The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

Dora’s knuckles rapped sharply against the polished oak door of Cathleen and Xavier’s opulent suburban estate. The grandeur of the house towered over her, a physical manifestation of the lavish lifestyle she hoped to secure for her daughter, Avery. She pressed her nose against the beveled glass portal, straining to catch a glimpse of the immaculate interior that surely awaited inside. With a loud creak, the door swung open, revealing a foyer lined with marble floors and adorned with sparkling chandeliers.

“Excuse me, can I help you, ma’am?” The housekeeper’s voice jolted Dora from her snooping. A veneer of warmth painted her lips as she turned to face the woman, her eyes glinting with false tenderness.

“I’m Cathleen’s mother. I’m here to take care of her,” she declared, her voice oozing with honeyed concern that failed to reach her calculating eyes. There was a hint of pride and authority in her tone. She stood tall and confident, with a sharp jawline and piercing gaze that seemed to size up everyone around her. The subtle scent of expensive perfume wafted from her, adding to the air of superiority she exuded. There was no doubt that she was here to take charge and control the situation, whatever it may be.

“Please wait here,” the house helper instructed before disappearing back into the house, the door closing with a soft click.

Left alone on the doorstep, Dora muttered under her breath, “That ungrateful bitch, when Avery is the new madam. I will make sure this useless thing is thrown to the streets.” She seethed at the thought of the power she would wield once her plan came to fruition.

The door suddenly opened again, but this time it was Xavier who filled the frame, his imposing presence demanding attention. “Can I help you?” His voice was cold, something that was very different from the warm afternoon air.

Dora’s smile stretched wider, and her teeth bared like a predator, scenting fear. “My son,” she cooed with faux affection, “you don’t remember me? I’m Cathleen’s mother.”Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

Xavier surveyed her from head to toe, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “My wife told me her mother is late; how come you are her mother?”

Dora’s heartbeat quickened, an unexpected prick of anxiety blooming within her chest. Dora bit her lip, the taste of blood a reminder of the precarious ground she now tread upon. She never thought Cathleen would tell her husband that she wasn’t her mother. Their bond was twisted, but she raised her, and now she was her to secure Xavier for her beloved daughter Avery.

Dora’s eyes narrowed, a viper poised to strike. “I may not have given birth to her, but I raised her after her mother died,” she hissed, the truth of her claim twisting in the air like a knife. Xavier’s stance remained unyielding; his gaze locked onto hers with an intensity that could shatter glass.

“She’s not here,” he lied smoothly, his voice betraying none of the distaste he felt for this intrusion. “She went on a business trip.” It was a calculated risk, keeping Dora at arm’s length, but he knew better than to let a serpent into the nest without caution. And maybe Cathleen might come back home if Dora was around.

Their relationship, if it could even be deemed as such, was a toxic dance. Xavier and Cathleen were like two wary animals, constantly circling each other with sharp words and barbs ready to strike. Yet, despite their animosity, they were somehow inseparable, linked by an unspoken pact of protection against the world. He harbored a deep hatred for her, but when it came down to it, he would fiercely guard their shared secrets, just as fiercely as she would. It was a twisted bond forged in fire and fueled by resentment and mistrust.

Dora scoffed, the sound sharp as a slap. “How can you let a pregnant woman go to work?” The question was laced with accusation, like a pointed barb intended to wound.

Xavier’s lips twitched, almost amused. He knew the game Dora played; her concern was as hollow as the clattering of bones. “Anyways,” she continued, her voice oozing false sincerity, “I am here to take care of her and the baby.”

The word ‘baby’ hung heavy in the air, a leaden weight that seemed to tip the scales. Xavier’s expression hardened, the ghost of a smirk vanishing as if it had never been. With a silent curse, he stepped aside, opening the door wide enough for her to pass with her luggage-a viper invited into the fold.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he ground out, the words tasting like ash. The door closed behind her with a thud, sealing the fate of the house for now.

Xavier’s fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the marble countertop, a staccato beat that echoed in the pristine silence of the grand foyer. With a curt nod, he dispatched one of the house helpers-a young woman with eyes that dared not meet his-to escort Dora Jackson to the guestroom. The helper’s steps were soft, almost reverent, as they retreated up the grand staircase, the older woman trailing behind like a shadow hungry for secrets.

The moment they vanished from sight, Xavier seized his phone, thumbing through contacts until Cathleen’s number glared back at him. He didn’t hesitate; the call connected with a click that mirrored the clench of his jaw. “Hello!” The voice on the other end was brisk and businesslike, with a sharp edge that could slice through steel.

“Cat,” he began, his tone devoid of warmth, “you better come back home tonight because someone who claims to be your mother is here; apparently she wants to take care of you and our baby.” He delivered the words with the precision of a guillotine, blunt and final. Without waiting for a reply, he ended the call, satisfaction curling in his chest like smoke.

In the cold confines of her office, Cathleen’s grip on her phone tightened, her knuckles whitening. Silence screamed back at her, mocking, as Xavier’s message replayed in her head. *Is he still mad at me?* Her thoughts raced-a chaotic whirlwind that clawed at the composure she wore like armor. *Is he going to punish me for keeping the baby away from him?*

She tossed the documents on her desk aside, their fluttering a violent whisper against the growing storm within her. *Just who the fuck is Dora looking for, since when did we fucking get along?* Bitterness laced her inner monologue, a toxic vine winding tight around her heart.

With swift movements, Cathleen gathered her belongings, each item snatching up a silent challenge-a declaration of war. She wouldn’t cower; she couldn’t afford to. The battlefield awaited, and she would meet it head-on, her resolve as unyielding as the skyscrapers that pierced the city skyline beyond her window.

The office door clicked shut behind her, a soft echo to the slamming of emotions she left trapped inside, like a fortress preparing for a siege.