Chapter 229: To Buy Time
Catherine felt every nerve in her body recoil as Dorian’s hand moved toward her face.
The reaction was immediate and instinctive. For a brief moment, she was tempted to knock his hand away before he could touch her. The urge was so strong that her fingers twitched against her lap. But she forced herself to remain still.
That would be satisfying. It would also be foolish.
Dorian Blackwood was not a man who accepted rejection gracefully, and provoking him while trapped inside a sealed vehicle was not a risk worth taking.
Instead, she chose a different weapon.
Distraction.
"I heard you hired Ashley Renfield and Jonathan Vale," she said. "The same two people who stole my research."
The effect was exactly what she had anticipated. Dorian’s hand paused before reaching her. Not dramatically. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But Catherine noticed.
She always did.
The corner of his mouth lifted into a faint smile, and rather than answering her accusation, he withdrew his hand entirely and turned toward the built-in cooler beside him.
Of course. Dorian had always done that.
Whenever someone confronted him directly, he rarely bothered defending himself. He simply behaved as though the accusation existed beneath him, as though acknowledging it would somehow lend it importance.
A moment later, he retrieved a bottle from the chilled compartment.
Even Catherine recognized it immediately. Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. One of the rarest wines in the world and absurdly expensive even by billionaire standards.
Dorian held it up casually.
"Want some?"
Catherine looked at the bottle.
She had tasted it before. It was exceptional. The sort of wine people discussed in reverent tones and spent years trying to acquire.
Yet somehow, in Dorian’s hands, it lost all appeal.
"I don’t drink wine when I’m on my period."
For the first time since entering the car, Catherine experienced a small moment of satisfaction. The smile on Dorian’s face faltered. Only slightly. But it faltered.
More importantly, he unconsciously shifted farther away from her.
The movement was subtle enough that most people would never have noticed it. Catherine almost laughed.
Some habits truly survived the centuries.
In their previous life, whenever she wanted distance from him, she had used exactly the same excuse. Suddenly, she was unwell. Suddenly, she needed privacy. Suddenly, she wished to remain in her own chambers because of her monthlies.
And every single time, Dorian had respected the boundary with almost absurd dedication.
He would refuse to enter her rooms. Refuse to sit beside her. Refuse to touch anything she had been using.
To think that modern education, modern medicine, and centuries of scientific advancement had failed to cure him of that particular habit was almost amusing.
Almost.
Without another word, Dorian returned the bottle to the cooler. Then he looked at her.
"It’ll be yours."
Catherine frowned.
"What will?"
"The research."
His answer came without hesitation, as though the matter had already been decided.
"In the end, your name will be on it."
She stared at him, waiting for the rest.
It came exactly as she expected.
"You don’t have to do anything. Just wait for me, My Queen. I’ll give you everything you desire without you lifting a finger."
For several seconds, Catherine simply looked at him.
The disconnect between them was so profound that it almost felt surreal.
Even now, after everything that had happened, he still didn’t understand her.
He never had.
Why would she want credit for work she had not done? Why would she want recognition she had not earned?
The research mattered because she had dedicated years of her life to it. The sleepless nights, the failed trials, the endless revisions, the constant pursuit of answers—those things were what made the work meaningful.
The publication was merely the conclusion.
Dorian, however, had always mistaken outcomes for purpose. He thought she wanted the crown. He had never understood that she cared about the journey far more than the throne.
His gaze shifted toward the bracelet around her wrist.
"And I’ll handle this too."
A chill ran through her. The words themselves were harmless. It was the look in his eyes that frightened her. There was a dangerous certainty there, a conviction so complete that it bordered on delusion.
"Come to my side, My Queen."
His voice softened.
"All the problems your family is facing will disappear."
As he spoke, he made a slow gesture through the air between them, as though erasing those problems was no more difficult than brushing dust from a table.
For a brief moment, Catherine felt an old fear tighten around her chest.
The sensation was disturbingly familiar.
It carried her back to another lifetime, to another version of herself. Back to a young woman who had once believed the survival of everyone she loved depended entirely on her willingness to sacrifice herself.
Back to Katerina.
Back to the war.
Back to the moment she had walked into Dorian’s tent, believing she had no other choice.
The memory threatened to drag her under. But Catherine forced herself to breathe.
This was not the same. Her family was not helpless. William was fighting. Sophia was fighting. Jonathan was fighting. Alexander was fighting.
None of them needed her to offer herself up in exchange for their survival.
They were alive. Capable. Dangerous in their own right. Most importantly, they would be furious if they discovered she had tried to save them that way.
The thought almost made her smile.
Slowly, Catherine leaned forward.
She watched anticipation flicker across Dorian’s face, watched his attention sharpen as she entered his space. It was exactly the reaction she wanted.
If deception would protect her, then she would deceive him. If manipulation would buy her time, then she would manipulate him.
Dorian Blackwood had never hesitated to use those weapons against others. She felt no guilt about turning them against him.
"Will you wait for me, Dorian?"
Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper.
The use of his name captured his full attention immediately.
Catherine smiled.
A soft smile.
A convincing one.
The sort of smile that concealed far more than it revealed.
"I have plans."
-----
Catherine sat on the couch by the window, her gaze fixed on the street below.
The convoy of black vehicles that had accompanied Dorian had long since disappeared. The armed men who had blended into the crowd were gone as well. Pedestrians moved freely along the sidewalks once more, unaware that only an hour ago the street had felt like occupied territory.
Everything looked normal.
Safe.
Yet Catherine could not shake the lingering unease.
Her fingers tightened around the mug of tea she hadn’t touched.
Then she saw him.
Maximilian.
He appeared at the far end of the street, moving far faster than anyone normally would. His coat hung open, his hair slightly disheveled from the wind, and even from the window Catherine could see the urgency in his stride.
He was running.
The sight alone made something tighten in her chest. She was already at the door before he reached the brownstone.
The moment she opened it, Maximilian stepped inside.
For a second, neither of them spoke. Then he pulled her into his arms. Hard. The force of it nearly made her stumble.
Catherine wrapped her arms around him automatically. The embrace was tight enough to steal her breath. Tight enough that she could feel the tension still coiled throughout his body.
And suddenly she understood.
This wasn’t a hug born from relief alone. This was panic. The aftermath of panic. The kind that arrived when someone spent an hour imagining every terrible possibility and had no way of knowing whether the person they loved was safe.
Maximilian buried his face briefly in her hair.
His arms tightened once more.
Only then did some of the tension slowly leave his body.
"I’m okay," Catherine whispered.
He didn’t answer immediately.
His hand simply moved to the back of her head, holding her a little closer.
"I know."
The words came out rougher than usual.
When they finally sat down, Catherine told him everything.
She told him about the signal jammer, about the armed men scattered throughout the street, about the conversation inside the Maybach, about the research... the threats... the promises.
The offer.
And most importantly, the way Dorian had looked at her.
Maximilian listened without interrupting.
Not once.
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