The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

The air was thick, laced with impatience and a slight stench of desperation. Board members leaned forward, their eyes fixed on Xavier, who sat at the head of the long mahogany table, detached. His fingers drummed a silent rhythm against the leather of his chair-tap, tap, tap-his mind elsewhere entangled in a war between longing and resentment.

“Are we ever going to find out who is behind the Eye Of The Ocean?” The question sliced through the tension like a whip’s crack, stark against the murmur of suits and ties. They wanted answers. They craved the thrill of unmasking the enigma that had eluded them for far too long. But Xavier? His thoughts were ensnared by the cold shift in Cathleen’s affection; her once scorching gaze now warmed for another-a tiny angel that wrapped her world in pink innocence.

“Sir,” a voice called, tentative, almost drowned by the heavy thud of Xavier’s heart. It was the sound of a man splintered by his own making.

He turned slowly, as if every muscle fought against the action. “Yes?” His response was a question to the question. Was he present or lost in the echo of Cathleen’s fading desire?

The man hesitated, his eyes darting, reading the absence in Xavier’s stare. He didn’t dare probe if the words had truly reached him. Instead, he swallowed the awkwardness and played along with the absurd diversion.

“How long have you been married for?” Xavier’s voice cut was incongruent with boardroom etiquette. Gasps punctured the room, disbelieving those dressed in tailored suits.

“27 years, sir.” The man’s answer came from a reflex born from a life of obedience.

“Come to my office.” Commands were Xavier’s currency, and this one was no different. He stood, a tower of power amidst a sea of confusion, beckoning the man to follow.

They left the room behind, a trail of murmurs blooming in their wake.

Xavier’s office loomed like a silent confessional-a sanctum where his sins whispered from the shadows. The door creaked open, and Luke Miller stepped inside, his posture rigid under the weight of the unexpected summons.

Xavier leaned back against the cold leather of his chair, his sharp eyes appraising the man before him. “What’s your name again?” he demanded, his voice tight with withheld storms.

“Luke,” the man replied, a hint of surprise flickering across his features before he schooled them into neutrality. “Luke Miller.”

Xavier let out a slow, measured breath, the air tasting of regret. “I’m sorry,” he began, a crack in his usual armor. “All my life, I never cared about all the important things. Money, women, staying away from the media…” His words trailed off, a litany of past obsessions.

He shifted, sinking into the plush couch, an island in the vast sea of his office. With a tilt of his head, he beckoned Luke to join him in this rare moment of vulnerability. “I’ve got a baby now. I’ve also been married for a long time, but I made sure no one knew. I acted like a fucking bachelor.” The confession hung between them, raw and exposed.

“Marriage,” Xavier mused, his gaze distant and lost. “What’s the secret to it? To a happy home?”

“Congratulations,” Luke said, a smile softening his features as he accepted the invitation to sit. His voice was gentle, seasoned with experience. “The secret is to listen to your wife. Make her feel heard, even when you’re against her words.” Luke said and then went on. “Whatever she says goes,” Luke continued, the wisdom of years etched into each syllable. “Keep the romance alive-the dates, lunches, picnics. Don’t let them die.”

A smile cracked the hard line of Xavier’s lips-brief but sincere. “Thank you,” he murmured, feeling the advice carve a path through the thicket of his pride. “Mr. Miller, I won’t forget this.”

Rising, Luke offered a final piece of solace before departing. “With a baby, Mr. Knight, love isn’t gone. It’s just shared now, split in two.”

Xavier watched Luke leave, his mind churning. He smiled, despite himself-a smile for Cathleen, for their daughter. A smile tinged with hope.

He didn’t want to remain at the office; he picked up the car keys and didn’t dare call Caleb to drive him home. His fingers drummed an impatient tattoo on the steering wheel. The leather creaked and groaned under the assault, a fitting soundtrack to his escalating anxiety. When he got home, no one was there. He hadn’t expected the house to be silent and devoid of life; he wanted to hear Cathleen’s giggling, Bella crying for something, but there was nothing like that. The quiet was a tangible thing, wrapping around his throat like a vice.

“Fuck,” he muttered, scanning the empty rooms-a desolate tableau mocking his newfound desire for domesticity. Cathleen’s absence cut deeper than he anticipated. Bella’s missing laughter was a phantom sound in his ears.

He snatched his phone from the depths of his suit pocket, thumbing the device with a ferocity that threatened to shatter the screen. The numbers blurred as he dialed Caleb, his breaths quickening into shallow gasps.

“Caleb, my wife and child are missing,” Xavier’s voice raked through the line-a harsh whisper, edged with barely-contained panic.

“Stop being so dramatic,” came Caleb’s curt reply. Annoyance dripped from each syllable. “Mrs. Knight took Bella to see her grandfather. You left the office without telling me. Mrs. Knight called about the time you went to the office with Mr. Miller.”

The line clicked dead. Xavier’s hand dropped to his side, and the phone suddenly became heavy.

“Son of a bitch,” he spat, the taste of betrayal sour on his tongue. Caleb had never hung up on him-never dared to. But now, there was a smirk in that click-a challenge. Xavier’s mind reeled; he should be incensed, but he was too entangled in his own tumultuous emotions.

Love? Is this what it fucking feels like?

He paced the length of the living room, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. His heart thrummed against his ribs, a prisoner clamoring for release. Bella’s toys lay scattered-a colorful testament to the new axis his world spun on.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

“I must be fucking crazy,” he murmured, a half-mad chuckle bubbling up from deep within. His eyes danced across family portraits that suddenly seemed more like premonitions than memories.

‘Cathleen had bewitched me; why the fuck am I worried about the two of them? That little angel called Bella is a witch too; why do I love her so much that I am willing to die for her?’ He thought and went on. ‘That sharp-tongued lawyer with a gaze that could cut steel. And Bella… his little girl. A pint-sized enchantress with her mother’s fire. Fuck! I love them!’

Laughter spilled from him, raw and untamed. It echoed off the walls, filling the void with the absurdity of his situation. Love had crept up on him, a silent thief in the night-now here he stood, willingly robbed of his solitude, his composure, and his control.

“Fuck me,” Xavier breathed out, surrendering to the lunacy of it all. “I’m utterly, irrevocably fucked.”