Catherine didn’t look back.
Maximilian followed anyway.
"Your car?" he asked as they stepped out of Alia’s apartnt building. "Should I book a cab?"
Her Rolls-Royce was still at the Remington estate. He had assud she would call ahead, have it brought around, do sothing elaborate.
She turned to him with a look that made him feel painfully ordinary. "I’m not sitting in morning traffic," she said flatly.
Before he could process that answer, she was already walking with purpose.
He followed her down the block... and then stopped short.
A helipad.
Of course.
Why take the road when you could simply rise above it?
He had always known Catherine was wealthy. He had seen the estates, the luxury, the effortless luxury that followed her like perfu. He had looked up their net worth.
But knowing and understanding were two different things.
They were escorted through a private entrance, past a quiet VIP lounge. A staff mber approached with a respectful nod.
"Miss Preston, the jet is ready."
The jet.
Maximilian said nothing.
Catherine didn’t respond with flair or authority. She rely inclined her head and kept walking. Sunglasses shielded her eyes, hiding whatever storm was raging inside. Her spine was straight. Her steps asured.
She looked like a woman in control.
He knew better. She was holding herself together by will alone.
They stepped into the hangar. And that was when it truly hit him. Two massive aircraft waited inside.
One was a sleek Gulfstream G500 — understated, elegant, the kind of jet most billionaires would consider a lifeti achievent.
Beside it stood sothing even larger.
A Bombardier Global 7500.
It was impossible to ignore. Gold striping cut clean lines across its polished body. On the tail was the Laurel Creek emblem — the letters LC encircled by a laurel crown.
And above the "C"... was a crown... painted in gold.
Maximilian didn’t need to ask.
The other jet bore the standard corporate insignia. Powerful, yes, but conventional.
This one was different.
The crown wasn’t decorative. It was declarative.
That was hers.
The heiress’s aircraft.
The princess of Laurel Creek.
Maximilian blinked.
Wow!
Catherine noticed imdiately that Alexander’s jet was still in the hangar.
That was unusual. Their aircraft usually remained in whichever city they were using for convenience. She checked the ti and dialed him.
The call was answered on the second ring.
"Mr. Preston is in court, Miss Preston," Duncan said politely. "Would you like to pass along a ssage?"
"Is he in ridon? His jet is still here."
"Yes, Miss Preston. I heard about your father. Mr. Preston is at Capitol Hill for an important case. Mr. Jonathan Preston is with him. They’ll be returning together."
Capitol Hill.
So that was where Alexander was.
"Alright. Thank you."
She ended the call.
She didn’t pause to question how Alexander had reached Capitol Hill without his jet. Right now, logistics felt irrelevant. Only one thing mattered.
Maximilian followed her up the steps and into the aircraft.
He stopped. This wasn’t a jet interior. It was an apartnt in the sky. Not compact. Not discreet.
Spacious.
Dark walnut panels glead beneath soft lighting. Lapis lazuli inlays traced the walls and tables, deep blue against veins of gold. Even in their previous life, lapis lazuli had been a treasure that kings flaunted sparingly.
Here, it shimred openly, woven into the design like it was nothing.
For a brief second, he felt displaced in ti. "Your carriage," he murmured, glancing around. "It had a similar design, didn’t it?"
Catherine let out a quiet breath.
"I gave the design requirents to Daddy when he bought this for my sixteenth birthday."
Her voice faltered.
Back then, she had been commuting between university and ho on the family jet. Once, she had wanted to return urgently, and couldn’t. The aircraft had been elsewhere. She had been forced to wait a day.
Her father had not tolerated that. He had bought her one of her own. Not carelessly. Not as a token gesture. He had overseen every detail, ensuring it matched her taste, her comfort, her preferences.
He had built her freedom into the sky.
And now... Now he was fighting for his life.
Her throat tightened painfully. Tears welled up, but she wiped them away quickly before they could fall.
Then she saw Maximilian’s expression that was steady and unreadable. And mory struck her. His father had died on his sixteenth birthday, while taking him out to buy his first car.
For a split second, guilt flickered through her. Had she sounded like she was bragging?
"I—"
Before she could finish, Maximilian pulled her into his arms.
"Your father will be fine," he said quietly, one hand resting at the back of her head. "Have faith."
That simple. That steady.
The control she had been clinging to snapped. She buried her face against him and cried, not loudly, not dramatically, just brokenly.
After a mont, she straightened, forcing herself to breathe. They took their seats as the engines began to hum.
She glanced at him. Her fingers unconsciously traced her bracelet.
A part of her had been afraid to bring him ho. Afraid that the chaos surrounding him from the past would seep into this life too. Sohow, her family would be hurt in the crossfire, like in the past.
But right now... Right now, she was just a daughter. And he was the only thing holding her steady.
"I’m glad you’re with ," she admitted softly.
It was the truth. She was too exhausted to calculate consequences.
Maximilian didn’t answer her confession with anything dramatic.
He only smiled and stayed, just like he always had in this life: steady, quiet, present.
The jet taxied onto the tarmac.
And then...
Nothing.
Minutes passed. Then more.
Catherine finally called the hostess over. The woman leaned in apologetically.
"We haven’t received clearance from the tower, Miss Preston. The Vice President is currently at the airport. No departures are being approved until his aircraft leaves."
The Vice President.
Of course.
Security lockdown.
Catherine closed her eyes briefly. She had been through this before. Once it had taken nearly an hour.
An hour.
Her father might be going into surgery within that hour.
"I need to speak to Daddy before they take him in," she whispered to herself.
Before she could stop herself, she unbuckled and hurried toward the cockpit. She knew the answer already. No one overrides security protocols for the Vice President of the country. Not even the Prestons.
Still... she had to try.
Maximilian watched her go.
He saw the way she was breaking quietly. Not screaming. Not demanding. Just carrying the weight alone.
He reached for his phone.
And dialed.
"Hey," he said lightly when the call connected, as if he were arranging dinner instead of sothing far more delicate.
Catherine noticed from the doorway. She couldn’t do anything. Even Alexander couldn’t push through national security.
So she sat back down.
And prayed.
"I’ll owe you one," Maximilian said calmly before ending the call.
She looked at him, questions flickering in her eyes, but she didn’t ask. She didn’t have the energy to untangle another mystery.
Her legs began to shake.
Please, God... Please let get there in ti.
Barely a minute later, the hostess approached briskly.
"Miss Preston, please fasten your seatbelt. We’ve received clearance. You’re approved for departure."
Catherine blinked.
"What?"
"They’ve allowed you to pass."
Her gaze snapped to Maximilian. He was already buckled in, as if he had known. As if he had expected it.
She slowly fastened her seatbelt, her heart pounding, but not just from fear now.
Did he do that?
Who exactly did he just call?
How powerful was he... that airspace secured for the Vice President shifted for him?
The engines roared to life and she felt the vibration through the seat. And for the first ti since the call from Bobby, Catherine wasn’t only thinking about her father.
She was looking at Maximilian with sothing new in her eyes.
Not just love. Not just fear.
"But realization, of the man she had never truly seen.
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