The Billionaire’s Forgotten Vows

Chapter 2 – The Cold Marriage

Two weeks after the wedding)

~ Ava ~

I thought it was an argument that was easily avoidable that morning.

After all, I didn’t think we even spoke enough to actually get into one.

It was just past seven, and the only thing I could hear in the penthouse was the brewing coffee machine. I got used to making two mugs, and in the old habits, I made one black and the other with a little sugar. I set his on the counter without thinking.

He walked in the same way he always did. Suit on, tie straight, and phone in hand.

He looked like someone who was ready to face the day, someone who had been up since before the sun decided to show up.

His eyes fell on the still steaming coffee mug.

“What’s that?”

He asked.

“Coffee,” I answered, still puzzled.

“You drink it every morning.”

“Didn’t ask you to make it.”

“It’s just coffee, Jaxon.”

His subtle refusal to advance was baffling. I asked the same thing to someone in the street. Why was he so riled up over a cup of coffee?

“Don’t do it again.”

That was what got to me.

Not the tone — he always sounded cold, but the words themselves. Don’t do it again. As if I had been told a rule and I had broken it.

I tried to laugh it off.

“You’re serious?”

His eyes lifted from his phone.

“Yes.”

I wanted to say something sharp - something that would break through that calm attitude. All that came out was “Okay.”

He walked past me, took the mug, and drank it without saying anything.

That was us—what it was awkward silences and mixed signals. Was it him who wanted some distance? Control? Both? Probably.

Two weeks of this.

Two weeks of pretending. Two weeks of standing next to him at charity events where guests murmured at how “graceful” we looked. Two weeks of awkward politeness to each other and sleeping in separate beds.

I remembered it to keep me sane.

But sometimes I caught myself staring at him. How he never blinked let alone bat an eye while someone was talking and how he appeared to decide the matter at hand was over long before he opened his mouth. In his own way I guess it could be said he was cruel. More simply he was empty.

I simply could not fathom a person having everything and still having nothing in their life.

---

That night his assistant called.

“There’s a charity gala tomorrow,” she said. “Mr. Reed wanted to confirm you’ll be attending.”

“He didn’t confirm with me,” I said.

Another pause. “He assumed you would be notified.”

He assumed.

I looked back at the apartment. Everything was spotless. Polite. Like a magazine photo. I could almost hear my mother’s voice in my head: Smile, Ava. Don’t make him regret the deal.

I gave a smile to the vacant room and reassured myself that it was all right.

The next day I found the dress laid out in my room.

I got ready alone. When he arrived at my door at seven, he didn’t even look at me for the first few seconds. He quickly scanned my whole body from head to toe and after a brief period of silence, he said, “you’ll do.”

“Thanks I muttered. “That’s something every bride dreams of hearing.”

He didn’t react, just turned toward the elevator. The ride down was silent.

I noticed our reflections in the mirror walls him, straight-backed and untouchable and I was pretending to not shrink besides him.

The gala was at one of those hotels that easily looked like a film set. Cameras, lights, people who smiled too wide. Jaxon knew how to work a crowd. I understood how to position myself beside him and look supportive.

We had hardly passed the door when he leaned down and said to me quietly, “Stay close to me tonight. No wandering.”

I nodded. “Got it.”.

Somehow, I slipped through the toasts and the bubbly, but not to be defiant, just to get some air.

I found myself at a card table and struck up a conversation about nothing in particular with a woman.

When I looked up, I saw him again, that inscrutable face watching me from afar.

Our eyes met for a brief moment, and my heart skipped a beat.

But he didn’t get up to talk. Instead, he worked his way to me and, with no intent of wasting his time, took in my hand and in front of my watching audience, constructed the illusion that we were a couple.

“Having fun?” he asked through his teeth.

“Trying to.” I responded.

“Next time you try, remember people are watching.”

He guided me back to the center of the room, hand firm on my waist. To anyone else, it looked affectionate. To me, it felt like a leash.

I stayed quiet, It was easier that way.

He didn’t speak again on the way home. I didn’t care. I didn’t look out at the city lights. I stared out the window. I tried to push the unsettling feeling back to the darkest corners.

Once home to the penthouse, I turned to him.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

He stilled, slowly turned. “Like what?”

“Like I’m property.”

His face didn’t change. “You signed the contract, Ava. You knew what this was.”

“Yeah. A fake marriage. Not a prison sentence.”

He looked at me for a long second. “Don’t test me.”

He walked away, but I was left there with my heart catapulting in my chest and stinging eyes, puzzled.

I didn’t sleep. I heard his voice again and again, You signed the contract.

It was there again. He said what he meant. I knew what I agreed to. The contract had said everything I didn’t want in life. I could never back out.

Everything seemed so nonchalant to me after that, right until morning. Maybe I was an overthinking person after all, I reasoned. He was a businessman, after all, and I was part of a transaction for him. Nothing personal.

Yet, for some reason, I could not shake off the image of him walking away with such an unchallenged certainty that I would just stand there and take it.

When I first walked into the kitchen, there he was again. Laptop open, phone on speaker, and sleeves rolled up.

“...no, I don’t care what the board thinks. I said it stays private. End the leak or find a new job.” He spoke with a calmness that was direct. Maybe almost the same tone he used when he called me.

When he ended the ca, he created an unspoken tension. For a few beats, the silence paused.

“Morning,” I said.

He nodded briefly to me and the silence reflected.

I grabbed a piece of toast. “You’re going your father’s today, right?” he asked again.

“Yes.”

“Be back before six.”

I glanced upwards, and asked, “You keeping track of my schedule now?”

“I’m keeping track of my name,” he replied. “You carry it when you leave this apartment.”

I wanted toast to fly at him, but no, it wasn’t worth it. “Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass your brand.”

He didn’t look away from his screen. “See that you don’t.”

I left before I borderline assaulted a client.

---

The car was waiting outside like always. Black, polished, with a driver who called me Mrs. Reed like it meant something. What was once a twenty minute drive, with city, now was an open and clear drive.

At my dad’s, things weren’t much better. He was tired, thinner, and asked about the marriage. I lied. I left out the part that Jaxon was “kind,” and that we were “adjusting” as a couple.

On the way back, I almost asked the driver to keep going, just drive until the buildings disappeared. But I didn’t. I went home, because that’s what I was supposed to do.

As I entered, I noticed Jaxon was on another call, pacing by the window. He ended the conversation the moment he spotted me.

“You’re late.”

“It’s just six-thirty five.”

“Thirty five minutes late.”

I stared at him. Are you serious?

“Time matters.”

“I visited my sick father, not a spa.”

He didn’t answer. Just that unreadable face again.

Something snapped inside me. “Do you ever stop being this…” I stopped myself before saying cold. “this controlled?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think control is a flaw?”

“I think it’s exhausting.”

He stepped closer. “You knew exactly who I was when you agreed to this. Don’t start pretending you expected tenderness.”

“I didn’t expect anything.” I said quietly. “But I thought maybe you’d act human just once.”

For a second, just one, his jaw tightened like I’d hit a nerve.

Then it was gone. “You mistake silence for cruelty. Don’t.”

He walked away again. Always walking away.

I stood there, staring at the spot he’d just been, wondering what it would take to make him actually feel.

That night, I heard him return to the penthouse after meetings. It was almost midnight. I feigned sleep, but I heard him hesitate outside my door, then walk away.

He might have thought to knock. He might not have.

It didn’t matter.

---

The next morning, his assistant brought in another event schedule— fundraisers, investor luncheons, a photo shoot, my entire next month scheduled by someone.

I skimmed the paper and stopped on a name: Reed Technologies & Sinclair Holdings—Partnership Review.

I first felt panic at the thought of the family company. The one he claimed to have saved.

I walked to his office. “Why is Sinclair Holdings on next week’s schedule?”

He didn’t acknowledge me. “It’s standard review.”

“Of what?”

“Ownership transfers and assets.”

Over the years, the company names changed. Sinclair’s transferred to Victor. “Ownership,” I breathed. “The company was my father’s.”

“Correction,” he said evenly. “It’s my company now.”

I stepped closer. “You said you were saving it, not taking it.”

“I said I’d clear the debt. Control comes with clearing debt.”

“You bought it out from under us.”

He smiled and said, “You’re welcome.”

I simply replied. “You’re incredible.”

He didn’t respond, just said, “And yet, you’re still here.”

This hurt more than I wanted it to.

I left before he could notice my eyes were watering.

---