The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

Cathleen’s grip slackened, her resolve wavering in the gilded foyer of their grandiose home. The weighty click of her luggage clasped shut echoed, a symbol of her intent to depart. Doctor West, stern as ever, approached with outstretched hands, firm and sure, seizing the handles that she couldn’t bear. His arms tensed as he lifted, his eyes not unkind, guiding the heavy burdens away from her trembling form.

“Nothing that belongs to my wife will leave this premises. Including her,” Xavier’s voice sliced through the air, a razor-edged decree that halted everyone in their tracks. It was laced with an authority that bordered on the primitive, a claim staked deep into the ground of his estate.

Doctor West’s movement ceased, his spine stiffening and the wheels of the suitcase coming to a standstill against the marble floor. He turned, searching Xavier’s eyes for any trace of Jest, only to find none. Even Old Mr. Knight, who stood a silent sentinel by the doorway, furrowed his brow in ponderous thought. Xavier’s eyes bore into Cathleen’s, a chilling intensity that made her skin prickle. The air between them crackled with tension as he uttered in a low, menacing tone, “You don’t leave this house without my say.”

Doubt and disbelief swirled within the old man, his once keen wisdom now tainted. Observing Xavier meticulously for years, the unexpected surge of possessiveness and aggression made him ponder what inner demons guided his son’s behavior.

Xavier moved with a shadow of anger and command, his hand clamping down on the suitcase that Doctor West was busy dragging with a force that spoke of something beyond mere dominance. “If you fucking want to leave this house, Mrs. Knight, you will have to go through me.”

The words hung heavy, a gauntlet thrown, his challenge igniting a palpable tension that crackled in the air like static before a storm. Cathleen’s heart hammered against her ribs, each beating a drum of war against the cage in her chest. Tears brimmed but did not fall, her steely composure holding them at bay.

She recognized nothing in Xavier’s stance; the cold set of his jaw was unfamiliar. This was not the man she thought she knew; this was a stranger, a beast uncaged. The space between them became a battlefield, with every inch contested and every breath a declaration.

And yet, he claimed not to want their marriage-a paradox wrapped in an enigma. Why then the iron grip? Why the desperate clutch at chains he himself had disregarded? Confusion warred with fear in her mind as she faced him, locked in a standoff where love had no quarter and freedom was the prize at stake.

Cathleen’s heart raced as she darted past Xavier, her vision blurred by the unshed tears that threatened to expose her vulnerability. The polished floor beneath her felt like a frozen lake-one wrong step, and she would shatter the ice, plunging into icy depths of weakness she never allowed herself to show. But today was different. Today, the iron walls she had meticulously built around herself were mere whispers against the storm within.

Xavier reached out, his hand ensnaring her wrist with a grip that held centuries of unspoken promises and threats. His fingers were steel bands, unyielding, as he pulled her back-a physical echo of how their lives were entwined in an endless dance of power and defiance.

“Running away, Mrs. Knight?” The coldness in Xavier’s voice cut through the thick air, each word dropping like lead weights onto Cathleen’s strained composure.

“No,” she lied, almost breathless, “just needed… some air.”

“Outside isn’t where you’ll find it.” He drew her in closer, and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek, a cruel contrast to the chill in his tone. “Go back to your room and cry there. I won’t disturb you.”

His words were like a slap, the sting igniting a fire in Cathleen’s chest. She was a celebrity lawyer, untouchable in the courtroom, and her sharp tongue was a weapon that had sealed her victories. But here, in the grasp of Xavier Knight, she was rendered silent, her usual arsenal of retorts dissolving on her tongue.

“Stone-cold,” she whispered under her breath, the words barely escaping her lips as she wondered what twist of fate had led her to be bound to such a man-her husband in name, her adversary in spirit.

Xavier’s eyes, dark and unreadable, held hers for a moment that stretched too long. In them, she saw the reflection of her own resilience turned into something unrecognizable-a hardness that mirrored his own. It was a love-hate waltz they performed, a choreography marked by scars of betrayal and the haunting possibility of what could have been.

“Fine,” Cathleen conceded, the single word splintering the last of her resolve.

She turned, not allowing him the satisfaction of seeing the tears finally escape as she retreated to the sanctuary of her room, the battlefield where she would allow herself this one private surrender.

But as she walked away, the silence of the grand hallway screamed louder than any argument or clash of their wills. The heaviness in her heart was a testament to the Knight legacy-a lineage tainted by love lost, loyalty forsaken, and a relentless pursuit of control.

In the solitude of her room, with the door closed to the world and to Xavier, Cathleen finally let the tears fall. They were hot against her skin, each drops a bitter reminder of the strength that had carried her this far and the same strength that now compelled her to weep alone.

The thick carpet muffled Doctor West’s footsteps as he ascended the grand staircase of the Knight estate, his gait unhurried yet resolute. The heavy oak door loomed ahead, a barrier to Cathleen’s private grief. Without hesitation, he rapped sharply, a staccato intrusion into her solitude.

“Coming in,” he declared more than he asked, pushing open the door with an authority born of years in the West family.

Cathleen, her eyes red-rimmed and cheeks stained, jerked her head up from where she sat on the edge of her bed. She swiped at her tears with a fierceness that matched her reputation in the courtroom, but her facade shattered under Doctor West’s penetrating gaze.

“You can’t pretend in front of me, Cathleen.” His voice was gruff, edged with a lifetime of seeing through defenses. “You can cry. It’s normal to cry.”

His words were a cold slap, a challenge to her composure. Yet within them lay an unexpected tenderness that undid her. The strength that made her a legend-the relentless force that never yielded in battle-failed.

As she struggled to process his permission, Doctor West’s expression softened. Memories flooded him, unbidden. He saw his sister-her mother-a woman of steel and velvet who locked away her tears like precious secrets. A smile crept onto his lips, not of joy but of poignant remembrance.

“Ah, Elaine,” he murmured, as if the ghost of Cathleen’s mother lingered in the corners of the room, her strength echoing in the walls.

His arms opened with an offer devoid of judgment, and Cathleen crumbled into them. Her sobs racked her body, each one a release of pent-up storms and betrayals too heavy to bear alone. And for a moment, the old man held her, his embrace a fortress amidst the chaos of love and hate that had become the Knight’s legacy.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

In the protective circle of Doctor West’s arms, Cathleen allowed herself to be the child she once was, before the courtroom battles, before the calculating precision, before the heartbreak of Finn’s betrayal, and before she became his wife, Xavier Knight’s wife. Here, she could admit to the wounds and the cracks in her armor.

And in the silence that followed her weeping, there lay a fragile peace-a ceasefire in the war that raged within the walls of her own heart.