The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

Cathleen’s heels echoed loudly on the marble floor as she left Old Mr. Knight’s room. Her heart pounded in her chest as she walked through the maze-like halls of the Knight estate towards Xavier’s door.

She hesitated before pushing open Xavier’s door. Inside, shadows wrapped around him like a cloak as he carefully folded the sleeves of his black shirt. His movements were deliberate and controlled, contrasting with the intense gaze in his piercing gray eyes.

“There you are,” his voice sliced through the quiet, rough-edged, and cold as he approached Cathleen and Bella. His hands, those instruments of both pleasure and pain, reached out. “Let me have her.”

Obedience was not her creed, but something in the way he uttered the command, a desperate edge beneath the control, had her passing the infant into his arms without a fight. She watched, silent, as Xavier cradled Bella close, and in that moment, Cathleen saw the chink in his armor-the fierce love for his daughter that could shatter him to pieces.

“Hello, there my beautiful, Bella. Daddy’s little girl.” His voice softened, a whispered caress that Cathleen felt skitter across her own skin. “Come, let’s go; Daddy wants to take your bath.” And then he was gone, disappearing into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him-a barrier as much as a promise.

Left alone, Cathleen’s gaze lingered on the closed door before snapping away, her body moving on autopilot. She shed her clothes with practiced efficiency, stepping into the shower’s embrace. Water sluiced over her, a cascade of warmth, but it did nothing to douse the fire within.

By the time she came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that did little to cover her, Xavier wasn’t back. She decided to go into the walk-in closet. She put on her clothes like armor, each piece protecting her from the unknown, from him. She didn’t know why Xavier was so protective of her and their daughter. The way he was overprotective, it was as if they were in some sort of danger or something.

Finally, Xavier came out of the bathroom, his presence filling the room like a brewing storm. Bella, clean and dressed, snuggled in his embrace. “Go to mommy.” The command was softer this time, yet it still held the weight of his authority.

Cathleen held her daughter, Bella, close. Bella’s pure innocence stood out against their tangled mess. Xavier slumped on the couch near the window, a dark figure outlined by the city outside.

“Cat,” he called out. Cathleen responded with a subtle hum, hiding her inner turmoil behind a facade of composure. Her husband-the mysterious figure, the one who tormented her, the man who had a tight grip on her heart. She held her breath, anticipating his next move.

Xavier’s voice sliced through the tension, a blade wrapped in velvet. “I’m sorry about how I acted this morning.” His eyes flickered, a shadow passing-“I just had a bad dream.” The words felt like ice, rehearsed and hollow.

Cathleen’s lips tightened into a thin line, a silent signal of her deep understanding of lies, akin to her knowledge of the law-intimate and unyielding. She gave a slight nod, her facade of detachment securely in position. However, this nod was merely a formality; trust had long abandoned her.

Cathleen’s eyes searched Xavier’s own, but the man didn’t even maintain eye contact. She knew he was lying, there was nothing like a bad dream; something was going on, and she knew she wasn’t going to like whatever it was.

“It seems like you are ready, can we go home now?” He was probing, gauging her response. She nodded, a silent warrior readying for battle.

A piercing shriek shattered the mansion’s calm as they moved towards the door. Olivia’s harsh words cut through the air, exposing their facade. “Why should I suffer and raise this baby alone? Xavier has not even seen his son ever since he was born. Is it my fault that he couldn’t get enough from his wife and fancied me?”

Cathleen’s heart clenched, the words wrapping around it like thorns. Xavier remained silent-a statue, his features carved in stone.

“Is it my fault that he couldn’t get enough from his wife? I am a model and have a killer body than his wife would ever have; that’s why he couldn’t stay away from me, and now, now that man wants me to raise our son alone?” Olivia’s tirade continued, unabated by decency or shame.

Cathleen turned, her gaze locking onto Xavier’s. “I am going to ask you for the last time,” she said, her voice steel wrapped in silk. Her demand hung in the air, heavy with finality. “And I will never ask you this question again, Xavier-all I want from you is a moment of honesty.” Xavier nodded, a simple tilt of the head that belied the gravity of the moment.

“Is Olivia’s baby yours?”

The query hung between them, guillotine poised to fall.

Xavier reached out, his lips grazing hers in a kiss that whispered of dark rooms and darker desires. “You look so cute when you are jealous, Mrs. Knight.” His words dripped with condescension, yet the undercurrent of sincerity could not be mistaken.

She pulled away, the taste of him lingering-an unwelcome ghost.

“I have never touched another woman since Miami,” he murmured against her forehead, sealing the confession with another kiss, softer, more desperate. “It has always been you I crave, and my dick dances for you, Cat, only you.”

His declaration was raw and vulgar in its truth. Cathleen searched his eyes, seeking the fractures in his facade. And there, in the depths of his gaze, she found it-the truth.

“Yes, I might have made some mistakes before I got to know you,” he continued, his voice low and steady, “but I will never touch another woman other than you.”

Cathleen’s heart hammered against her ribcage, a staccato rhythm that matched the rising tension. She looked at him, really looking, stripping away layers of doubt and fear. The man before her was flawed, undeniably so, but his words rang with an earnestness that pierced through the chaos of the moment.

“Xavier…” Her lips parted, but the words tangled in her throat.

He stepped back, giving her space, yet his presence enveloped her-a tempest cloaked in calm. His hand, large and warm, found hers, fingers intertwining as if they were two halves of a complicated puzzle fitting together.

“Cat,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers, “I’m yours. Entirely.”

The confrontation hung suspended in time, a tableau of trust and turmoil. The echo of Olivia’s accusations still clawed at the edges of Cathleen’s consciousness, but in this intimate cocoon, they seemed distant-unreal, even.

“Entirely,” she echoed back, the word tasting like a promise on her tongue.

Their unspoken understanding filled the space between them, heavy and electric. Xavier exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding for eons, and in that exhale, Cathleen sensed the unraveling of countless defenses.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered, as though the words were a sacred incantation capable of warding off the demons lurking just outside their door.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she affirmed, allowing herself to be pulled into his orbit, their entwined hands a testament to a shared future fraught with complexity-but not devoid of hope.

Xavier’s grip tightened on Cathleen’s hand, a silent pact against the chaos. His other arm cradled their daughter, Bella, close to his chest-a protective shield in the shape of a father’s love. They moved through the hallway, a unit bound by something deeper than the fury that clawed at the walls from the sitting room.

Olivia’s voice, sharp as shattered glass, cut through the tense air. “You dare walk out on me, Xavier?”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t break stride. A statue carved from years of cold confrontations and colder bedfellows. “Father,” he called out without turning his head, “deal with her.” He said and went on. “Make sure she knows her place.” The command was iron, and the expectation was clear. Xavier led Cathleen to the exit, a brief escape from the tempest brewing behind them.

He held the car door open for Cathleen, a gesture that seemed more obligatory than chivalrous. With practiced ease, he fastened Bella into her baby seat in the back, his actions quick and precise. Getting into the driver’s seat, he started the engine, breaking the heavy silence with its loud rumble.

The car pulled away, leaving behind the mansion-a fortress now besieged by Olivia’s wrath.

Back inside, old Mr. Knight observed the spectacle with an age-worn smile, his eyes betraying nothing of the storm within. He faced Olivia, whose rage simmered beneath her model-perfect facade.

“Miss Williams,” he began, the question casual as if discussing the weather, “how certain are you about the paternity of that child?”

“I gave birth to the heir of this family,” Olivia spat back, confidence woven into every syllable. “I know who the baby’s father is.”

“The heir, you say?” The old man’s smile didn’t waver, but there was steel in his voice. A challenge laid bare.

“What kind of question is that?” Her leg tapped a furious rhythm on the floor, a metronome to her mounting irritation.

But old Mr. Knight simply watched, amused by the performance. He knew the truth of bloodlines and the weight they carried in this house. And he knew far more than Olivia could fathom about what it meant to be a Knight.

Finn’s voice cracked like a whip through the tension-thick air. “Mind the way you talk to my grandfather, Olivia,” he snapped the edge in his tone slicing through her bluster. “Because I will not hesitate.”

Olivia, with her back straight as sin, turned her glare on Finn, the sharpness of her cheekbones casting shadows of defiance. But Finn stood unflinching, his patience frayed to snapping.

Old Mr. Knight extended a hand, a piece of paper between his fingers. “If you’re so sure that baby is Xavier’s,” he said, his voice deceptively soft, “then explain this?”

The paternity report exchanged hands like grenades. Olivia’s perfectly manicured nails trembled as she unfolded the document. Her eyes-wide pools of shock-scanned the words once, twice, thrice.

Silence fell. It was thick, expectant, the room holding its breath.

Her lips parted, a statue coming to life, but no sound escaped. The report slipped from her grasp, fluttering to the ground like a wounded bird. Disbelief etched onto her usually composed features. She tried again, mouth opening and closing, but the truth choked her words before they could be born.

“Come now, Olivia,” Finn taunted, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “Cat got your tongue?”

Olivia’s gaze darted around the room, seeking an ally, a savior. But there was none. Only the damning silence and the old man’s knowing eyes watched her unravel.Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.