The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

Xavier stood, his posture a statue of disbelief, outside the sterile walls of the court hall. The verdict echoed in his ears, but it was the silence of his unborn child’s voice that screamed within him. He was a tempest of fury; Cathleen had robbed him of his rightful place by her side during the pregnancy, and now she would pay. “Sir, this is for you.” The manila envelope appeared in front of him, stark against the gray day. “Madam’s office, her firm… and her home address.” The smugness in his assistant’s voice grated on Xavier, yet it was music to his darkening mood. A smirk unfurled on Xavier’s lips, sharp as a blade. “Oh, and sir, this is the new number she is using.” Behind him, Old Mr. Knight’s chuckle rumbled like distant thunder. Xavier caught the old man’s knowing glance before spinning on his heel. “That old fox,” he murmured with grudging respect. His voice dropped an octave. “Take me home. I have a wife to torture.” Morning light dared to pierce through the curtains of Xavier’s bedroom, where shadows clung to the corners like whispered secrets. He rose at 8:00 a. m., the numbers burning into his retinas. Every movement was deliberate as he stretched-tendons tensing, muscles rippling-and stalked toward the bathroom. Water cascaded over his body in the shower-a baptism of plotting, a purification of resolve. Toweling off, Xavier’s every thought carved a path straight to Cathleen. He grabbed his phone, its weight heavy with purpose. The dial tone was a countdown to confrontation. “Hello,” came the answer, a woman’s voice distant and dismissive. “Is Cathleen around?” Xavier demanded, his words clipped. “Madam went to the office,” the voice informed him, oblivious to the storm brewing on the other end of the line. “Office?” Xavier’s voice dripped with incredulity. “On a Sunday?” “Alright,” he replied, curt and cold as a winter’s end. Xavier then decided to go to a flower shop. He didn’t want to fight-not yet, at least not on Mother’s Day. The flower shop reeked of innocence and life. He chose flowers himself, each stem a silent accusation, a message to be sent. At the counter, he scrawled a note, venom disguised in petals. He then drove to Cathleen’s firm. Cathleen’s firm loomed ahead-a fortress of glass and steel he intended to breach. No one awaited at reception-a ghost town-but Xavier wasn’t deterred. He left his floral emissary, an omen amidst the quiet. With the bouquet abandoned like a grenade waiting to bloom, Xavier retreated, the corridors echoing his departure and the door sealing behind him with a click that sounded suspiciously like a challenge laid bare. The fluorescent lights of the office corridor flickered as the receptionist returned, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Her gaze landed on the bouquet, a riot of colors that seemed out of place in the sterile environment. She plucked it up, saw it was for her boss, and then made for the elevator. “Ma’am, someone left these at the desk,” she said, stepping into Cathleen’s office with the flowers cradled in her arms. Cathleen, her mind a battlefield of legal strategies, didn’t look up from her documents. The scent of lilies and roses invaded her space, an unwelcome distraction. She reached for the card, her fingers trembling slightly. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mrs. Knight; you are loved. Husband.” The words hit her like a gut punch. Panic clawed its way up her throat; Xavier had found her workplace. “Thank you,” she muttered, her voice a dagger wrapped in silk. The receptionist nodded and exited, leaving Cathleen to stare at the mocking gift. With haste, she gathered her things and fled the building; her sanctuary was now compromised. Nightfall brought silence to Cathleen’s home, the solitude a stark contrast to the chaos of her thoughts. She descended the stairs, craving the comfort of a cool drink, when the knock shattered the calm. No one ever visited. Her heart raced as she approached the door, peering through the camera. Empty darkness. She hesitated, but curiosity compelled her hand to the lock. The door swung open to reveal nothing-until strong arms encircled her, lifting her off her feet. A scream tore from her lips before Xavier’s presence registered-a dangerous storm wrapped in flesh. “Put me down, Xavier! Put me down, please!” Her plea echoed in the hollow of the kitchen, her grip unyielding. “Today is Mother’s Day,” he growled, setting her atop the counter with a thud that stole her breath. His eyes gleamed with predatory intent. “I have so much energy in me to fight you and punish you for running away with my baby, Cat.” Her name on his lips was both a caress and a curse. He leaned in close, his voice husky, sending shivers down her spine. “But I want this Mother’s Day to be a memorable one for you.” His proximity was suffocating and intoxicating. It took all her will not to cower or crave. But Cathleen Knight was no victim, and tomorrow’s war loomed on the horizon. Tonight, however, was a different battle-one of wills and whispered threats under the guise of celebration. “I told you the baby wasn’t yours,” she hissed, her voice sharp as a blade, but it only fueled his ire. “That makes me angry, Mrs. Knight.” His voice was low, rumbled, dangerous, and possessive. “Come to think of it, I fucking hate it when they call you Miss West. You’re my fucking wife.” Cathleen’s heart pounded against her ribcage; she could almost taste the venom in his words. Swallowing hard, she felt the magnetic pull of his presence-the intoxicating blend of fear and desire that he always stirred within her. “Stop. I don’t want this marriage. I sent you divorce papers, remember?” Her attempt at defiance was met with a dark smirk from Xavier. “You don’t want this, but your body is saying something else, Mrs. Knight,” he taunted, his gaze locked on hers, smoldering with unspoken promises of pleasure and pain. “Never!” The challenge left her lips more breathless than she had intended. She was Cathleen Knight-sharp-tongued, undefeated in court. But here, under Xavier’s intense scrutiny, her certainties wavered. “Never?” Xavier’s grin was that of a predator who had caught the scent of its prey. He leaned closer, his breath hot against her skin. “If I put these two fingers inside your pussy and find it dry like a fucking desert, I will go. But if I fucking find you wet, I will fuck you. Deal?” There was no answer from Cathleen, just the deafening silence of her own trepidation. With a swift movement, Xavier parted her legs with forceful intent. A shiver ran down Cathleen’s spine as his fingers traced a path to her core, confirming what they both already knew-she was ready for him. Her body betrayed her with its own desires, her slick warmth spilling onto the cool surface of the kitchen counter. He raised his finger to his nose, inhaling deeply before running his tongue over the digit, tasting her. A bolt of heat shot through Cathleen’s body at the sight. Xavier wasted no time; he buckled his pants with an urgency that matched the throbbing pulse between her thighs. Slowly, he positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his shaft nudging against her. Then, inch by agonizing inch, he slid inside her, eliciting a guttural moan that resonated in the cavernous space of the kitchen. Xavier’s movements were deliberate and measured-each thrust a testament to his control over her body. Cathleen found herself drawn toward him, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper into the fevered embrace of their carnal dance. The sound of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by Cathleen’s gasps and moans. It didn’t take long for her to scream Xavier’s name, her body shaking uncontrollably as waves of ecstasy crashed over her. Seizing a fistful of her hair, Xavier brought her face to his, claiming her mouth with a ferocity that bordered on savage. His kiss devoured her, even as he continued to move within her with precision, driving them both toward the precipice of release. The rhythm of their bodies became a primal drumbeat, an insistent cadence that filled the kitchen with the sounds of their union. Cathleen’s inner walls began to flutter, the sensation rippling through her in waves as Xavier’s cock drove into her relentlessly. His breath was hot against her neck, his grunts mingling with her moans as they spiraled together towards a climax. “Xavier…” she gasped, her voice a ragged whisper lost in the heat of their entwined desire. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough with need. Her response was cut short by another surge of pleasure as her body clenched around him. Xavier’s own release was imminent; his movements grew more erratic and desperate. And then, with a final thrust that left no space between them, he remained still, groaning her name as he emptied himself inside her. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their labored breathing and the slow tick of the kitchen clock. Then Xavier stepped back, pulling his pants up with a swift, almost violent motion. His eyes met hers, dark and unfathomable. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mrs. Knight,” he stated, the words dripping with irony as he pressed a kiss to her forehead-a fleeting moment of tenderness that belied the harshness of his touch. Cathleen’s heart pounded, and her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She wanted to speak, to beg him to stay, to defy him, to fight the hold he had on her. But the knowledge of Xavier’s mercurial nature kept the words trapped behind her lips. He turned toward the door, his hand resting on the knob. It was a simple gesture, yet it held the weight of a closing chapter. “I didn’t forget what you did, Cat,” he said without looking back, his voice cutting through the silence. “Our fight starts tomorrow. How far are you?” “Seven months,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside her. “You will fucking pay for those seven months, Cat, trust me.” His final words were a promise, a threat, and a vow that hung heavy in the air. He didn’t wait for her answer. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Cathleen alone in the aftermath of their tempestuous encounter, the lingering scent of their passion the only proof that he had been there at all.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers reading this chapter today. Love you all.NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.