The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

The sound of hushed whispers filled the marbled lobby as Cathleen strode through the revolving doors of her law firm. Her heels clicked sharply, a metronome to the undercurrent of scandal that thrummed in the air. “Oh my God, have you seen the headlines?” The receptionist’s voice sliced through the murmurs. Cathleen’s gaze swept across the reception, where eyes darted and papers rustled with feigned nonchalance. “What headlines?” A worker feigned ignorance, grasping at the bait. “The billionaire playboy-that handsome bachelor everyone has been wanting to know if he’s married or not?” The receptionist’s voice quivered with the thrill of gossip. “Ah, Mr. Knight… on headlines about rape.” Disbelief laced with desire bled from the worker’s words. “Don’t believe stories like that; that man is the owner of Knight Group International. Any woman would kill to sleep with that man; did you see how fine he is? Rape isn’t his thing.” A cold shiver crawled down Cathleen’s spine, freezing her in place. ‘Xavier…’ His name, unspoken, hung heavy on her tongue. She forced one foot in front of the other, fleeing the whispers for the sanctuary of her office. But the walls closed in, holding in the echo of Xavier’s tarnished image. She started to pace, the rhythm was erratic, a staccato beat against the plush carpet. “I mean, this rape case could help me get out of this loveless marriage, right?” Her voice was a whip-crack in the silence, self-assurance warring with an inexplicable trepidation. Each step she took was a battle back and forth across her glass fortress. “Right?” The word was a challenge thrown into the void. It was a good thing for her. Yet worry gnawed at her insides, like a rat desperate to escape a trap of its own making. She frowned, pausing mid-step. This was her chance-her exit from a masquerade of matrimony. Since slapping him with divorce papers, there had been nothing but the sound of her own heart ticking away the seconds. But why am I worried? The thought was a splinter, digging deeper the more she tried to ignore it. “Damn it,” she muttered, the taste of the impending victory soured by the bile of uncertainty. ‘Why does it feel like I’m the one on trial?’ In the confines of her office, Cathleen waged a silent war. A celebrity lawyer, never defeated, is now facing the possibility that the biggest case of her life might be too personal to handle with her usual icy precision. She’d served him papers, yes, but the law-and her heart-were not so easily divorced. Cathleen’s hand froze inches from the sleek glass desktop, her fingers curling into a tight fist as James’ voice intruded upon her spiraling thoughts. The tray he held-a porcelain island of strawberries and plain yogurt-was an absurd contrast to the storm brewing within her. “Ma’am,” he began, his tone carefully neutral, “here are your strawberries and plain yogurt to start your day, and we have a new case.” Cathleen’s gaze snapped up, locking onto him with the precision of a hawk sighting its prey. “What case?” she asked, her voice a blade honed on years of courtroom battles. “Your husband’s case,” James replied, his posture stiffening under her scrutiny. “His personal assistant emailed us. He wants us to take the case.” James was the only one who knew almost everything about Cathleen since they were friends. A shiver of tension ran through Cathleen, her poised exterior belying the sudden clench of her stomach. “Take his case,” she commanded, her words clipped and devoid of emotion. “I can’t.” James shifted uneasily, his discomfort palpable. “Remember, he saw me as your pretense boyfriend the other night at the auction house. Won’t he be surprised I’m no longer Spanish?” “James,” Cathleen’s voice was a whip, sharp and unyielding. “Just fucking take the case. That man won’t even have time to notice who you are. And if he does, just tell him you also know English. Think of something.” She bit into a strawberry, the sweet-tart burst of flavor a stark juxtaposition to the bitter taste of the situation. The juice stained her lips red, a macabre echo of the blood she felt had been spilled in her marriage. “Ma’am…” James hesitated, searching her face. “Not to pry, but why are you not telling him about…” “He doesn’t need to know.” Cathleen cut him off, her eyes glacial. The walls of her office seemed to close in, each adorned with diplomas and accolades that mocked her current predicament. “Cathy,” James ventured again, his use of her nickname breaching protocol in his worry. “How long do you think you can keep this a secret? I am your employee and friend. That man might sue you if he ever finds out.” “Let him try,” Cathleen retorted, her laugh hollow. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get there, James. If you lose the case, he might even rot in jail before he gets the chance to sue me.” “Jesus, Cathy,” James breathed, his concern etched deep in the lines of his face. “Do you hate him that much? Listen to me-you’ve got to tell him everything-who you are… and this too.” Cathleen’s nostrils flared, and her jaw set in a hard line. The silence stretched taut between them, charged with unsaid words and unshed tears. She was the epitome of control, yet here she stood, on the precipice of chaos, teetering dangerously close to letting it all unravel. “James,” she finally said, her voice low and dangerous, “this isn’t about what I hate. It’s about what I deserve.” And with that, she turned her back on him, staring out the window at the city below, where the lives of millions went on, oblivious to the war raging in the high-rise tower of steel and secrets. The city outside her window pulsed with life, indifferent to the turmoil that seethed within her sleek office. “Every damn time,” she hissed under her breath, her voice laced with venom. “While I played the perfect trophy wife, he was out there, painting the town red with tabloid darlings. That man would fuck anything that walks.” James shifted uncomfortably, his hands twitching at his sides. “We don’t know that, Cathleen. What if the accusations are false? What if Xavier is innocent?” Cathleen spun around, her eyes flashing dangerously. “There is no smoke without fire, James,” she spat. “Xavier did it. He has always walked a fine line between pleasure and sin.” The air hung heavy with tension, the silence punctuated only by the distant hum of the city. James’ face softened with a gesture of surrender as he raised his hands. “Cathy,” he began, before halting mid-sentence, the weight of her glare too much to bear. “Out with it,” she demanded, her patience fraying to its last thread. James hesitated, then exhaled a defeated breath. “At least tell him about… that.” Her frown deepened, casting shadows across her sculpted features. “That” was their secret-the one that could unravel everything she had built. Her reputation as an undefeated lawyer, and her carefully constructed facade-all hinged on keeping “that” from coming to light. “Tell him?” Cathleen’s laugh was bitter and devoid of humor. “I’d rather watch him squirm.” “Jesus, Cathleen,” James muttered, turning away with a shake of his head, but not before Cathleen caught the glimmer of concern in his eyes. “Go,” she snapped, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. “Prepare our defense. Let Xavier Knight come begging for mercy.” “Mercy,” she mused to herself as the door clicked shut behind James, “is for the weak. I won’t say shit to that man.”

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