Chapter 197: Twisted Mind
Dorian looked at Charlotte with a faint, unsettling smirk. "Kill her?" he said, almost thoughtfully. "That’s not a word I’d use."
The denial was effortless, almost casual, as if the distinction mattered more to him than the act itself. For a brief moment, something in him stirred—the urge to explain, to justify what he had done, to frame it as necessity rather than cruelty. But the impulse faded just as quickly. Charlotte’s opinion meant nothing to him. It never had. Whether she understood or condemned him held no weight in his world.
Charlotte forced herself to look at him.
Her body felt heavy, drained, but she refused to lower her gaze. From the corner of her vision, she could still see Crawley—his body trembling faintly, his breaths coming in shallow, broken wheezes that sounded more like suffering than life. Dorian was not even granting him the mercy of a quick death, and the realization settled deep within her that whatever awaited her would be worse.
Much worse.
Even though Katerina had been dying that night, poisoned by Dorian’s own hand, Charlotte had still tried to kill her. In Dorian’s mind, twisted as it was, that alone would be unforgivable.
She had once thought of him as obsessive, perhaps even pathetically devoted in his own awkward way. But what stood before her now was not devotion.
It was something far darker.
Something unhinged.
If she had known this was who Dorian truly was, she would never have sent that message. She would have stayed where she was, accepted whatever fate Maximilian had planned for her. Whatever it might have been, it could not have been worse than this.
But regret was useless now.
If there was anything left for her, it was one last gamble.
If she could understand the curse—if she could learn what Dorian had done—then perhaps there was still a chance. Not in this life. This one was already over. But maybe in another.
Another life with Crawley.
A life untouched by all of this.
A life where Katerina could not follow.
"What kind of curse did you use?" Charlotte asked, her voice steadier than she felt. "Is it possible it backfired? Are you sure the one who helped you wasn’t working for Maximilian?"
Even as she spoke, another thought crept in, cold and unwelcome, making the fine hairs on her skin rise.
All of this... had started with that bracelet.
What if it had never been his to control?
What if Katerina was the one controlling it?
"Did she alter it?" Charlotte pressed, her desperation now threading through her words. "Did Katerina twist the curse after learning your plan?"
Dorian’s expression shifted.
His eyes sharpened, his jaw tightening as something predatory surfaced beneath the surface calm. "They were already dead when I made the curse," he said, his voice low, controlled.
And yet... The certainty did not settle as easily as it should have.
Charlotte’s words lingered.
The seer.
She had appeared without warning, speaking of things he had not asked, offering answers before questions had even formed. He had never known of her before, had never heard her name whispered in any court or battlefield. And yet, when he had consulted her about war, her predictions had aligned with unsettling accuracy.
There had been something familiar in them.
Something he had dismissed at the time.
But now... Now it returned.
The way she spoke, the way she thought... It had been similar, too similar... to Katerina.
Katerina had always been sharp, always capable of seeing through layers others missed. He had admired that once. He even wanted to rely on it.
But what if... What if his father-in-law had been right?
What if Katerina had been weaving something of her own, something he had overlooked? What if the seer had not been a coincidence, but a piece placed deliberately? A tool.
A plan.
Perhaps she had grown tired of the quiet humiliations, the restraints placed upon her. Perhaps she had wanted the throne for herself—for her son.
Or perhaps...
It had all been for Maximilian.
Had her plans failed? Had something gone wrong?
Dorian’s thoughts spiraled, tightening into something darker, more uncertain.
Across from him, Charlotte watched the shift with careful attention. For all his intelligence, his arrogance might be the crack she needed. A slow, dangerous possibility formed in her mind.
If she could turn that doubt... If she could make him see Katerina as the enemy... Then perhaps, even now, she could shape what came next.
"Think about it," Charlotte said, her voice quieter now, almost coaxing. "They died in each other’s arms." She let the words linger before adding, more pointedly, "Did she ever tell you what really happened that night with Maximilian?"
Dorian leaned forward, the doubt taking root for a brief, dangerous moment. It flickered through him, sharp enough to unsettle, but not strong enough to take hold. He shook it off almost immediately.
There had been a time when he had considered such possibilities. He had looked into them, turned them over, tested them against what he knew. None of it had held.
His Katerina would never betray him.
That conclusion settled back into place with the stubborn certainty that defined him.
Everything that had gone wrong traced back to one man.
Maximilian.
Even now, it was obvious. She was with him, which could only mean she was being held there, controlled in some way. That was the only version of reality Dorian allowed himself to accept.
His thoughts did not move in straight lines. They twisted, doubled back, contradicted themselves without ever acknowledging the contradiction. One moment, doubt would surface, sharp and intrusive; the next, it would be buried beneath a certainty he constructed himself. Truths, half-truths, and suspicions blended together until they formed a narrative that felt solid—because it was the one he chose to believe.
Even when confronted with proof that challenged it, he discarded what did not fit and kept what did.
For now, the answer was clear in his mind.
Katerina was under Maximilian’s influence.
If Charlotte’s words held any truth, then Katerina would remember only Maximilian’s cruelty. She would believe he was responsible for her suffering, for her son’s death.
There was no world in which she would love him.
That thought, at least, remained untouched.
And then, as his mind twisted further, it reshaped even that.
Perhaps she was not helpless. Perhaps she was waiting. Perhaps she was playing along, biding her time, preparing to destroy Maximilian from within.
Yes... that made more sense.
A slow, satisfied calm settled over him.
She would return. Of course, she would.
The first light of dawn began to seep through the high windows of the warehouse, pale and cold, stretching across the concrete floor.
Dorian rose to his feet. Without another glance, he turned and walked away. There was much to prepare. If his queen was to return to him, everything had to be ready.
Everything had to be worthy of her.
He would give her time.
A month.
A month to deal with Maximilian however she wished, to exact whatever revenge she desired.
And then... Then she would come back to where she belonged.
To him.
Charlotte watched him walk away without blinking.
She called out once, her voice hoarse and barely carrying, but he did not turn. He did not slow. He did not acknowledge her at all. In a matter of moments, he was gone.
One by one, the others followed.
The cameramen lowered their equipment with trembling hands. The lights dimmed. The men who had stood around, silent witnesses to everything, avoided looking at her as they filed out. No one spoke. No one lingered.
The heavy warehouse door shut with a dull, final sound.
And just like that—
It was quiet.
Charlotte remained where she was, unmoving.
Only the faint, uneven sound of Crawley’s breathing filled the space now, each inhale weaker than the last, each exhale dragging painfully through his chest. It was no longer the sound of someone fighting.
It was the sound of someone fading.
Her gaze shifted to him slowly.
There was nothing left to pretend now. No audience. No performance. No need to hold anything back.
And yet... she didn’t move.
Didn’t rush to him. Didn’t cry.
She simply sat there, staring, as if her body had forgotten what it meant to act.
What was she supposed to do?
Save him?
She couldn’t.
Save herself?
There was nothing left to save.
For a long moment, she remained suspended between those thoughts, between instinct and exhaustion, between grief and something colder that refused to break.
Left alone...
With her dying lover.
And no future she could reach.
—
Meanwhile, Catherine stepped down from the jet and paused, taking in her surroundings.
It was dark.
The airport they had landed at was quiet, almost too quiet—private, secluded, untouched by the usual chaos of travel. Powerful floodlights cut through the night, illuminating the steady fall of snow.
"It belongs to a friend," Maximilian said, opening an umbrella over her.
"Friend?" Catherine turned to him, curious.
He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he smiled and reached up, brushing a few snowflakes gently from her hair, his touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary.
"Do you want to stay the night," he asked, "or keep going?"
Catherine considered it.
She had rested well on the jet, and the quiet excitement building inside her was difficult to ignore. She wanted to see it—to see where he was taking her.
"As soon as possible," she decided.
And so, they left.
The car waiting for them was smaller than she expected—simple, unassuming. She understood why only after they began the drive.
The road twisted sharply along the mountain, narrow and uneven, hugging cliffs and curves that would have made any larger vehicle impossible. Snow lined the edges, the path lit only by the car’s headlights as they climbed higher into the dark.
Hours passed like that.
Winding roads. Silent stretches. Occasional glances between them that said more than words.
And then, finally... They reached the other side.
The car came to a stop.
Maximilian stepped out first, moving around to open her door. Catherine took his hand and stepped out beside him.
The world felt different here.
The first light of dawn had begun to spread across the horizon, soft gold breaking through the fading darkness. They stood at the top of the mountain, where the snow no longer fell, where the air felt crisp and still.
Below them, the land stretched endlessly.
Above them, the sky opened into something vast and quiet.
Catherine looked around slowly, her breath catching just slightly.
It was beautiful.
And in the distance...
"Is that..."
Catherine’s eyes widened as she looked at Maximilian.
No way! Just... How?
