The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

The keys clattered onto the mahogany desk, signaling the end of another victorious battle in the courtroom. Cathleen’s heels clicked a definitive rhythm as she strode out of the law firm, her shoulders squared against the weight of her reputation-undefeated, unyielding. The evening sky was a canvas of dusky blues and purples, with shadows playing across the parking lot where Xavier’s sleek car sat unattended. It felt like an act of defiance just to slide into the driver’s seat and claim something of his or hers, even temporarily.

She maneuvered through the city streets with precision, her lips set in a thin line. Each stoplight was a momentary pause in her tightly wound existence, each green light, a silent permission to continue on this path she had been shackled to. The vehicle hummed to a stop in the familiar driveway, and her hand reached for the walking stick, a necessary tool since the accident that Xavier never asked about. She braced herself against its solid support, each step toward the house measured and deliberate.

“Good day, wife.”

Xavier’s voice, deep and unexpected, cut through the still air, tethering her to the spot. Surprise etched itself into the lines of her face, her heart pounding an erratic warning. He stood in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the warm interior light, his presence imposing and unexpected.

Cathleen’s brow creased, her eyes narrowing as she gauged the man she was bound to by law but not by love. “Husband,” she returned, her voice laced with steel. The word left her mouth like poison, a reminder of their mutual deception. She studied him-the cold aloofness of his stance, his eyes devoid of warmth. His early return from the vacation house was a deviation from the script of indifference; they both performed so well.

This encounter was unplanned and unwanted. Their marriage was a chess game where emotions were pawns best left untouched, sacrificed for strategy and power plays. In his gaze, she saw no trace of affection, only the reflection of a woman he considered an enigma, an obligation not of his choosing.

She steadied herself, refusing to let him see the tremble in her fingers or the way her heart raced. This was just another negotiation, another test of wills. They were adversaries in the guise of partners, each move calculated to keep the other at bay. As Cathleen crossed the threshold, the air between them crackled with the tension of unsaid words and festering resentments, a silent war waged in a house that would never be a home.This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

Cathleen’s footsteps whispered across the plush carpet as she slipped through the dimly lit corridor, a practiced evasion in her stride. The air was thick with tension, each step an effort to distance herself from the unyielding presence at her back. Xavier’s shadow loomed large, despite the soft light spilling from the open door ahead.

“How was your day?” The words tumbled into the space between them, unexpected and almost alien in their casualness. Cathleen halted mid-step, her pulse skipping. His inquiry gnawed at her-it was out of character, a deviation in their cold war of formalities. She wrestled with the notion that fatigue painted false colors on his intent.

Her hand lingered on the doorknob, the cool metal grounding her swirling thoughts. Without granting him the satisfaction of eye contact, she pushed the door wide, stepping into the sanctuary of her room.

“Cathleen Knight, I am your husband, whether by obligation or not. When I ask about your day, Cat, you answer as my wife, yes.” His voice, firm, and commanding, sliced through the stillness, demanding submission.

A muscle flickered in her jaw, her keen mind dissecting his motives. A spark of defiance ignited behind her eyes, her will unbending as steel. With a deliberate roll of her eyes, she countered the oppressive weight of his authority.

“My day was pretty much good, Xavier; how was yours?” The question was a gauntlet thrown, her tone laced with indifference. As she shrugged off her shoes, the familiar clack against the floor punctuated her nonchalance.

Her movements were fucking fluid, a silent challenge as she peeled away her goddamn shirt. Exposed in her bra, the lines of her form were as sharp as her motherfucking intellect, unashamed and unyielding under his scrutinizing gaze. The pencil skirt hugged her goddamned hips, a reminder of the fucking armor she wore in court, where she was undefeated and untouchable.

The tension in the air was fucking unbearable; each look and movement was a damn battlefield in their ongoing war. Cathleen stood her ground, her skin numb to the intensity of his stare, for he had touched every goddamn part of her but never truly claimed her soul.

Their marriage, a chessboard of moves and countermoves, was a testament to their mutual resilience. In this chamber of secrets and silences, they danced around truths unacknowledged, hearts fortified behind ramparts of pride and pain.

Xavier’s eyes fixed on the curve of Cathleen’s shoulder, a goddamn forbidden image engraving itself into his dirty mind. The sight of her smooth skin, so goddamn soft and tempting, betrayed his intentions and ignited an unwanted fire within him. His body reacted with primal insistence as she reached behind her back and unzipped the damn zipper, the sound cutting through the tense silence of the room like a motherfucking knife.

“Fucking hell,” Xavier cursed through gritted teeth, a guttural snarl of self-loathing. He had followed her here like a fucking pathetic dog, bound by a loathsome yearning he couldn’t control. The urge for release was a burning pain, a constricting pressure in his pants that he couldn’t ignore. But he damn well knew better than to give in; giving into their fucked-up dynamic would only fan the flames of this sick obsession.

He shifted uncomfortably, aware that his arousal was a traitorous sign of weakness. He needed distance between them, a barrier against this maddening attraction. “When you are done freshening up, join me downstairs,” Xavier commanded, his voice taut with a mix of authority and restraint. “I want to take you somewhere.”

Without sparing him a glance, Cathleen acknowledged his words with a terse nod, her movements unaffected and mechanical. She never allowed herself to be rattled by his presence, and that stoicism only served to irk him more. Her sharp tongue remained sheathed for now, but he knew it was only a matter of time before it lashed out again, cutting through any pretense of civility between them.

As Xavier turned on his heel, the air seemed charged with unspoken challenges, the room heavy with the weight of their mutual disdain. The staircase beckoned him down, away from the woman he vowed never to love, yet whose very existence challenged every fiber of his being.