The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

Your Father Needs You



Xavier’s arms, sinewy and sure, cradled Cathleen’s limp form as he lifted her from the cold, unforgiving floor of the dungeon. The dim light cast shadows over her face, the afterglow of their session still etched on her features. He navigated the hallway with a predator’s grace, each step deliberate, carrying his wife to the sanctuary of their bedroom and throwing the walk-in closet.

He laid her down on the bed, silk sheets enveloping her like a lover’s embrace. Xavier’s eyes lingered on Cathleen, tracing the curve of her cheek, the swell of her chest rising and falling in slumber. She was a vision-a tempestuous beauty drained by their shared intensity.

The need for taking a shower before he sleeps pulled him away, and he slipped out of his clothes, leaving them in a heap. The shower beckoned, a hiss of steam and spray echoing off the marble. Water cascaded over him, a baptism washing away the remnants of their dark play.

Surrounded by a thick cloud of steam, the sound of his phone pierced through the mist like a sharp knife. Its shrill ring seemed to demand his attention, persistent and urgent. Xavier cursed under his breath, water droplets scattering as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. The phone stopped just as his hand reached it, silence returning like a taunt.

Then, the ringing resumed, insistent as a siren’s call.Belonging © NôvelDram/a.Org.

“Hello?” Xavier’s voice cut through the quiet, a blade unsheathed.

“Xavier, I know Cathleen wants nothing to do with her family, but can you please convince her to go to Dora’s funeral? William didn’t go through with the burial today. The burial was postponed to tomorrow at 10 a. m. Old Mr. Knight’s voice was a gravel road, rough and worn.

He hung up without waiting for a reply.

Xavier’s sigh filled the room, heavy as the weight on his shoulders. His gaze drifted to Cathleen, peaceful in her reprieve from the world’s ugliness. To disturb that peace with the ghost of her family was a betrayal he loathed to commit.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the word barely a whisper but dense with ire.

The phone lay abandoned on the nightstand, a harbinger of discord. Xavier retreated into the walk-in closet, emerging fully clothed, armored against the coming storm. He slid into bed beside Cathleen, the chasm between duty and desire yawning wide as he surrendered to sleep, bracing for the battle at dawn.

Morning light breached the room, a relentless intruder. Cathleen’s eyelids fluttered open, her world a blur of dishevelment and the dull ache of last night’s excesses. With a swift motion, she bolted from the bed, a cascade of tangled hair and creased skin.

Xavier’s senses sharpened at her sudden flight. He rose, muscles tensing, every fiber alert as he trailed her to the sanctuary of white tiles and steam. The bathroom door gave way to his silent entry; the sound of water was a siren calling him forth.

She was a vision beneath the spray, droplets caressing her curves like worshipful fingers. He pushed the glass door aside and stepped into the scalding cascade, the heat a mere flicker compared to the fire in his veins.

Their eyes locked, a silent confrontation. His lips found hers-a branding kiss, a promise of what was to come. Her protest died on her lips as his hand pressed firmly against her back, spinning her to face the cold, unforgiving glass.

A sharp crack echoed off the walls as his palm met the soft flesh of her ass. She gasped, a sound that fed his hunger. He lined himself up, his cock hard and unyielding, before driving into her with a force that left no room for doubt or hesitation.

Cathleen’s moans filled the steam, muffled by glass and tile. The rhythm of their bodies was a primal drumbeat, each thrust deeper, more possessive than the last.

“Xavier… I’m gonna cum!” Her voice was raw, edged with the crescendo of her release.

“Cum with me, baby.” His command was husky, punctuated with another violent push. The urgency between them built, a storm raging until it broke.

Pleasure crashed over her in relentless waves, her body shaking as she clung to the brink, Xavier’s name a litany on her lips. He followed, groaning his surrender, his seed spilling into her in a claim that left no room for anyone else.

They remained under the downpour, two figures bound by desire, washing away the remnants of their union. As they stepped out of the shower, his words sliced through the afterglow, “Dora is being buried today.”

She turned, the question in her eyes sharp as a blade. “And so?”

Her challenge hung between them, a gauntlet thrown. Xavier was left grappling for words that wouldn’t come.

“So, I would like for us to attend the funeral, irregardless of what she did to us and our daughter.” Xavier’s words sliced through the thick air, a demand for the unthinkable.

Cathleen’s eyes flashed with ire, her hands jerking her clothes into place with violent snaps. “Overprotective father, my ass!” Her voice was a whip, each word lashing out. “You hovered like a fucking shadow, Xavier, all because of her!”

“Because of that woman,” she spat the words as if they were poison, “I had to watch you crumble with fear. Fear of losing Bella… fear of losing me! And now-her funeral? You expect me to mourn that witch?”

Xavier’s jaw clenched, muscles working beneath his skin. “I haven’t forgotten what Dora did. I just-” He paused, struggling for composure. “We should support your father.”

“Support?” A cruel smile twisted Cathleen’s lips. “Go alone. They’re both dead to me!” She turned her back on him, finishing the last buttons, her movements brusque.

“Cathleen!” His call was a roar, following her as she stormed from the room.

They stood in Bella’s room, the tension palpable. “Baby, please,” Xavier started again, softer this time. “Your father needs you. Don’t cut him out of Bella’s life. Are you going to neglect him like he did you? Be the bigger person here. Forgive.”

Her sigh was heavy, laden with unspoken weights. Xavier held his breath, watching the battle play across her face.

“Fine,” Cathleen’s voice was grudging, defeated. “But if anyone tries me, don’t expect me to play nice.” Her eyes dared him to argue.

Xavier nodded, a silent promise made.


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