The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

A chill wind swept over the cemetery, rustling the solemn rows of tombstones. Cathleen’s heels crunched on the gravel, her black dress clinging to her like a second skin. Xavier’s arm was a vice around their daughter Bella, his jaw set and eyes dark as the sky above. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as they advanced, a wave of turned heads marking their path.

“Look at that,” someone hissed from the sea of black attire.

“Did she really have to come?”

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They settled near the front, close enough for William to feel their presence. His eyes met Cathleen’s, an unspoken storm in the glance they shared. Cathleen lowered her gaze, a silent nod to the man who’d never let her fall. Avery, standing rigid by the casket, simmered with an anger so potent it could curdle blood.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she spat under her breath, words meant for snakes’s ears only.

Cathleen ignored her, the air too thick with grief and old grudges. She straightened, shoulders back, defiance etched into every line of her body.

The preacher’s words were a dull hum in the background as Avery took center stage. Tears summoned on cue, she clutched at her friends, her voice swelling to fill the graveyard.

“Mother!” Avery wailed, every eye on her. “Why did you leave me?”

Her lament was a performance, one last desperate plea for the spotlight. Cathleen watched, impassive, while Xavier’s grip on Bella tightened-a protector against the farce unfolding before them.

“Look at her,” Avery cried out, pointing an accusatory finger towards Cathleen. “That witch is here, with him-with my Xavier! The man who was supposed to be my husband, not hers!”

The congregation inhaled sharply, the tension pulling taut. Whispers scurried like rats through the crowd as they turned to stare, to judge, to feast on the scandal served before them.

Xavier’s face remained unreadable, but his silence spoke volumes. Cathleen could feel the weight of their stares, the heat of their judgment. It didn’t matter. She was titanium, forged in fires hotter than their whispers could burn.

“Did I fucking steal you from Aver? I fucking stole nothing,” Cathleen murmured, so quiet only Xavier could hear. The edge in her voice could slice through the thickest armor.

“Hey, it’s okay, we came to pay respects,” Xavier added, his tone cold, dismissive of the accusations thrown like daggers their way.

Around them, the world turned slow and heavy with each heartbeat and each ragged breath. Eyes locked on the drama, the crowd waited, bated, for the next strike in this family war waged in mourning’s shadow.

Avery’s voice cut through the solemn silence, shrill and venomous. “Looking all very mindful, very demure, modesty, elegant, and all sassy with a man that was supposed to be mine!” Fury painted her words and splattered them across the crowd like blood spatter. “Xavier Knight was supposed to be mine, ya’ll.”

Cathleen’s jaw tightened, her pulse a war drum in her ears. She felt Xavier’s hand on hers, a vice of restraint.

“Would you shut up?” William bellowed from his bench, his face red with anger, veins bulging like ropes. His outburst echoed, reverberating off headstones. “This is a funeral, not a place where you show off what is unnecessary!”

“Really, Dad?” Avery spat back, rage twisting her features into something grotesque. “If anyone came to this funeral to show off, it’s Cathleen. Why is she even here? Dora was not her mother!”

The urge to retaliate coiled in Cathleen’s throat, but Xavier’s grip on her hand tightened, silently pleading for calm.

The casket began its descent, solemn and final. Mourners stepped forward one by one, each taking a handful of earth from the shovel, an offering to the departed. Cathleen’s turn loomed-a moment of tribute or treason.

“Your turn,” Xavier murmured, his voice barely audible over the stifling hush.

As Cathleen’s fingers touched the wooden handle, the metal cold and unyielding, Avery surged to her feet. “You are not family, remember? You cut ties with us, so drop the fucking soil and let my mother rest in peace-not in pieces like your evil heart wishes!” Fury lashed from Avery’s lips.

Cathleen’s hand didn’t tremble. She scooped up the dirt, its gritty texture a testament to reality. Her movement towards the open grave was deliberate, a challenge to Avery’s theatrics. The soil left her hand, cascading onto polished wood below.

That’s when Avery lost it-really lost it. Not just the sanity-snapping ire, but the whole damn script. A gun appeared in her quivering grasp, the barrel a dark promise as she aimed at Cathleen.

Gasps. Stifled screams. The scent of freshly turned earth and fear mingled in the air.

Cathleen turned slowly, her gaze locking onto Avery’s. No fear. No submission. Just a silent dare in her eyes.

“Go on, then,” her eyes said, a whisper louder than any scream.

She walked back to where Bella and Xavier waited, her steps steady. The gun remained pointed at her, a quivering exclamation mark at the end of a sentence too twisted to comprehend.

“Mommy?” Bella’s small voice broke through the tension, its innocence mocking the madness unfolding.

“Everything’s fine, baby.” Cathleen’s voice was steel wrapped in velvet, a sword sheathed.

Avery’s hand shook, then she pulled a gun out of her purse. The gun wavering between resolve and hysteria. The taste of impending violence hung heavy, a miasma choking the mourners frozen in their places.

“Put it down, Avery,” Xavier said, no more than a whisper, but it carried, a command from a man used to being obeyed.

Avery’s chest heaved, her breath ragged. The click of the hammer was loud in the silence, a chorus of heartbeats waiting for the next note in this deadly symphony.

William’s hand reached for the gun, his voice a low growl of desperation. “Avery, if you don’t want to go to jail, you will put down that gun and walk away.”

Her laugh was sharp as shattered glass. “She has always been your favorite, isn’t it, Dad? You’ve always pretended to love me, but loving her in private.” Avery’s face twisted, anger seething through her sneer. “It’s no wonder my mother never liked this outcast!”

“Enough, Avery! Cathleen is your elder sister!” William’s bellow cut across the cemetery, a futile attempt to bridge the chasm between his daughters.

“My sister!” Avery spat the word like venom. “This bitch always steals what was meant to be mine, my man, my shine.” She jabbed a finger towards William, accusation in every quiver. “That little rat she calls a baby was supposed to be mine, and you-you made sure Cathleen gets the best while I walk in her shadow!”

Cathleen turned to Xavier, her eyes steady pools of resolve. “Let’s go home,” she said, her lips curling into a weary smile. “I’m tired.”

“See?” Avery’s shrill voice tore through the air. “She is fucking smiling because my mother-the evil stepmother-is dead!”

Cathleen took a step back, turning to leave. Avery’s face contorted, grief and fury warring for supremacy.

“See you in hell, bitch!” The words were a snarl, ripped from Avery’s throat as her finger tightened on the trigger. Then she pulled the trigger!