The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

Olivia’s body twisted in the silken sheets, a restless dance of frustration and anger. She had envisioned herself as the undisputed queen of the Knight estate, her womb carrying the heir that would cement her place beside Xavier. But now, Cathleen’s swelling belly mocked her dreams, threatening to unravel everything.

“Damn you, Cathleen,” she hissed into the darkness, her voice a serrated whisper cutting through the silence. “How did you manage this?” The walls of the opulent guestroom seemed to close in on her, each breath being a simmering cauldron of schemes gone awry.

In another wing of the sprawling mansion, Dora lay awake, her mind a whirlwind of calculations and conniving. The plush mattress beneath her felt like a battleground where futures would be decided. Cathleen was ahead; her pregnancy was more advanced than Olivia’s-a fact not lost on Dora’s calculating gaze.

“Who will bear the first Knight heir?” she muttered, tracing the patterns on the bedspread with a manicured nail. Her smile crept across her face-sly and predatory. “One must fall, and it won’t be my Cathleen.”

Dora turned, comforted by the shadows that played across the ceiling. The thought of Xavier having to choose was delicious, and she savored it like fine wine. His indifference towards Olivia was clear, and Dora relished the leverage it offered.

“Let’s see how you squirm out of this one, Xavier,” she murmured, plotting her next move with the precision of a chess grandmaster.

The night stretched on, heavy with secrets and the scent of an impending scandal.

The silence of the night was cut by the shrill ring of a phone in the dimly lit bedroom of the Knight estate. Dora, perched on her bed, her eyes glinting with malice, clutched the device to her ear as it trilled its third summons. “Hello,” came the groggy voice of Old Mr. Knight, laced with the weariness of interrupted sleep.

“Mr. Knight,” Dora purred into the phone, her voice dripping with feigned distress, “I’m sorry for the hour, but my mind is teeming with the chaos your son has wrought. I must insist you come tomorrow; I may very well take Cathleen away from this farce.”

Through the phone, the old man’s confusion was palpable. “What is going on?” he demanded, his voice sharpening with concern.

“Your son, Xavier, has ensnared my daughter in his web and then had the gall to impregnate another-Olivia,” Dora spat out the name like it was venom. Her smile twisted, unseen, as she basked in the unfolding drama.Text © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

Old Mr. Knight’s worry was almost visible through the line. “You mean to say both are with child?” His words were edged with disbelief.

“Exactly,” she clipped. The line went dead before she could savor more of her handiwork.

Without missing a beat, Dora dialed the next number, her mind already racing ahead. William Jackson, Cathleen’s father, would be her next pawn.

“Are you not weary of your own games?” William growled as he answered the phone, his tone thick with exasperation.

“Your darling son-in-law saw fit to dishonor your daughter twice over,” Dora bit back, relishing the sharp sting of her words.

William’s shock reverberated across the connection. “What?”

“Two pregnancies, William. Not just Cathleen, but Olivia too,” she said, each word a calculated strike. The revelation hung heavy in the air, pregnant with turmoil and betrayal.

“Xavier,” William muttered, half to himself, half curse-the name of a serrated blade that cut through the last threads of familial decorum.

Dora ended the call, her heart pounding with wicked anticipation. The stage was set, and come morning, the Knight House would awaken to an uproar that would shake its very foundations.

Dora’s smirk lingered as she nestled into the plush pillows, her heart thrumming with malicious glee. The darkness of the room wrapped around her like a conspirator’s cloak, and she closed her eyes, succumbing to the promise of chaos she’d orchestrated. In just a few hours, her seeds of discord would sprout bitter roots throughout the Knight household.

In stark contrast to Dora’s vindictive satisfaction, anguish clawed at Cathleen in the adjacent chamber. Tear-streaked and wracked with sobs, she finally surrendered to exhaustion, her once defiant spirit dissolving into fitful slumber. Xavier loomed over her, his shadow cast long by the dim light-an unwelcome sentinel bound by guilt and unspoken fears.

“Cat…” His voice was a hoarse whisper, laced with a timbre of dread he couldn’t disguise. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing the storm brimming within those usually steely eyes.

“You know what pisses me off, Xavier?” Cathleen’s voice rose from the depths, each word like a serrated dagger aimed straight at his heart.

“No,” he replied, his usual dominance faltering beneath her gaze.

“Every time I had hope you were going to change, I knew it was all in my head, but like a fucking fool, I let you in, and you broke and humiliated me at every fucking chance you got, but I still had hope. Fuck hope, fuck you! Upon all the things you could do to me, you went and made a baby? A baby, Xavier!” The raw pain in Cathleen’s scream echoed against the walls, a painful reminder of shattered illusions.

“Cat, that baby will be mine once it’s proven. Right now, we do not know if the baby is mine or not.” Xavier’s attempt to assert control sounded feeble even to his own ears.

“Didn’t you fuck her?” The accusation hung in the air, sharp and undeniable.

“I did, but-” Xavier’s excuse withered under her penetrating glare.

“Then are you going to deny that baby because all of a sudden you want your wife, not your mistress?” Cathleen’s retort was ruthless, stripping him of any pretense.

“No, Cat. I-” He tried again, the familiar ice in his veins thawing into desperation.

“Then you are the father; I do not trust you one bit. You fucked that woman at every chance you got and made sure I knew about it. I used to hear her screaming and moaning every fucking time and like a fool, I gave myself to you, and now… now she’s pregnant! Pregnant, Xavier!” Her words lashed out, unforgiving and explosive, leaving Xavier stripped of his armor, exposed, and vulnerable to the tempest of her wrath.

The room seemed to shrink under the weight of her condemnation; the air charged with the electricity of their confrontation. Tension coiled tight in the silence that followed-a twisted dance of love and hate bound by the chains of betrayal and the unyielding grasp of a marriage built on sand.