Moonlight sliced through the darkness, casting a ghostly pall over Cathleen's sleeping form. Xavier sat motionless, an ominous silhouette against the dim light, as he watched her. Her chest rose and fell with rhythmic certainty, yet her words carved the silence with jagged edges.
"He killed my daughter because our marriage was a sham," she whispered, "and he didn't want me. Just like he didn't want my daughter. It's just a matter of time before he kills me."
The venomous words hung in the air, dripping with accusation and fear. Xavier's jaw clenched. He reached out, his hand hovering-then waved it gently over her face, testing reality against the nightmares that held her captive.
"Cat, Bella is alive," he murmured, his voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the tremble in her dream-laden accusations. "Just give me time. You will meet her. She's a fighter, just like you."
The words were a talisman, meant to ward off the dark omens that plagued her sleep. His daughter-a secret pulsing under his skin, a truth too fragile for daylight.
"Really, my baby is alive?" The question slipped from Cathleen's lips, her voice tinged with hope amidst the tears that streamed down her cheeks even in her sleep.
"Because our Bella can't breathe on her own, Cat. She is still fighting. For you. For us." Xavier's admission was a confession; his words were a prayer in the sacred stillness of the night.
Silence reclaimed the room, leaving only the sound of Cathleen's breathing-a testament to life in the void of dreams. When dawn broke, she stirred, her consciousness clawing its way back from the depths of torment.
The shower hissed a steamy serenade as she washed away the remnants of her nocturnal anguish. Water sluiced over her body, but it couldn't cleanse the dread entwined around her heart.
Descending the stairs, her thoughts churned. The morning loomed, unwelcome-an arena awaiting the day's confrontations.
The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow on the sharp angles of Xavier's face as he nursed his coffee. He sat alone at the mahogany table-a king in a desolate court. The steam from the cup curled into the air, dissipating like the remnants of their fractured dreams.
Cathleen's heels clicked a steady rhythm against the marble floor, a siren's call heralding her approach. She paused at the doorway, her gaze landing on him with the weight of judgment. Her frown cut deeper than any blade, a silent challenge thrown across the battle lines of their dining room.
"You lost so much weight, Mr. Knight; are you sick or something?" Her words were laced with an unfamiliar concern, yet her eyes held a cold glint of suspicion.
Xavier stifled the urge to laugh-a bitter, twisted sound that threatened to claw its way out. Instead, he greeted her with calculated indifference. "Good morning to you too, Cat." His voice was a velvet caress, designed to irritate.
"So are you, Mrs. Knight; you look slim." His eyes scanned her form, taking in the sharpness of her cheekbones and the hollows beneath.
Her lips twitched, a ghost of a smile dancing upon them. "Well, if I were gaining weight, the world would be surprised. Why would a person who lost her daughter be gaining, don't you think?" The sarcasm dripped from her tongue as she sipped her tea, poison wrapped in green leaves.
He watched her, like a predator gauging his prey. Something about her today-she seemed lighter, almost radiant. It was unsettling. "Any court cases today?" he prodded, watching for cracks in her armor.
That smile again-it didn't belong on her face. "No court cases today," she said, her eyes locked onto his. "But I do, however, have some clients who want to fuck my pussy."
His breath caught, coffee scalding his throat as it went down wrong. "Cathleen Knight!" he choked out, coughing violently, the liquid rebellion burning its way through him.
"Have a good day, Mr. Knight." Her voice floated back to him, taunting, as she turned to leave.
Through his watery eyes and his clenched chest, Xavier watched her depart. Her hips swayed with deliberate provocativeness, each step adding a punctuation mark to her vulgar declaration. And then it hit him-a dark surge, primal and possessive.
"Why the fuck is she having a fine ass even after birth?" The thought was raw and unbidden. A dangerous spark kindled in the depths of his gaze.
He cleared his throat, banishing the lurid images that flashed behind his eyes. But the smile that crept onto his face was no longer a mask-it was the grin of a man who recognized the game and relished the thought of turning the tables.
He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. His gaze lingered on the empty doorway; a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Don't you think my wife is beautiful, Caleb?" His voice was low, tinged with a challenge.
Caleb, caught off guard by the sudden question, coughed lightly to clear his throat. His eyes darted towards where Cathleen had vanished, her presence still haunting the space. "She is indeed beautiful, boss," he admitted, the words cautious, tiptoeing around Xavier's volatile temperament.
A smirk played on Xavier's lips, but it quickly faded as he caught Caleb's lingering glance in the direction of Cathleen's retreat. "Caleb, stop looking at my wife's ass," he snapped, a cold edge slicing through the calm.
"Back." Caleb corrected himself quickly, avoiding the crass term. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling Xavier's stare like a physical force. "Back... I meant her back."
Xavier stood up, the movement swift and deliberate. "Listen; I've never seen you with a woman. Use today to go and find a wife for yourself." His command was laced with an unspoken threat. "And today, I will just have to volunteer to be my wife's driver."
"Have a great day, Caleb!" Xavier called out, his tone mockingly cheerful as he strode from the room, leaving Caleb alone amongst the untouched breakfast spread.
The silence in the dining room was thick and suffocating. The remnants of the meal were a stark reminder of the tension that had crackled in the air moments before. Caleb eyed the food, his stomach rumbling despite the unease swirling within him.
"Who needs a woman when there is a lot of food in the house?" he muttered to himself, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. With a sigh, he sank into the chair Xavier had vacated, his appetite a poor match for the opulence laid out before him. But he started to eat, each bite an act of defiance against the chaos of the Knights' twisted world.