The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

Sunlight filtered through the grand windows of the Knight mansion, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. The aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon wafted from the kitchen as the staff moved with practiced efficiency. But the opulent dining room, usually bustling with the morning’s first meal, lay silent and abandoned.

With his customary punctuality, Old Mr. Knight made his entrance, the rhythmic tap of his walking stick a staccato against the cold stone. He scanned the vacant expanse, lips pressed into a thin line, irritation clouding his aged eyes. Where the hell was everyone? He thought

“Mr. Knight, it’s good to see you.” Dora’s voice cut through the silence, syrupy and sweet. She stepped forward, her smile faltering under his withering glance. The old man spared her no words; he had no time for snakes masquerading as loyal subjects.

The click of heels on the staircase drew his attention. Olivia descended with calculated grace, cloaked in feigned warmth, like a wolf in sheep’s wool. “Good morning, Father,” she cooed, reaching the landing.

Old Mr. Knight’s gaze fixed on her, contempt etched in the lines of his face. Silence answered her greeting-a deliberate snub, a rejection of the title she dared to claim.Property © 2024 N0(v)elDrama.Org.

Olivia’s smile twitched the veneer cracking. “I know you don’t like me,” she spat, the honeyed tone turning to acid, “but I am carrying the heir to this family. You better get used to seeing me around.”

That smirk crawled onto the old man’s lips-the kind that knew secrets and whispered judgments. He remained silent, letting the air thicken with unspoken disdain. She wasn’t Xavier’s wife. She was nothing but a womb for hire, and the old man wouldn’t dignify her claims with a response, pregnant or not.

In the tense quiet of the Knight mansion, power plays unfolded with every sharp glance and unvoiced thought, a family at war beneath the chandeliers’ cold gleam.

The Knight mansion, usually cloaked in a serene stillness, was jolted by the heavy footsteps of Xavier as he descended the grand staircase. Every step seemed to contribute to his brooding aura, casting a longer and darker shadow with each stride. The air around him grew thick with tension, mirroring the brewing storm in his eyes. As he reached the bottom, the door swung open with a sharp creak, announcing the arrival of William Jackson. The latch clicked sharply behind him, resounding like a definitive verdict in the quiet hallway.

“Xavier,” William’s voice cut through the tension, tinged with a sigh that spoke volumes. Dora beamed, mischief dancing in her eyes as she watched Olivia devour strawberries, her belly round with consequence.

But before pleasantries could poison the air, Cathleen emerged, a specter in her own home, eyes bloodshot, testimony to silent sobs and sleepless nights. Old Mr. Knight’s heart clenched at the sight of her-a warrior brought to her knees by treachery.

As Xavier approached, the old lion stood his ground, waiting. With a crack that snapped like a whip, his hand connected with Xavier’s cheek, creating an echo that made the room flinch. “I raised you better!” he bellowed, the words sounding like thunder.

The accusation hung heavy, “What is this? Do you think your wife deserves something like this?” The elder knight’s fury was palpable, a tangible force that demanded reckoning.

The front door creaked again, revealing Doctor West, whose eyes found Cathleen instantly. Xavier’s cold facade cracked. “Dad, I wish I could make you understand this, but the only way to make you understand is to call Doctor West over.”

Doctor West, without hesitation, let his medical bag crash to the floor, instruments clattering, forgotten. He enveloped Cathleen in an embrace meant to shield her from the world. To his astonishment, she stood firm and unyielding.

“Are you okay?” His voice was gruff, concern etched in every syllable.

Cathleen’s nod was barely perceptible. “I am okay, uncle.” Her voice was steady and defiant against her pain. Doctor West froze, stunned. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice your concerns for me; by the way, you have my mother’s eyes.” Her words were a poignant recognition of silent battles and shared grief.

In the Knight mansion, where secrets and sins walked hand in hand, the truth lay bare-raw and unforgiving, just like the scars it left behind. Xavier didn’t want to waste time.

“Doctor West, check this woman,” Xavier commanded, his finger jabbing through the air like a blade toward Olivia.

Olivia’s eyes widened, her glossed lips parting in shock. “What?” she stuttered, recoiling as if slapped. “No, Xavier, you can’t-”

“Can’t do what?” The menace in Xavier’s voice was palpable, his gaze an icy challenge. “You said the baby was mine, didn’t you?” He pressed, and Olivia gave a feeble nod.

“Then I have rights to that baby.” Xavier’s tone cut through the tension like a whip. “Let the doctor do his damn job.” As Xavier was about to drag Olivia to Doctor West, he saw something but then brushed it off.

Panic danced across Olivia’s face, her facade crumbling. But before Xavier could haul her towards Doctor West, his attention wavered, a frown creasing his brow. Then Olivia clutched her stomach, doubling over. “Oh my God,” she gasped. “It hurts.”

“Acting won’t save you now,” Xavier sneered, but as he reached for her arm, a genuine cry of pain escaped her lips.

“Wait, Xavier,” Doctor West interjected, urgency replacing his usual sternness. “I think she’s not pretending. We need to rush her to the hospital.”

The crisis shifted gears, with urgency propelling them forward. But as they were about to leave, Cathleen’s body betrayed her strength. She fell, a delicate figure crumpling onto the cold marble floor.

“Fuck!” Xavier cursed, dashing to her side. He scooped Cathleen up, carrying her with a protective ferocity that belied his harsh exterior. “Doctor West, attend to Olivia. I’ll drive Cathleen.”

Cathleen’s piercing scream cut through the chaos like a knife, reverberating through Xavier’s entire being. The rawness of her cry clawed at his insides and filled him with dread. A pool of crimson blood stained her otherwise pale legs, a stark and horrifying contrast that marked the beginning of a living nightmare.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Xavier swore under his breath, barreling through the mansion doors. He carried Cathleen to his car, the world outside blurring into irrelevance.

“Xavier, it hurts; it hurts so bad,” Cathleen cried out, her voice a mix of agony and defiance.

“Stay with me, Cathleen,” he barked, flooring the accelerator. Traffic lights were nothing but a blur of red and green-ignored warnings in a race against time.

“Fuck the tickets!” Xavier growled, and each red light passed as a testament to his growing desperation. He drove recklessly, with every fiber focused on the woman whose life bled out in his passenger seat.