The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

Xavier’s mood was unusually upbeat as he strolled into the grand foyer of his family’s estate. He greeted everyone with a genuine smile, a marked difference from his usual indifferent demeanor as he walked past the imposing marble columns and ancestral paintings. The staff looked at each other in confusion; their usually stoic young master was acting out of character today, and his cheerful voice reverberated off the high ceilings.

“Morning, Mrs. Potts,” Xavier called to the housekeeper, his voice smooth but with an edge that hinted he wasn’t entirely comfortable with this new approachable demeanor. Her response, a cautious smile paired with a twitch of surprise, was noted but not acknowledged as he ascended the staircase toward his father’s study.

Xavier confidently approached the massive oak door and rapped on it with a commanding force, a clear sign of his power and lineage. Pushing the door open without waiting for permission, Xavier stepped into the quiet sanctuary of old Mr. Knight’s domain. The elderly man, ensconced behind a sea of papers and ancient books, spared a cursory glance upward before returning his attention to the digital glow of his iPad.

“Good day, Father,” Xavier said solemnly, the words feeling unfamiliar in his mouth. He was purposefully disrupting the old man’s attention, hoping to break through the wall of financial documents and market predictions. The older man only gave a curt nod, his fingers gliding over the screen with an air of detachment.

“I wanted to know if you were free today; I wanted us to have lunch.” Xavier’s statement hung in the air, weighted with unspoken intent. It was a move so out of character that the old man couldn’t help but pause, his eyes lifting once more to scrutinize his son.

The seasoned gaze of the old man locked onto Xavier’s, searching for the hidden meaning behind his proposition. “What do you want?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice, getting straight to the point without any false niceties or familial affection. The tension in the room thickened, as a tightrope stretched to its limit, ready to snap under the weight of the unspoken conflict between them.

“Can’t a son ask his father out?” Xavier’s voice dripped with feigned innocence, the words carefully curated to mask his true intent. But the old man was not one to be swayed by such transparent ploys. His piercing gaze remained fixed on Xavier, dissecting every microexpression that dared dance across his son’s stoic face.

“Cut the bullshit; what do you want?” The old man’s words cut through the deception like a surgical tool-precise and unyielding. Xavier realized his initial plan was useless; the experienced man in front of him had seen through it effortlessly, showing little interest in the whole charade.

“Fair enough,” Xavier conceded, the edges of his mouth tipping in resigned acknowledgment. “I want you to tell me everything you know about my wife.” His demand drifted into the space between them, weighted with an urgency that betrayed the cool exterior he projected.

The man’s reaction was a slow, deliberate lean back in his chair, eyes boring into Xavier’s with practiced scrutiny before a knowing smile quirked at the corner of his lips. “What do you want to know?”Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

Taking his cue, Xavier pulled a chair closer and sat, his posture rigid and every line of his body screaming control. “Anything you know would be helpful,” he replied, his tone even but insistent.

The old man’s smile broadened a mix of amusement and something akin to approval coloring his features. “Cathy is a very sensitive person, and by sensitive, I mean very sensitive; she’s hard to tame.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air. “Never one to back down on a fight. If you see her backing down, it means she lost hope.”

He continued, the cadence of his voice measured, revealing nuggets of insight with each sentence. “She preferred tea more than coffee. Not that she doesn’t take coffee. She just likes green tea.” The old man leaned forward slightly, his tone dropping to a near whisper for emphasis. “She is calm and not one to live by people’s opinions. When I say calm, I mean that calm, but if you try her, you might not win it because she can talk for Africa.”

Xavier absorbed the words, his expression unchanging, even though these were truths he already knew about Cathleen. He listened intently, his mind working behind the facade of impassivity. Each detail was a piece of the puzzle, and he was determined to fit them together and master the game that had become their marriage.

Xavier leaned in, the muscles in his jaw working as he posed the question that had been gnawing at him. “Dating wise?” The sharpness in his voice cut through the air, demanding an answer.

The old man’s eyebrow arched, a silent challenge before he spoke. “She dated Finn, as you know, but immediately, when he betrayed her, she called off the engagement and left the country.” His voice was matter-of-fact; each word was deliberate. He clasped his hands together, resting his head on the entwined fingers, his eyes boring into Xavier’s. “That’s what I know so far; if she dated someone abroad, she would have told me, but since she didn’t, I guess there hasn’t been anyone.”

The silence hung heavy between father and son, weighted with unspoken thoughts. The old man broke it with a pointed observation. “As for your little game with Olivia, I doubt she cares because she doesn’t seem to be in love with you. If she was, she was going to fight for you. Nothing bothers Cathleen; she is that focused.”

A muscle twitched in Xavier’s cheek, the truth a bitter pill to swallow. He shifted, his gaze turning inward as he contemplated his next move.

“So if she wants some fresh air, where would she go?” The question slipped from Xavier’s lips, coated with urgency. Since his return, Cathleen has become a ghost within their shared walls, her absence ringing louder than her presence ever did.

“Her house, probably,” the old man mused, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather rather than the whereabouts of a missing spouse. “I don’t know where it is, but what I know is that it’s a beach house; she is more into nature.”

Rising from his chair, Xavier nodded stiffly, his gratitude a mere formality. “Thank you, Father.” The words were hollow; his mind was already racing ahead.

He strode down the hallway, the echo of his footsteps a steady drumbeat against the marble floor. Reaching for his phone, his fingers danced over the screen with practiced ease. ‘Find out where my wife’s house is,’ he texted Caleb, a directive wrapped in desperation.

The message was sent, and Xavier pocketed the device, his resolve hardening. Cathleen had always been an enigma; her layers were many and guarded. But he was no stranger to unraveling complexities. The hunt was on, and he would unearth her secrets, one way or another.