The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

Dora’s breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she sprawled on the plush carpet, the weight of betrayal anchoring her to the ground. Her mind raced, piecing together the fragments of deception that lay scattered around her. With a surge of fury, she clawed her way up from despair, her eyes locking onto the retreating figure of her husband. “William,” she hissed, venom lacing her voice as she stumbled forward, driven by a force she couldn’t contain. “William Jackson!”

Her hand trembled as she flung open the door to William’s sanctum-a study drenched in the rich scent of leather and lies. There he stood, an unmoved monolith amidst the storm of her wrath, casually nursing his whiskey as if it were any other evening. Dora’s fingers clenched at her waist, her foot tapping out an impatient rhythm on the hardwood floor. “You lied to me. You dare lie to me, William?” Her accusation sliced through the heavy air, but it fell on deaf ears.

William simply tilted his glass, the amber liquid catching the low light, before taking a leisurely sip. His silence was a slap in the face.

“William Jackson, I am talking to you!” The volume of her voice rose, echoing off the book-lined walls.

“As you can see, I’m right here; why yell?” He countered smoothly, the words sliding off his tongue with practiced indifference.

Dora’s lips curled into a forced smile, a mimicry of civility, as she reached for his whiskey and took a deep swallow. The burn was nothing compared to the fire within her. “You know who Cathleen was marrying that day, didn’t you?” she demanded, her foot continuing its relentless tap-tap-tap, a metronome to her mounting anger.

“What makes you think I will hand my daughter in marriage to a man I know nothing about?” William responded, each word deliberate, measured to infuriate.

The question, so absurd in its pretense, propelled Dora off her feet and onto the floor, her body hitting the ground with a soft thud. She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with pools of hurt and rage. “Why would you do that to our daughter, William?” Her voice broke, splintering the last vestige of her composure.

“What did I do?” William’s voice sliced through the tension, his tone icy and distant, reverberating in the lavish confines of the opulent study.

“Avery was supposed to marry the best.” Dora’s cry sliced through the tense silence, her words sharp with accusation.

“And Cathleen must marry whoever you choose?” William’s eyes bore into hers, unflinching, as he turned her own game against her.

Dora faltered, her mind catching up to the trap she had laid for herself. With a huff of indignation, she pushed off the floor, her movements brusque as she rounded the desk. Perching on its edge, she leaned towards him, a false sweetening of her tone. “Honey,” she cooed, trying to regain control. “I’m not saying that; you know Avery has always wanted to marry from the Knight family-”

He cut her off; his interruption was sharp and final. “And when she did finally get the chance, she ran away. Why?” There was no missing pointed edge in William’s query.

“Baby, Finn was a nobody.” The confession tumbled out of Dora, laced with reluctant truth.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

“Nobody,” William echoed, the word dripping with contempt. “So you thought it best for him to sleep with Avery and then marry your other daughter?” His gaze never left her face, watching as the façade cracked.

“Other daughter? What other daughter?” Her voice rose an octave, her nails finding solace between her teeth.

“Oh, you mean, Cathleen, wasn’t Finn her fiancé at first? I thought it was fair,” she stumbled through her justification, the words hollow even to her ears.

“Fair,” William mused coldly, standing up and towering over her. “I also thought it was fair for Cathleen to marry Xavier since Finn was already sleeping with Avery.” He glanced around the room, feigning interest in anything but her. “Is there anything else you need in my study because I am so busy?”

The realization dawned sharply, further conversation with William would yield nothing. It was time for action. Dora straightened, smoothing her dress with a hand shaking from restrained fury. She strode from the study, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm of defeat mixed with determination.

Upon entering the sitting room, she found Avery lounging like a cat in the sun, unaware of the chaos swirling just beyond her bubble of self-absorption.

“Avery, pack your things. You are going to Cathleen’s house.” Her command brooked no argument; the finality in her voice reverberating off the walls, a harbinger of storms yet to come.

Avery scrubbed the tears from her cheeks, the dampness on her skin a stark reminder of the stakes at play. “Mom, what will I be doing there?” Her voice was taut like a wire pulled too tight.

Dora’s lips were twisted into a sly smile, her eyes glinting with the calculation of a chess player cornering their king. “Since your father let the owner of Knight Group marry that useless daughter of his, you’re going there under the pretense of visiting your sister.” She leaned in closer, her breath reeking of ambition. “And when you are there, you will seduce Xavier and make him yours. There is no way,” she hissed. “I will let that man stay married to Cathleen.”

The idea flickered behind Avery’s eyes, igniting a dangerous sort of glee. The thought of staying in the same house as Xavier and weaving her web around him sent a thrill spiraling down her spine. She didn’t notice the shiver that followed-a cold whisper warning of the chaos to come.

“Understood.” Avery’s response was a whisper, but it carried the weight of an unspoken pact. A sharp and hungry smile unfurled across her face as she spun on her heel, her movements predatory.

She rushed into her room; the sanctuary had now turned into a war room. Clothes were tossed into a suitcase with reckless abandon-each garment a piece of armor for the battle ahead. Avery’s hands worked with ruthless efficiency, her mind already spinning scenarios and traps laid out with meticulous care.

Every fold and every crease was a silent vow. Avery Jackson would claim Xavier Knight, not just for the status, not just to spite her sister, but to secure her own triumph.