The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

The courtroom hushed, the air thick with tension, as Cathleen’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. She pierced Anastasia with her gaze, unyielding and as sharp as a scalpel. “Miss Brown, I would like you to repeat your statement,” she demanded, her voice cutting through the whispers that had begun to swirl like vultures around a carcass.

Anastasia’s voice trembled, her eyes darting about, seeking an escape that wasn’t there. “I said I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Cathleen spun on her heel to face the judge, the hem of her tailored gown flirting with the edge of aggression. “Your honor, Miss Brown doesn’t remember what happened that night. How then did she remember she was raped?” Her query hung in the air, an accusation cloaked in concern. “How can we take a statement from someone who remembers nothing at all into consideration? If Miss Brown’s memory is a blank slate for that night, your honor, I’m afraid there’s no goddamn case here.”

Nods rippled across the room, silently assenting to her logic.

In the corner of the court, Old Mr. Knight’s eyes gleamed with pride, his weathered hand patting William Jackson’s shoulder. They shared a look, both men’s chests swelling as if they themselves had delivered the blow that left the prosecution reeling.

“Miss Brown, if you don’t remember what happened that night, I’m afraid we can’t continue with this farce of a case,” the judge declared, his gavel ready to seal Anastasia’s fate.

“Your honor, I didn’t say I don’t remember everything, I only don’t remember that part,” Anastasia interjected, desperation seeping into her plea.

“Miss Brown,” the judge drawled, his patience fraying, “you have to remember everything for your statement to be valid.”

“I remember everything, your honor,” she insisted, defiance sparking in her eyes.

“Then answer Miss West’s question. Who was the man you walked in with?” The judge’s words snapped like a whip.

“It was my brother, your honor,” Anastasia replied, her voice nearly lost beneath the heavy cloak of doubt that settled over the courtroom.

Cathleen’s smirk never wavered; her victory was as inevitable as the setting sun. The game was hers; the board was cleared of pieces except for those she chose to keep in play. And in this high-stakes match where dominance was the prized currency, Cathleen was the reigning queen, her power absolute and her will indomitable.

Cathleen’s eyes glinted with the thrill of the hunt as she turned from the defeated Anastasia to unleash her final trap. “I have no further questions for Miss Brown,” she declared, her voice slicing through the murmurs like a blade. Her gaze then locked onto the judge, cold and calculating. “However, I would like to call one last person to the stand.”

The atmosphere in the courtroom thickened, anticipation hanging heavy like the scent of an impending storm. The judge nodded, and Cathleen’s next words sent a ripple of shock through the spectators: “Mr. Finn Knight.”

Confusion etched deep lines on Xavier’s face, his mind a whirlwind of betrayal and disbelief. As Finn approached the stand with an air of defiance, Xavier’s hands clenched into fists, dark suspicions clawing at his insides.

“Mr. Knight,” Cathleen began, her voice steely, “you were the acting CEO of Knight Group International, correct?”

“Yes,” Finn replied, his voice steady but his eyes betraying a flicker of unease.

“And you had access to the company’s security?” She pressed, her tone unforgiving as steel on flint.

“Indeed.” Finn’s affirmation was clipped, reluctant.

“Then explain your presence in the control room at 2:15 a. m., the same night my client-your uncle-was accused. A night when you were conveniently dismissed from your position,” Cathleen demanded, her question detonating in the silence like a grenade.

Gasps echoed off the walls as the courtroom collectively inhaled, the tension palpable. Xavier’s mind reeled, anger and shock intertwining like venomous snakes writhing in his gut. Could Finn have orchestrated this vile setup?

“Are you going to stand there and defend a man who is busy cheat-” Finn started, his voice laced with indignation.

“Answer the question asked, Mr. Knight!” Cathleen cut him off ruthlessly. Xavier’s heart pounded, each beat a hammer against the anvil, as he awaited the traitor’s response.

“It wasn’t me,” Finn stammered, his facade crumbling, “I have no access to my uncle’s company.”

“Is that so?” Cathleen’s voice was laced with scorn as she held up a photograph. “Explain this. You, entering the control room at the given time, clad in the same attire as the man seen with Miss Brown at exactly 8:38 p. m., where she entered the hotel.”

Finn’s face was drained of color, and the image was damning. “That wasn’t me,” he insisted, but his voice was a frail thing, crushed beneath the weight of evidence.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

“Wasn’t it?” Cathleen’s smirk was a silent executioner, her victory absolute as the courtroom descended into chaos, every eye fixed on the spectacle of Finn Knight’s unraveling.

The courtroom was a pit of vipers, all hissing and coiling around the spectacle that Cathleen had orchestrated. Xavier’s gaze was locked onto the screen as the footage rolled, revealing images that clawed into his consciousness with the sharpness of betrayal.

“If that wasn’t you, then explain this.” Cathleen’s voice cut through the murmurs, icy and precise, as she played the dashcam video for all to witness. The faces on the screen were clear; they clearly showed Finn struggling under Xavier’s weight as he was flanked by Anastasia and an unidentified man. They carried Xavier like a burden of guilt to the back of the hotel, and then Finn went back to where it all began. He removed his suit jacket and used it to dress the stranger who had helped him carry Xavier to the back of the hotel.

“Can you explain that, Mr. Knight?” she demanded.

Finn’s eyes darted; his mouth opened and closed, fish-like, devoid of sound or defense. The camera had not blinked. It had captured everything-unprejudiced and cruel.

Xavier felt his stomach churn, his legendary composure melting into a pool of disgust. He was nothing more than an unwitting pawn in Finn’s perverse game. A surge of nausea rolled over him, the tang of bile rising in his throat.

“That would be all for today, Your Honor,” Cathleen announced, her tone devoid of triumph and all business. As she made to sit, her grip slipped, and a pen clattered to the floor-the sound ricocheting off the walls like a gunshot.

She instinctively placed her hand on her lower abdomen, protecting the precious life growing within. As she bent down to pick up the pen, the weight of her pregnancy became the focal point of the room, pulling everyone’s attention towards it.

Xavier’s breath hitched, and his heart was a traitor to his rage. He rose, legs trembling, and felt every eye upon him as if it bore into his very soul. He saw her there, so strong yet tenderly protective of their unborn child, and his world narrowed to the space between them.

Caleb’s hand was firm on his arm, pulling him back into reality, into the chair that suddenly felt like a prison. The voices around him were muffled, distant waves crashing against the fortress of his thoughts.

“Sit down, sir,” Caleb urged, his loyalty a lifeline in the tempest.

But Xavier was deaf to it all. His wife, the enigma wrapped in the guise of a high-profile lawyer, held his complete attention. She knew he’d seen and understood the implications of that protective gesture. With agility that defied her condition, Cathleen gathered her belongings, her exit swift and determined.

He should have been thinking about the case, about the treachery that had unfolded before his eyes, but all he could fathom was the need to reach her, to pierce the armor she wielded so expertly.

The courtroom emptied slowly, the spectacle at its end, but the drama between husband and wife was far from over. As she disappeared through the doors, Xavier’s mind was made up. He would follow. He had to.

“Mrs. Knight,” he growled under his breath, a promise of confrontation, of truths and lies entwined. There would be no running from this. Not anymore.

Cathleen’s heels clicked a staccato rhythm against the concrete as she made her escape. Every stride was calculated, a practiced evasion honed in courtrooms, not streets. Her breath came in hurried gasps, a testament to her urgency.

“Stop right there, Cathleen Knight!”

Xavier’s voice thundered across the distance, demanding obedience. She halted, her heart slamming against her ribs, the sound of it deafening in her ears. The air thickened, charged with an electricity that spoke of impending storms.

She turned slowly, facing him, her expression becoming one of indifference. But her eyes betrayed her-a tempest of emotions roiling within their depths.

“Running from me?” His tone was cold, each word a shard of ice.

“Never,” she lied smoothly, the corner of her mouth lifting in defiance. “Just in a hurry.”

“Is that so?” His steps closed the gap between them, deliberate and predatory. “Or perhaps you’re afraid.”

“Of you?” Cathleen scoffed, her chin tilting upwards. “I’ve faced scarier monsters in court.”

His laugh was low and dangerous. “But none like me.”

Cathleen’s pulse quickened, her body instinctively responding to his proximity. She hated it and rebelled against the primal attraction that tethered her to him.

“Then enlighten me, Xavier.” Her words were velvet over steel. “Show me what I should be scared of.”

He circled her now, like a lion assessing its prey. His gaze lingered on the swell of her belly, the unspoken accusation hanging heavy between them.

“Scared? No,” he murmured. “But you will respect me. You’ll learn that one way or another.”

“Respect is earned,” she shot back, her spine straight and unyielding.

Their eyes locked, a silent battle raging. He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body and smell the musk of his cologne mingling with the crisp autumn air.

“Tell me, Cathleen,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You are pregnant and ran away with my baby. You denied me the right the right to bond with my own flesh and blood.”

“Who told you the baby was yours? I might not even know the father; I am a prostitute, remember?” She shot back, entered her car, and drove off.