The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

The morning light crept through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the polished staircase that Cathleen descended with deliberate grace. Clad in a tailored suit that hugged her slender frame, she moved like a panther-sleek and poised despite the storm that raged within her.

Xavier sat at the breakfast table, his posture rigid, exuding an aura of control that belied the turmoil he felt. The sight of Cathleen, so composed and so fiercely alive, unsettled him. He watched her pour coffee with hands that didn’t tremble, and his voice betrayed a hint of surprise. “You look well.”

“Good morning to you too, Mr. Knight,” she retorted, the edge in her tone sharper than the knife beside his plate. Xavier cleared his throat, grappling with an unfamiliar unease. “Morning, sorry; it’s just that you look good.”

“I don’t look like my problems, Mr. Knight.” Cathleen shot back, her coffee as dark and bitter as the reality they faced.Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

He tried to pierce her armor with concern. “So, Cat, how are you feeling?” Her side-eye was a slash, wounding his pretense.

“Shouldn’t you be worried about your new heir, Mr. Knight? At least he’s alive and well, unlike a daughter who died without her mother seeing her.” Her words were a gut punch, leaving no room for retort. She sipped again and rose, armor intact, leaving him behind to stew in silent defeat.

Xavier reached for his phone, the device cold and unyielding in his grip. “Caleb, how far are you with everything?” His voice was a low growl, hungry for answers.

“It seems like your suspicions were true, sir. I will send everything to you,” Caleb replied, a conspirator in the shadows.

In the quiet aftermath, Xavier sat alone, the echo of Cathleen’s defiance haunting the expanse of their home. The morning had unfurled with tension coiled tight, a prelude to battles yet waged and secrets poised to strike like venomous serpents in this war they called marriage.

As the night wore on, Xavier’s car pulled up to the grand mansion he called home. The key turned in the lock with a sharp click, reverberating through the heavy silence that seemed to suffocate the entire building. He stepped inside, and the vast dining room lay abandoned, void of any sign of life. The familiar sight of his wife Cathleen’s absence at the table struck him like a punch to the gut, leaving a jagged void where her presence should have been. A conflict rose within him, but he pushed it away and sat down to eat alone, each bite a hollow echo in the empty space of his heart.

In the silence that followed his solitary meal, he climbed the stairs, the heaviness in his legs mirroring the dread settling in his chest. The bed was cold, an expanse of sheets untouched by warmth; he lay there, rigid, waiting for sleep or damnation-whichever came first.

A creak in the night jolted him upright, his heart pounding against his ribs like a caged beast desperate for escape. Xavier’s eyes snapped to the door, where moonlight spilled over Cathleen’s figure-a specter haunting the threshold, cradling a doll swathed in muslin.

“Cat, are you okay?” His voice was rough, like sandpaper on the raw edges of his worries.

“Xavier, she can’t stop crying; please make her stop crying.” Desperation clawed at Cathleen’s words, tearing through the facade of the indomitable lawyer.

“Cat, that is just a doll; it’s not a baby,” Xavier countered, steel lacing his tone even as it wavered under the weight of her delusion.

“What do you mean, can’t you hear she’s crying?” Anger flared in her eyes, a wildfire threatening to consume them both.

The sight of Cathleen, so fierce yet so fractured, broke something inside him. For the first time in his life, Xavier cried, tears carving tracks through the grime of his soul. “Cathy, Bella is gone. This is a doll.” Xavier’s voice cracked a plea for the woman he knew to return from the abyss into which she slipped.

‘Is she losing it?’ The idea was poison, spreading icy tendrils through his veins. Xavier’s vast empire was constructed on the pillars of control and dominance; his every move was calculated for maximum power. But in the confines of their dimly lit bedroom, he was reduced to nothing, his will crushed by the heart-wrenching sobs of a child that would never belong to them, not even a child, a doll that can never replace his daughter. The sound the doll was making echoed off the walls, settling into the darkest corners of his mind, a constant reminder of what he could never have. A single tear slid down his face as he realized that despite all his wealth and influence, he was powerless at this moment, brought to his knees by the haunting cries that pierced his heart.

“Xavier, this is your baby too; why should I be the one taking care of her?” Her voice, sharp and accusing, sliced through the silence of the room.

He watched her-a woman unbroken in the courtroom but shattering within these four walls. Xavier’s heart cracked, the sound deafening in his ears. He rose from the bed, the motion abrupt and full of unspoken agony. Taking the doll from her arms with a gentleness that belied his turmoil, he murmured, “Okay, I will hold her; get some sleep.”

Cathleen climbed onto the bed, her movements robotic, devoid of the fire he knew. As her eyes closed and her breathing evened out, he stood motionless, watching the rise and fall of her chest.

Finally asleep, she was oblivious to the torment raging around her. With raw emotion clawing at his throat, Xavier hurled the doll against the floor. The thud echoed, a brutal cry tearing from him, giving voice to his despair. He loathed the helplessness that gripped him and hated that he could conquer boardrooms but not the battle his wife fought within.

The night stretched on, endless and unforgiving. Xavier paced like a caged beast, each step a testament to his internal war. He couldn’t bear to see Cathleen suffer; he couldn’t stomach the twisted dance of strength and vulnerability that tormented them both. So he left the room and drove out of his mansion.

As dawn broke, its light unforgiving, Xavier slipped back into the room. He positioned himself beside Cathleen, an artifice for anyone to see. She stirred slightly, her features remaining a cruel mockery of peace. He lay there, a statue carved from pain, as the new day began its indifferent march forward.

Steam curled from the black coffee as Cathleen brought the cup to her lips, a calculated sip hiding the tempest behind her eyes. Sunlight streamed through the windows, glinting off the polished silverware and the untouched plates on the breakfast table. Xavier watched her, his gaze probing, but she was an enigma this morning, her face a mask of composure.

“How are you feeling today, Cat?” Xavier’s voice cut through the silence, tentative yet laced with concern he couldn’t fully mask.

Cathleen set the cup down, her fingers tracing the rim with pointed precision. “I told you before,” she began, her tone sharp as shattered glass. “I don’t look like my problems.”

Xavier’s brow furrowed, tension knotting his shoulders.

“Indeed, Mr. Knight,” Cathleen continued, leaning forward, her eyes flashing a challenge. “I have no baby. Your plaything has a son.” Her words were daggers, each one aimed with lethal intent. “Please sign those divorce papers; after all, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was you and your concubine who killed my daughter and did a very good job at making sure I don’t meet her.”

Shock rendered Xavier mute, his throat tight, and his words strangled by betrayal and grief. The air between them crackled, charged with unspoken accusations and the weight of their shared loss.

Cathleen’s facade remained unbroken, her posture rigid, and every line of her body screaming defiance. Yet there was a tremor in her hand, a subtle tell that betrayed the lie of her stoicism.

She was a living mess, unraveling in the solitude of night, but now, under the scrutiny of daylight, she was impenetrably tough, an armor-clad warrior queen. She held his gaze, daring him to refute her and break before her steely resolve.

But Xavier remained silent, his own torment mirrored in the depths of his eyes-eyes that had once devoured her with unbridled lust, now drowning in a sea of helplessness.

The breakfast lay forgotten, a battlefield of unspoken words and shattered dreams, as Cathleen stood and left him in the wake of her storm. Xavier watched her go, the silence suffocating, each step she took echoing the distance growing between them.

“Cat,” he finally whispered, but she was already gone, leaving him grappling with the chasm of what was and what may never be again.