The Maybach's engine fell silent, a stark contrast to the pulsing heartbeat in Cathleen's chest. Before her, she sat frozen, her eyes locked onto the towering glass structure that sprawled out in front of them. The house was a vision of extravagance and wealth, its transparent facade gleaming under the sun like a crystal palace. Each pane reflected the light in a dazzling display, creating an illusion of grandeur and mystery. It stood as a symbol of luxury and hidden riches, a fortress of untold stories waiting to be uncovered.
"Quite a place," Cathleen muttered, her words laced with a lawyer's skepticism, her eyes tracing the lines where modernity met extravagance.
Her husband shifted uncomfortably beside her, his silence a heavyweight in the luxurious cabin. He was a simple man, or so he had claimed, born of soil and toil. Yet here they were, staring at a glass castle that should have been beyond the reach of a man who grew up on the farms.
"Tell me again, how did you afford this?" Cathleen's voice cut through the air, sharp and demanding, her eyes never leaving the house as she spoke. She could see it all-the pool with its flickering boma fire pit, the staircase spiraling like a DNA helix to the uppermost bedroom, where shadows played against the gossamer curtains.
Her husband swallowed his Adam's apple, betraying him before his words did. "Growing on the farms didn't deprive me of investing," he said. "Real estate, stocks..." He went on.
"Real estate and stocks," she echoed, the disbelief palpable in her tone. "On a farmer's earnings?"
He opened his mouth, then closed it, with no explanation forthcoming. The silence stretched between them, taut as a violin string seconds before snapping.
Cathleen turned, her eyes finally burrowing into his. "There's something you're not telling me." Her accusation hung in the air, a challenge thrown down. This was a woman who dissected lies for a living and knew when truths were cloaked in half-spoken confessions.
"I..." He faltered, the façade crumbling.
"Spit it out," she pressed, her patience frayed to its final thread. "Or am I to believe this is all above board?"
Her husband looked away, out toward the house that betrayed more than it protected, its clear walls revealing everything but the truth.
"Family money! Cut it! I really don't owe you much, right?" He whispered finally, the words almost lost in the expanse of deceit that suddenly seemed to surround them. But Cathleen heard them all the same, loud as a gunshot in the quiet.
"Family money," she repeated, the taste of the words bitter. Love, family, trust-so easily betrayed. And yet, her heart held tight to the hope that perhaps this was just a misunderstanding, a piece of his past he'd forgotten to mention.
"Let's go inside, shall we?" He said, his voice steady despite the storm of doubt and anger brewing within Cathleen. "I don't want to talk about me or what I do, as that is not your business. We are here for your recovery, nothing much."
As they stepped out of the Maybach, the door closing with a soft thud behind them, the glass house stood silent, its transparency offering no shields, no place to hide. Inside, I awaited bitterness. They never went on their honeymoon ever since they wed; maybe this could somehow be their honeymoon. Cathleen thought.
Xavier's movements were precise, each step calculated and deliberate as he strode away from the seat. The sound of his boots echoed off the pavement, sending vibrations through the air. Like a panther stalking its prey, he moved with a fierce grace that demanded attention even in silence. As he rounded the back of the car, his powerful presence seemed to fill the space around him. With effortless ease, he swung open the passenger door and leaned inside, his intense gaze fixed on his curious little wife.
"Let's get you out of here," he murmured, his words clipped like the winter air as he scooped Cathleen up in his arms, bridal style.
A flush of warmth crept up Cathleen's cheeks, contradicting the usual coldness that accompanied their interactions. The gentle touch of his hand seemed out of place against the rugged edges of his body and the unwavering intensity in his gaze. She had steeled herself for a life filled with obstacles as she maneuvered through a world that was not designed for those confined to wheels. But now, here he stood before her-her mysterious husband-offering a moment of respite from the struggle.
"Careful," she warned, her voice carrying the sharp edge that had won countless cases. "I'm not as fragile as I look."
"I never thought you were," Xavier replied, his voice devoid of inflection, but his arms held her securely, betraying a gentleness he'd never admit to.
With her hands clasped around his neck, Cathleen allowed herself this moment of vulnerability, tilting her head back to take in the sight before them. The house stood tall and proud, a modern marvel of glass and steel. Its sleek facade shimmered in the sunlight, giving off an air of luxury and sophistication. Peering through the transparent walls, one could see the sparkling pool, a crystal oasis nestled in the center of the property. The boma, a circular fire pit surrounded by comfortable seating, stood vigilant at its edge. Beyond the pool lay the kitchen, a pristine stage just waiting for its chefs to take their places and create culinary magic. And looming above it all were the stairs, a dramatic spine leading up to the private chambers tucked away from prying eyes. Every inch of this home exuded opulence and grandeur, beckoning its inhabitants to live a life of luxury within its walls.
"Quite the kingdom you have here," she observed, the words falling between them, weighted with the unspoken knowledge that every castle has its secrets.
"Kingdoms need queens," he said, his voice almost a growl, carrying her through the threshold into the grandeur of their fraught domain.