The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

Avery snapped the suitcase shut, a sharp click echoing off the sparse bedroom walls. “All set,” she declared, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and malice.

From across the room, Dora ended her call with a flourish. “Thank you so much, Mr. Knight,” she purred into the phone before fixing Avery with a calculated gaze. “We got the address. I will send a driver to take you there.” It didn’t take long for the driver to arrive.

The sleek black car arrived with an elegance that matched the scheme unfolding in their minds. Avery, with a predatory grace, hauled her luggage into the trunk and sank into the leather embrace of the back seat. The city blurred past, but Avery’s thoughts were razor-sharp, fixated on the prize at the journey’s end.

Forty-five minutes evaporated like mist, and the imposing gates of Cathleen’s estate loomed. Avery’s smile was a slash of triumph. “What are you here for?” The guard’s challenge was perfunctory.

“I am here to see Mrs. Knight; she’s my sister.” Her words were a velvet veneer over steel intent.

The gates yielded, parting with a low rumble to grant Avery passage into a world she coveted. Her eyes drank in the opulence and grandeur that surrounded her. Like a predator stalking its prey, she took in every detail of the manicured hedges, gilded windows, and luxurious architecture. Each one seemed to scream what Avery felt was rightfully hers, stoking the fire of greed and ambition burning within her. With a silent vow, she promised herself that this world would soon be under her control.

When the car halted in front of the main entrance, Avery dismissed the driver with a flick of her hand, as if discarding a useless tool. The vehicle retreated, leaving a trail of dust and Avery alone with her ambition.

Dragging her bag behind her like a war trophy, she approached the massive oak door. Her fingers, tipped with claws of polished scarlet, rang the bell-a clarion call heralding the assault to come.

The wait was like a slow drip of venom, anticipation coiling tighter within her. She imagined the door opening, the looks of shock, and the words of welcome that would coat lies as sweet as poison. This was more than a visit; it was a siege.

And beyond that door lay everything Avery had plotted for-the wealth, the status, the power. Cathleen had it all, but not for much longer. Avery Jackson was here to claim her due. Avery thought.

Xavier’s fingers paused mid-swipe on the iPad, the sudden chime of the doorbell jarring the quietude. Glancing up, he saw the house staff enmeshed in their tasks-none spared to indulge a random visitor. “Continue with what you are doing; I’ll get the door,” Xavier commanded, his voice slicing through the air like a cold front. He pushed himself off the couch, moving with purpose toward the heavy wooden door.

As he opened the door, his eyes were met with the sight of a solitary woman, weighed down by an impressive amount of luggage. She seemed out of place in his secluded world, an unexpected intrusion that piqued his curiosity. Her face was a mystery to him, both vaguely familiar and completely foreign in his realm. Yet she didn’t seem to be truly looking at him; her gaze was more akin to feasting on a rare delicacy as if he were not a mere mortal but a marble sculpture of god come to life. Avery’s intense scrutiny roved shamelessly over every inch of his form, taking in details like the way his hair was styled just so and the muscles that hinted at hidden strength beneath his tailored clothing.NôvelDrama.Org owns this.

“Can I help you?” he probed, his words edged with impatience.

Yet she continued her visual appraisal, unabated, until his repeated inquiry, “Can I help you?” now sharpened to a point.

“Um, yes, Cathleen,” Avery stammered, hastily recovering from her reverie. “I’m here to see my sister.”

“Your sister?” His brow creased in momentary confusion. The name ‘Cathleen’ anchored him back to the reality of whom this stranger claimed kinship.

“And you are?” He questioned.

“Avery, Avery Jackson.”

Recognition flickered, igniting disdain. Avery Jackson-the pawn once meant for him in a matrimonial game of chess. ‘Thank God I married Cathleen, not this out-of-place piece of shit,’ Xavier mused with a silent sneer. An urge surged within him to dismiss her then and there, to shut the door on her and whatever game she intended to play.

But instead, he held the fortress line. “Wait here,” he instructed, a cool detachment in his tone. To a nearby worker, he directed, “Please call my wife. Tell her that her sister is here to see her.”

Avery’s stance faltered, a flicker of uncertainty betraying her confident facade. Meanwhile, Xavier remained immovable at the door, a barrier between Avery and the opulence she eyed greedily. In those moments, the air grew thick with unsaid words, and the weight of family ties stretched taut to the point of snapping.

The threshold became a battleground, where old grudges simmered and new strategies were silently drawn. For Avery, it was the first siege against a sister’s fortress. For Xavier, it was another day of repelling invaders from the sanctuary he never wanted but fiercely guarded.

Cathleen’s heels clicked against the marble floors, each step a sharp punctuation as she approached the grand entrance. Her annoyance pulsed with every heartbeat, tightening as she caught sight of Avery lingering like an unwelcome shadow at the door.

Xavier’s hand was sudden and firm as it cupped her face-an unwanted caress under the guise of affection. His lips crashed against hers in a display meant for an audience, leaving a stain of possession that seeped beneath her skin. Xavier felt like it wasn’t enough; he thrust his tongue in, and Cathleen welcomed him, fully opening her mouth to give him more access. Avery’s eyes, green with envy, took in the scene hungrily.

“God, husband, don’t you think you are doing a little too much?” Cathleen’s words were laced with acid, her tone betraying her distaste for the charade.

“Nothing is ever too much for the queen,” Xavier retorted with a sardonic edge, his gaze locking onto Cathleen’s, blind to the figure retreating in haste behind them.

Olivia, caught in the crossfire of their stormy exchange, dashed away, like a deer startled by the crack of thunder. Each step away from the mansion etched a deeper conviction in her heart: Xavier’s affections were a fortress she could not breach.

Avery, meanwhile, dissected Cathleen with a scrutinizing glare, her contempt painting her features more vividly than any makeup could. “Hi,” Cathleen managed, her voice cool and controlled.

“Cathy, I am here to visit you,” Avery declared, entitlement woven through her words.

“Of course you are, but did you bother to call me and ask if it was okay for you to visit mine and my husband’s house?” The challenge in Cathleen’s voice made Olivia pause mid-flight, uncertainty rooting her to the spot. Olivia was now sure that Xavier told her to call every time she was going because he was now sleeping with his wife.

“You are my sister; why should I call?” Avery’s retort came quick, but her confidence waned under Cathleen’s unyielding stare.

“Because this is not your father’s house.” The finality of Cathleen’s statement drew a pallor across Avery’s face. She had not expected resistance; Cathleen was always the compliant one. But time had honed Cathleen’s edges to a lethal sharpness.

“My husband and I have somewhere to be, and Avery, let’s not pretend we have a good sisterly relationship because we don’t. If you want to visit me, it will be for a day, not you showing up at my door with a huge bag as though you want to stay. You will scare me because we both know we don’t even get along.”

The door closed with a definitive thud, severing ties and leaving Avery stranded on the stoop-alone, deflated, and discarded.

Cathleen turned on Xavier, her expression a thundercloud of warning. “Don’t you ever fucking kiss me like that again, yea?” Xavier looked at her. Cathleen was not an easy woman to read; not long after, she kissed him back, so Xavier did the unthinkable; he grabbed her by the waist and kissed her again. Cathleen, like an obedient subgirl,  encircled her hands around his waist, kissing him back. Xavier was the first to break the kiss.

“Why not, unless you liked it, Mrs. Knight?” His grin was a viper’s, poised and dangerous.

She rolled her eyes, a silent dismissal of his arrogance. Yet the air between them crackled with the electricity of unsaid truths and unacknowledged desires-a perilous dance atop a field of landmines where every step could spell disaster.