The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 86

Orion

Ryan needed no further encouragement. He dragged his new treasure toward the door, calling over his shoulder, "Thanks, Great-grandpa! Daddy, try not to be boring while I'm gone!"

Once Ryan's footsteps had disappeared down the hallway, I turned to look at my grandfather properly. Despite the late hour, he was immaculately dressed in a charcoal gray suit, his hair styled with mathematical precision, and his shoes polished to a mirror shine.

"Seriously?" I said, gesturing at my own rumpled appearance. "It's almost nine o'clock and you look like you're heading to a board meeting."

Bryce adjusted his cufflinks with a theatrical flourish. "My dear boy, a proper suit is a man's armor against the world! You never know when opportunity might knock—or when a beautiful woman might cross your path. Romance waits for no man, especially not one caught in..." He gestured dramatically at my outfit, "...whatever this ensemble is supposed to represent."

I looked down at myself and had to admit the contrast was rather stark. While Bryce stood there looking like he'd stepped out of a magazine, I was wearing flannel pajama pants covered in tiny sailboats—a gag gift from Ryan last Christmas that had somehow become my favorites—and an old Harvard t-shirt that had seen better decades. My hair was sticking up at odd angles, and I was pretty sure there was a cracker crumb somewhere in the general vicinity of my left shoulder.

"Grandfather," I said flatly, "I'm not exactly expecting romance to come knocking on my bedroom door at nine PM on a Wednesday."

Bryce's expression shifted, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something more serious. "Perhaps not," he said, settling into the chair by my desk with a gravity that immediately put me on alert. "But appearances do matter, Orion. More than you might think. Your image represents not just yourself, but the family name and everything we've built."

Something in his tone suggested this wasn't just a lecture about proper attire. I sat up straighter, suddenly very aware that my sailboat-covered pajamas were probably not projecting the gravitas this conversation seemed to require.

"You didn't come here at nine PM just to critique my sleepwear choices," I said carefully. "What's really going on?"

Bryce's expression shifted from playfully reproachful to seriously concerned. He pulled out his phone and handed it to me without comment.

The screen displayed a collection of news articles and social media posts, all featuring unflattering photographs of Aveline and increasingly sensationalized headlines about our supposed relationship. I scrolled through them quickly, feeling my jaw clench with each ridiculous speculation.

"Tabloid garbage," I said dismissively, handing the phone back. "This kind of nonsense happens to anyone in the public eye. It'll die down in a few days when they find someone more interesting to harass."

"Under normal circumstances, I would agree," Bryce said slowly. "But these particular pieces of garbage have something unusual in common."

He sat down in the leather chair across from my bed, his expression growing more serious than I'd seen it in months.

"I had my people trace the digital footprints of these stories," he continued. "The photographers, the bloggers, the social media accounts pushing the narrative—they all lead back to the same media company. And that company has some very interesting financial backing."

A cold knot formed in my stomach. "What kind of backing?"

"The kind that comes from someone with both money and a very specific agenda," Bryce replied. "Someone who has access to information about your personal life and the resources to orchestrate a sustained campaign of character assassination."

I closed my eyes, already knowing what he was going to say but hoping I was wrong.

"Dwayne," I said flatly. "My dear cousin Dwayne."

"Indeed. And it appears his father has been quite busy lately as well." Bryce's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Devan has been making quite a few overtures to various board members recently. Lunches, golf games, private meetings about 'the future direction of the company.' Nothing overtly treasonous, but definitely laying groundwork for something."

I sat up abruptly, fury burning through the lingering melancholy from earlier. "That ambitious little parasite. I should have seen this coming."

"His timing is quite strategic," Bryce continued. "Attacking your personal reputation while simultaneously building political support within the company. If he can paint you as reckless and unprofessional in your private life while positioning himself as the stable, responsible alternative..."

"He thinks he can stage a coup," I finished grimly. "Use the board's concerns about scandal to push me out and install himself as CEO."

"Or at least significantly damage your position and influence," Bryce agreed. "The question is: what are you going to do about it?"

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my mind already shifting into strategic mode. The family business had been built over generations, and I'd be damned if I let some opportunistic cousin destroy it for his own advancement.

"Tomorrow," I said, standing and beginning to pace, "I'm going to pay Dwayne a visit. Time to remind him exactly what happens to people who try to play games with the wrong opponent."

"Excellent," Bryce said with obvious satisfaction. "Though might I suggest you wear something more intimidating than pajama pants? First impressions matter, after all."

Despite everything, I found myself smiling. "I'll try to look appropriately menacing."