeling heat creep up my neck as mortification settled in my stomach like a lead weight. I'd cried for Grandma? In front of him?

"I... I cried?" I whispered, horrified. "What else did I say? Did I... God, what did I do?"

I watched his expression shift, something almost protective flickering across his features before he shuttered it away. For a moment, I thought he might tell me something important, something that would explain the careful way he was looking at me.

Instead, he shrugged. "Nothing worth repeating. But I have to say, your drunk personality is terrifying. Next time I'll just leave you at the club."

I slipped out of bed, drawn by some inexplicable need to understand what had happened. Moving closer to him, I studied his face properly for the first time since I'd woken up. Along with the scratches on his arms, there were dark circles under his eyes, the kind that spoke of a sleepless night.

"These scratches," I said softly, reaching out to trace one of them with my fingertip. "And you look exhausted. You stayed with me, didn't you? When I was... when I was having whatever episode I had, you stayed and tried to calm me down."

The gentleness in my voice seemed to make him uncomfortable. He stood abruptly, putting distance between us, his expression closing off completely.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said dismissively, though his tone sounded forced. "Why would I waste my time babysitting a drunk? The maids changed your clothes, and I only happened to overhear you calling for your grandmother. I have better things to do than play nursemaid to someone who can't handle their alcohol."

The shift from what had felt like a moment of genuine connection to his casual cruelty hit me like a slap. I felt my chest tighten with hurt, followed immediately by anger.

"Fine," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. "Message received loud and clear. I need to get to work anyway—I have classes this afternoon. Did you at least have the courtesy to call in sick for me this morning?"

His expression darkened. "I didn't call anyone. My son might have handled it."

Orion moved to a table near the window and picked up a garment I hadn't noticed before. "Your clothes reeked of alcohol and God knows what else," he said, holding up what appeared to be a dress. "Mitchell found this somewhere. No idea if it'll fit, but it's better than wearing pajamas to school."

He tossed the dress onto the bed between us. "Eat what I brought you, get dressed, and get out. I don't make a habit of hosting hungover house guests."

The casual dismissal in his voice, after what I'd begun to suspect had been a night of him taking care of me, made something snap inside me.

"You are such an ass," I said, pushing him toward the door with both hands. "Get out so I can change!"

He didn't resist, which somehow made me even angrier. As he reached the doorway, he paused and looked back with that insufferable smirk.

"Try not to get that drunk again, Aveline. Not everyone is as patient as I apparently was last night."

I slammed the door in his face, leaning against it as I tried to process the emotional whiplash of the last ten minutes.

Turning back to the bed, I picked up the dress he'd brought me.

It was beautiful—a deep purple silk that felt like water between my fingers, with a classic A-line cut that would hit just below my knees. The color was sophisticated, the kind of rich jewel tone that would bring out my eyes.

I held it up against myself, checking the size. It looked perfect, which was... odd.

*Where exactly does one just "find" a designer dress in someone's exact size?*

I changed quickly and left, trying not to think about how perfectly the dress fit—or what that might mean.