The ornate, wrought-iron doors of the opulent Knight residence groaned their welcome as Cathleen swung her sleek car into the grand driveway. Despite the luxurious surroundings, every line of her body exuded reluctance and a sense of being trapped. With a decisive jab of her finger, she killed the engine, a symbolic gesture that could not mask her true intentions: she wasn't staying, not if she could help it. The sprawling mansion loomed before her, its imposing presence a constant reminder of Xavier's control over her. To Cathleen, it was nothing more than an ornate cage, beautiful on the outside but suffocating within its gilded walls.
"Damn sham," Cathleen muttered under her breath, her voice a low hiss as she gathered herself for the charade. Her hand rested protectively over the subtle swell of her abdomen; the child within was hers alone, Xavier be damned.
With calculated poise, she stepped out into the crisp air, her heels clicking on the stone like a metronome ticking toward her impending confrontation. Through the grand entrance, she strode into the living room, where chaos reigned-a storm in the form of Dora Jackson.
"What type of nonsense are you cooking?" Dora's shrill, piercing voice cut through the chaotic clanking of pots and pans in the kitchen. Her perfectly manicured hand snatched up the cook's creation, flinging it into the bin with a dramatic display of contempt that only wealthy stepmothers seemed to possess. "Do you honestly think my daughter would even consider eating something like this?" The aroma of burnt herbs and spices mingled with Dora's overpowering perfume, creating a nauseating combination. The cook stood there, helpless and defeated, as her hard work was discarded without a second thought. For a moment, the whole room felt frozen in fear at the wrath of Dora's words and actions.
Cathleen's breath hitched, a gasp stolen by the absurdity of the scene. Dora's presence was a slap, a reminder that this house, this life, was a plush prison tailored by deception and greed. Her return here was not by choice but by necessity, the cruel twist of fate forcing her to play the part of Xavier's doting wife. A farce.
"Jesus Christ, Dora," Cathleen snapped, unable to contain the venom coating her words. Every inch of her-the celebrity lawyer who had never known defeat in court-rebelled against the humiliation of this domestic theater.
"Cathleen, darling," Dora drawled, turning her viperous gaze upon Cathleen. "There is no need for such language."
"Save it, Dora," Cathleen spat back, her sharp tongue cleaving the tension. "I'm not here for your theatrics."
She stood there, defiant, a lone warrior in a battlefield of silk and silver, her resolve unbowed despite the weight of her unborn secret. Here in this mansion of lies, she would not bend or break. But as the echoes of her altercation with Dora danced in the gilded air, Cathleen knew the toughest act was yet to come-the one where she pretended to love a man as cold and ruthless as Xavier Knight.
Xavier's smirk cut through the thick tension as Cathleen crossed the threshold. His sharp and calculating gaze dissected her discomfort, finding perverse pleasure in the charade they were about to enact. "Welcome home, Mrs. Knight," he purred, his lips brushing her cheek with a kiss that held the promise of retribution.
Cathleen's skin crawled under his touch, like a hundred tiny spiders skittering across her flesh. But she held her ground, determined not to let him see her discomfort. As he knelt down to relieve her of her heels, his movements were so delicate and gentle that they bordered on mockery. Dora's eyes narrowed from across the room, suspicion and envy oozing from her gaze. She threw a bitter scoff in their direction, retreating like a shadow fleeing from the light.
"Oh God, that's enough; you can put me down; Dora isn't here," Cathleen hissed, the edge of command in her voice softening as he swept her up into his arms. The bridal carry-an intimacy reserved for lovers-felt more like a shackling of her will as he ascended the stairs.
"Enough theatrics," she snapped, her plea ignored as Xavier sauntered into his bedroom, not hers, and placed her on his bed. It was an assertion of dominance, marking his territory.
"Hey, baby, Daddy missed you so much." Xavier's tone was a whisper of velvet as he kneeled before Cathleen, hands cradling the swell of her belly with a gentleness that betrayed his usual coldness. The ensuing kick from within startled Cathleen; it was as if even the child recognized the father's voice.
"Damn it, Xavier..." Her protest died on her lips as he continued his ministrations, fingers tracing circles over her taut skin. The baby responded to each hummed note with kicks, punctuating the melody he crooned-a lullaby of possession and desire.
Cathleen gritted her teeth, caught between the instinctive need to protect her child from this man's influence and the undeniable fact that the baby seemed to be listening-responding-to him and him alone.
"Xavier, I told you, you are not the father. So please stop," Cathleen ground out between clenched teeth as Xavier's hands continued their gentle dance over her swollen abdomen.
"Shhh," he chided softly, his voice a low rumble, "you're making noise, and the baby is about to sleep." The strength of the kicks beneath his touch began to fade, subsiding into soft flutters that slowly stilled.
Once the silence settled like dust in the air, Xavier stood, his gaze lingering on Cathleen with an intensity that made her insides twist. He could have lashed out-his every instinct screamed for retribution-but instead, he laughed, the sound rich and mocking. "You look good, Cat."
"Stop calling me that," she fired back, her voice as sharp as shattered glass. "My boyfriend-the father-wants me back home. So figure out what to do with Dora because I am not staying here."
"Before any other man, you were mine." Xavier's lips curled into a smirk, his tone laced with ownership. "And if the baby isn't mine, fine. But play your part; act as my wife." There was no threat in his voice, just cold, hard facts.
"Sign the divorce papers, Xavier, then go marry Avery. She's the one who wants you, not me!" Cathleen's voice rose, the edge of desperation threatening to break through her controlled facade.
"Lower your voice; it's not good for the baby." His admonition was spoken with infuriating calmness.
"It's not yours!" The words erupted from her-a raw, seething denial.
"Even so," Xavier replied, unbothered by her claim, "shouting won't help. Calm down, shower, and let's head down to meet..." He hesitated, the distaste evident even in his pause. "... that woman."
The tension in the room coiled tight, like a serpent waiting to strike, as Cathleen's resolve hardened against Xavier's relentless pressure.
"You just don't give up, do you?"
"I told you I didn't get married to get a divorce. So stop asking me to sign the papers. I don't mind raising another man's baby." Xavier says it with a smirk on his face.