The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

The phone was a cold weight in Xavier’s hand as he dialed the familiar number. Caleb’s voice, ever-efficient, crackled on the other end. “I got the latest iPad,” he said with brisk certainty. “I’m en route to the house.”

“Good,” Xavier clipped out, ending the call with a jab of his thumb. He slipped from the sanctuary of the room he shared with Cathleen, only to find Olivia languishing in the corridor, her presence like a shadow that chilled the air.

Xavier’s eyes narrowed at the sight of her, the annoyance etching deep lines across his forehead. The thought of Cathleen, strong and unyielding in her own right, having to share a roof with Olivia was a silent torment he could not abide. It was a cruelty beyond measure, and it set a grim resolve into his bones.

As if summoned by the tension in the air, Caleb appeared, striding through the open doorway, iPad in hand. Without a preamble, Xavier’s command sliced through the quiet, sharp, and unforgiving. “Get everything that belongs to me and my wife. We’re moving to the vacation house.”

Caleb’s nod was almost imperceptible, but his allegiance to Mrs. Knight shone clear in his eyes. He knew better than to question Xavier’s orders; this was a man whose dominance was etched as deeply into his being as his disdain for the public eye. Caleb moved swiftly, purpose resonating in each step.

Xavier turned back toward the room where Cathleen remained, the woman who had never tasted defeat in everything she did, and her being in the wheelchair pained Xavier. He didn’t know much about his wife, but he knew the wheelchair was making things hard for her. He also knew her tongue was as sharp as the knives she metaphorically wielded against her opponents. The decision was made. The line was drawn. They would leave this place so that she didn’t have to think of Olivia and focus on recovering.

Xavier emerged from the shadowed doorway, his arms cradling Cathleen with an effortless strength that belied his usually detached demeanor. Her head rested against his chest, a silent assertion of a bond Olivia could never breach. She watched, a bystander in her own tragedy, as Caleb trailed behind, dutifully maneuvering their luggage with practiced ease.

“Xavier.” Olivia’s voice was a whisper torn from a heart suddenly heavy with the gravity of her situation.

He didn’t look at her. His focus remained on Cathleen, the woman enshrined in his embrace. The air seemed to hum with a silent command-do not disturb. But Olivia’s pride wouldn’t let the quiet take her voice again.

“Is this necessary?” The words tasted like acid on her tongue-bitterness laced with jealousy. “To carry her like… like she’s your bride?”

Xavier’s cold eyes flickered towards Olivia, and for a moment, the world stilled, teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

“Olivia,” he said, his voice a low rumble of warning, “remember your place.”

Her heart fractured, a spider web of realization creeping across its surface. Xavier’s wife. Cathleen is not merely another conquest in his collection but his chosen partner, his legal counterpart. A flush of humiliation rose in Olivia’s cheeks, draining away to leave her skin ghastly pale.

Caleb’s gaze met hers briefly, a flicker of empathy crossing his features before his loyalty to Mrs. Knight reasserted itself, his lips pressing into a thin line of disapproval.

“Let’s go; Cathleen needs rest,” Xavier uttered decisively, moving past Olivia as if she were no more than a piece of the opulent furniture adorning the hallway of their shared residence.

“Rest,” Olivia echoed hollowly, her mind seizing on the word as though it were a lifeline. But there would be no rest for the guilty, no respite for the one who had trespassed against vows she now understood were sacred.

Xavier’s footsteps were a countdown to the end of her illusions, each one echoing in the hollowness of her chest. I am the other woman. The thought resonated within her, a cruel mantra for the love she believed they shared.

“Xavier…” It was a plea, a final attempt to reach the man who held her heart in his indifferent grasp.

“Enough, Olivia.” Xavier’s reply cut through the air, sharp as a knife’s edge.

Cathleen stirred in his arms, her eyes fluttering open to fix on Olivia with a clarity that spoke volumes. Calculating. Commanding. She did not need to speak; her gaze alone carried the weight of her undefeated record and her unspoken dominance on this silent battlefield.

“Take care of the luggage, Caleb.” Cathleen’s voice sliced through the tension, crisp and authoritative despite her state of repose in Xavier’s arms.

“Of course, Mrs. Knight,” Caleb responded, the wheels of the luggage whispering across the floor as he moved to fulfill his task, a subtle ally in the silent war that filled the room.Content © provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

Olivia’s gaze followed them, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. The image of Xavier carrying Cathleen was an affront, a public declaration of loyalty and intimacy that shattered her own claims to him. She stood there, pale as a ghost, her heart pounding with the betrayal she felt.

“Xavier, why?” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

“Because she’s my wife,” Xavier stated flatly, without turning back to look at Olivia. There was no warmth in his voice, no hint of the passion they had shared. In its place was the cold, hard tone of a man who had built walls around his heart, leaving Olivia outside in the chill.

Cathleen’s lips curled into a wry, knowing smile, one that needed no words to convey her victory, her control over the situation, and over Xavier.

“Let’s not make a scene, Olivia.” Cathleen’s voice was steady, almost bored, as though she were admonishing a child. “It’s unbecoming.”

The word stung, branding Olivia as something less than what she desired to be in Xavier’s life. It was a stark reminder of her place in this twisted love triangle, a place where she had no title, no claim.

“Xavier…” Olivia’s attempt to reach out to him again was met with a sharp glance from Cathleen, a silent command that brokered no argument.

“Go,” Xavier commanded, his back still to her, as if he couldn’t bear to witness her pain-or simply didn’t care to.

With each step Xavier took away from her, Olivia felt the last vestiges of her hope crumble. Betrayal wrapped its cold arms around her; a lover’s embrace turned cruel. And in that moment, Olivia Williams knew the bitter taste of being the other woman, usurped by the rightful queen upon her throne.