The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

Xavier’s eyes snapped open as the shrill ring of his phone shattered the night’s silence. Lying next to him, Cathleen’s silhouette was tense even in sleep-like a coiled spring, ready to unleash fury at the slightest provocation. He slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb her precarious serenity.

“Talk to me,” he rasped into the phone, his voice laced with gravelly slumber.

“Sir, you need to come downstairs. I found the woman who delivered the juice to Cathleen.” Caleb’s voice was urgent, a tinge of excitement belying his professional facade.

Xavier grunted an acknowledgment, his pulse quickening. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing away the deceptive tranquility of the bedroom as he descended into potential chaos.

The dim glow of the foyer cast ominous shadows on the walls, where Caleb stood flanking a trembling figure. Xavier’s gaze narrowed, predatory and cold, as he assessed the petrified maid before him.

“Sir, I didn’t know the juice was going to hurt, madam. I am so sorry,” she stammered, collapsing onto her knees in a plea for mercy. “I was given the juice by her mother, and-I saw her putting something in it-”

“Spit it out,” Xavier growled, impatience clawing at his tone.NôvelDrama.Org © 2024.

“Supplements, she called them. Pregnancy supplements. Jesus, sir, I didn’t know…” Tears streamed down her cheeks, her face a mask of terror and regret.

“Save your tears, girl,” he snapped. “They pay you nothing here.”

“I will never do anything to hurt Madam,” the maid sobbed, her voice cracking under the weight of her desperation. “She is like a sister to me. Please, Sir.”

“Leave her.” The command sliced through the thick tension like a whip crack. All heads turned toward the staircase.

Cathleen stood there, an elegant specter bathed in moonlight, her presence commanding despite her languid posture. Her voice was ice; her eyes were steel. “Let her speak.”

The room held its breath, caught in the gravitational pull of her calculated calm. Xavier felt a familiar tug of war within him-resentment and reluctant admiration clashing like bitter enemies within his chest.

Xavier’s voice was a low rumble, vibrating with suppressed fury. “My daughter is no more, and you gave my wife a juice that did a lot of damage.” His eyes pierced the young maid, Ana, like twin daggers.

“Sir, please, I promise, I will never give anything endangering to Madam,” she pleaded, her words falling into the charged silence of the room. Her trembling hands clasped tightly together as if holding onto the last shred of hope.

Cathleen’s sharp heels clicked against the hardwood floor, each step a judge’s gavel sentencing the air around them. She halted, an imposing figure who owned every breath in the room. “She can never do that to me,” Cathleen stated, her voice cutting through the tension. “She used to cook for me. Someone, or maybe you”-her gaze flicked to Xavier-“might have asked her to poison me.”

“You think that?” Xavier’s retort came quick and defensive. “Bella is my baby too.”

“Is?” Cathleen’s single word lashed out, whipping the air. “You talk as if she’s still alive. Mr. Knight.”

The accusation hung heavy, a suffocating cloak thrown over the room. Xavier clamped his mouth shut, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he swallowed whatever defense lay on his tongue. Cathleen turned, her exit as resolute as her entry.

“Are you sure it was Mrs. Jackson who gave you the drink?” Xavier’s steely inquiry was redirected at Ana, who shrank under his scrutiny.

“Yes, sir,” Ana stuttered, “and then, after a few hours, she said I was fired. ” A sob caught in her throat. “So I packed my clothes and left. I wasn’t running away or anything, sir.”

“What’s your name?” The question was sharp and demanding.

“Ana, Sir.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper, betraying her fear.

“Ana,” Xavier commanded, his tone leaving no room for negotiations, “from today onwards, I want you to take care of your madam. Make sure she doesn’t drink or eat anything that is not checked. Am I clear?”

Ana nodded, her movements jerky like a marionette on strings. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, her fate sealed by his decree.

Xavier’s silhouette cut through the dimly lit corridor, a looming specter of retribution. He pivoted, his movements coiled with lethal precision, as he locked eyes with Caleb.

“I think we need to visit the Jackson house.” Xavier’s voice was a low growl, each word laced with venom and dark intent.

“Sir, shouldn’t we wait till tomorrow or something?” Caleb’s words hung in the air, tentative and hopeful for reprieve.

“No,” Xavier spat, the name ‘Dora Jackson’ curling off his tongue like a curse. “She didn’t wait a second longer to kill my daughter.” His fist was clenched at his side, knuckles white enough to splinter bone.

Caleb flinched the weight of Xavier’s wrath oppressive in the quiet before the storm. But he stepped aside, obedient, knowing better than to argue when Xavier’s mind was set on vengeance.

The night beckoned as Xavier shouldered past the threshold, the chill of late hours clawing at his skin-a grim reminder that the darkness outside paled in comparison to the fury within.

Xavier emerged from the SUV, the cool night air enveloping him like a wet blanket. He slammed the door shut and his boots crunched on the gravel driveway; the noise was almost deafening in the quiet, upscale neighborhood. Caleb joined him, walking quickly and cautiously, constantly scanning for hidden riches and their accompanying secrets in the dark corners of the area.

The Jackson house loomed-a dark monolith against the starless sky. They approached the heavy oak door, Xavier’s hand landing on it with a thud that echoed through the silence. Moments stretched until the latch clicked and light spilled out from inside.

“Xavier?” William Jackson’s voice, tinged with a mixture of surprise and sleep-induced irritation, sliced through the tension.

“Late visit,” Caleb murmured, his words hanging between them like an uninvited guest.

William blinked, his gaze flitting between the two men. “What are you doing here at this late hour?” he pressed, shoulders squared beneath his robe.

Xavier met the older man’s gaze head-on, the coldness in his own eyes a clear challenge. “I am here for your wife.” His voice left no room for debate, as sharp and final as the snap of a whip.

The statement hung in the air, raw and charged, as William’s features tautened, the initial shock giving way to something darker. The power play was set, and Xavier stood unyielding, a statue carved from ice and dominance.

Caleb shifted uncomfortably beside him-his loyalty to Mrs. Knight evident even now-but he said nothing. He was a silent witness to the battle of wills unfolding at the doorstep.

William’s mouth opened, then closed, a silent acknowledgment of the rules of engagement. He stepped aside, the surrender almost imperceptible, but Xavier caught it-the faint retreat in the clench of his jaw.

“Wait here,” William muttered, lacing his tone as he turned back into the shadows of his grand home.

Xavier’s lips curled into a semblance of a smile, not a hint of warmth reaching his eyes. Behind him, the city slept, unaware of the storm brewing within the walls of the Jackson residence.