Chapter 233: Hurt
Maximilian closed his eyes.
Hearing her say it was different... As a woman who had wanted something beautiful, something precious... something freely given... And then watched it become a bargain.
"I had to give it to the man I despised."
The words broke.
Maximilian immediately wrapped both arms around her, pulling her closer, holding her tighter.
Catherine buried her face against his chest as her body began to tremble.
The shaking was subtle at first, but then it got stronger, as though a wound she had spent years stitching shut had suddenly come undone.
And only then did Maximilian understand. He had thought she had healed. He had thought time... and this new life had helped her move beyond it.
Perhaps they had.
But healing was not the same as forgetting. Some scars never truly disappeared. Some injuries settled so deeply into the soul that they became part of a person.
And perhaps every time they reached this point together, every time she allowed herself to become vulnerable, some part of her remembered that terrible moment when choice had been taken from her and disguised as duty.
Maximilian pressed his lips into her hair.
His arms tightened around her.
And for once, the brilliant strategist, the celebrated professor, the man who always seemed to know what to say, found himself completely speechless.
Because there were no words powerful enough to undo what had happened. No promises that could erase it. No reassurances that could change the past.
And part of the reason she had to endure it was... him.
So instead, he simply held her, as though he could somehow gather every broken piece of her heart into his own hands and carry the weight with her.
"I’m not blaming you," Catherine said as she looked at him.
There had been a time when she blamed him. But in the end, it was her pride that had stopped her from seeking him out, and she had been the one who made the decision to walk to Dorian.
"I know."
Maximilian pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Ah..." Catherine let out a sigh and relaxed against him. Her heart felt a little lighter after talking to him openly about it.
"I know I don’t make sense," she admitted. "I’ve lived in this century for over twenty years. I know nobody expects those things from me anymore. I know I don’t have to guard myself the way I did before. I want you, and I trust you, and yet..." She shook her head in frustration. "I still don’t understand why I react this way."
The words spilled out more easily now.
Once the wall cracked, everything behind it seemed eager to escape.
"Sometimes I envy Sammy."
Maximilian smiled faintly.
"Sammy?"
"She just does whatever she wants." Catherine sighed. "The entire family worries about her half the time, but she never seems afraid. If she wants something, she goes after it. She makes mistakes, gets herself into trouble, survives, and then does it all over again."
A reluctant smile appeared on her face.
"Meanwhile, I’m over here overthinking myself into paralysis."
"There, there..." Maximilian smiled as he rubbed her back. "Don’t go that hard on yourself, Catherine. It’s not that deep."
"I am dumb and I am a coward."
Maximilian chuckled.
"No, you’re not."
"I’m scared of pain."
The words slipped out before she realized she had said them.
Immediately, Catherine stiffened.
She hadn’t wanted to talk about that. She had hidden it deep inside herself for so long, and now she had carelessly let it escape.
"Pain?" Maximilian asked.
Catherine’s body grew tense. The embarrassment was almost worse than the vulnerability. She had given birth before. She had survived war. She had endured things far more painful than most people would ever experience.
Yet somehow this remained.
"Catherine, it should not hurt," Maximilian said.
He had already been struggling to hold back his anger regarding Dorian. Hearing that from her only made something inside him boil.
What had that monster done to his precious woman?
"What do you know? It hurts. Every woman knows that."
Catherine was certain the first time hurt. But for her, every time had hurt, at least in the beginning.
Then again... maybe it shouldn’t?
If it always hurt, would women willingly do it?
She wasn’t sure.
More importantly, she didn’t want Maximilian getting angry. Otherwise, he’d go kill Dorian, and that wouldn’t solve anything. She certainly didn’t want him ending up in prison because of that loser.
"It does?" Maximilian raised an eyebrow.
What would he know?
Maybe she was right.
"And judging by your size..." Catherine buried her face in his chest. "Come on... give me a break."
A proud smile immediately bloomed on Maximilian’s face. Then it faded. Because the last thing he wanted was to hurt her.
Catherine leaned against him, and as he gently rubbed her back, sleep slowly claimed her.
Maximilian remained still, careful not to wake her.
Only after her breathing had settled into a steady rhythm did he reach for his phone. And then he started reading research papers, medical articles, and professional opinions.
The deeper he looked, the tighter his jaw became.
I knew it.
It wasn’t supposed to hurt.
His grip tightened around the phone.
The list of reasons to kill Dorian had somehow become longer.
But when he looked down at the sleeping woman in his arms, his expression softened.
"I’ll learn to be gentle, Catherine," he whispered before pressing a kiss to her temple. "I won’t hurt you."
-----
In Kingston, Samantha Preston stood in the underground parking garage of the office building where she had just attended an interview. The sharp click of her Louboutins echoed across the concrete as she paced back and forth, her irritation growing with every step.
"They seriously made me wait that long just to tell me I’m not suitable for a data entry job?"
She stopped and threw her hands into the air.
"Of course, I’m overqualified!"
Her voice bounced off the empty walls.
"Yes, I’m wearing designer clothes! Yes, my shoes probably cost more than your monthly salary. Maybe several months’ salary." Samantha pointed accusingly toward the elevator as though the HR department could somehow hear her. "That woman was jealous of me. That’s why she didn’t hire me."
She continued muttering under her breath as she made her way toward her car.
Then something caught her eye.
A Bentley parked beneath the VVIP section.
The paint shifted under the garage lighting in a stunning tungsten-to-onyx ombre effect, looking less like a car and more like a work of art.
Samantha stopped.
Her annoyance immediately found a new target. Her lips slowly curved.
"Is that the boss’s car?"
She changed direction and walked toward it.
"What sort of people are you hiring?" she demanded of the luxury vehicle. "You have a car like this, and your employees are getting intimidated because an entry-level applicant is better dressed than they are?"
The Bentley remained silent. Which only annoyed her more.
"Fuck you."
She flipped the bird, dramatically at the car.
"Fuck this car."
Then she kicked it.
The moment her heel connected with the door, Samantha knew something had gone wrong.
Very wrong.
Her stiletto didn’t bounce off.
It sank in.
"Oh."
For a second, she simply stared.
Then she stared harder.
Her heel had punched through the panel, cracking the paint and leaving behind a hole roughly the size of a coin.
"...Oh."
That was significantly more damage than she had intended.
Bracing one hand against the door, Samantha yanked her shoe free with considerable effort.
She stepped back and examined the damage. The Bentley looked wounded.
Samantha folded her arms. "He deserves it for hiring idiots."
The declaration sounded much more confident than she felt. Still, she wasn’t entirely convinced she was wrong.
Wouldn’t the company benefit from having well-dressed employees?
The logic seemed sound enough to her.
She should probably leave.
Instead, she took out her phone and snapped a picture, for posterity... Or evidence. She wasn’t entirely sure which.
After looking around and confirming that nobody appeared to be nearby, Samantha finally headed toward her Mini Cooper.
The vehicle was, in her opinion, wonderfully inconspicuous. A perfectly normal car that normal people drove. One that absolutely did not attract attention.
She slid into the driver’s seat and drove away. The parking garage returned to silence.
Several minutes later, the elevator doors opened with a soft ding.
Fitzgerald Rathbourne stepped out, followed closely by his personal assistant.
The first thing Fitzgerald saw was the damage. He stopped walking. The assistant nearly walked into him.
The second thing Fitzgerald saw was the hole. The assistant immediately felt his soul leave his body.
Everyone who worked for Fitzgerald knew one thing. This was his favorite car. Not one of his favorites.
His favorite.
And judging by the shape of the damage, this had not been an accident. Someone had deliberately kicked it.
The assistant swallowed. Hard.
"Bring me the security footage."
Fitzgerald’s voice was calm. Which was somehow worse. His assistant felt a cold sweat break out across his back.
Without another word, Fitzgerald crouched beside the damaged door.
His fingers gently brushed over the cracked paint. The expression on his face looked disturbingly similar to grief.
"I’ll kill whoever did this to you, Baby."
The assistant briefly considered updating his résumé.
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