Maximilian patted her hand lightly. The gesture was simple. Too simple considering everything they’d been through.
Catherine turned her head... and suddenly saw it from the outside.
Her hand was gripping his sleeve, his body was angled toward hers and his fingers were resting over her wrist.
They looked... like every bit a couple.
She knew that bringing him with her to et her father when he was sick ant she considered him family. That was how her family would take it. That was how any family would take it. But the reality was... it was because of this cursed bracelet. Bracelet alone.
But they didn’t know that. And now... Awareness slamd into her.
She pulled her hand back a little too quickly.
"I saved you from them only because I didn’t want you saying sothing you weren’t supposed to," she said, lifting her chin.
If she were a little late, he would have blabbered nonsense to them, making them build an entire fortress out of nowhere. Yes. That was the only reason.
Maximilian stared at her for a long second. Then one corner of his mouth curved. "Like what?" he asked quietly, and leaned just slightly closer.
"Like this." She shot him a warning glare. "Don’t act like you’re my... boyfriend."
The word felt strange in her mouth.
Boyfriend.
It sounded juvenile. Casual. Almost silly. And yet...Her heart reacted to it as if it were sothing sacred.
This was the first ti she had ever said that word in relation to herself. It made her pulse stumble.
Maximilian’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t step back.
"I want to clarify," she continued quickly, defensive now. "The only reason I didn’t correct my Dad earlier was because—"
"I know," he interrupted gently.
She blinked.
"I know," he repeated.
He knew exactly what she was going to say.
That it wasn’t the right ti... that her father was fragile... that she didn’t want to cause stress... that it didn’t an anything.
But she had already been halfway confessing without realizing it. She probably knew, sowhere deep inside, what this was becoming.
The problem wasn’t her feelings. It was her fear of naming them.
Maximilian exhaled slowly.
How long should he wait?
"Off you go," she said suddenly, pushing him lightly in the shoulder as if dismissing a nuisance.
He let her.
She walked away and sat beside Alexander and stared at the operating room doors.
Ti stretched. Minutes beca an hour. An hour beca two. The sun dipped below the windows, and the hallway lights flickered on one by one.
Worry thickened the air. The grandkids grew restless. The spouses whispered less. Even the Preston brothers, who had faced wars in boardrooms and politics, began to pace.
Maximilian did what he could.
He introduced himself to the children properly. Let them ask questions. Let them inspect his watch. Let them decide if they liked him. He went out twice to bring coffee and sandwiches.
He handed Catherine hers without a word.
She didn’t thank him. She just took it. But her fingers brushed his, and lingered for half a heartbeat longer than necessary.
When she finally broke...It wasn’t loud or dramatic. Her shoulders just... slumped. Her eyes glossed over. The strong, immovable Catherine Preston cracked in silence.
Maximilian didn’t say anything. He simply walked over and sat beside her, close enough that their arms touched, letting her know of his solid presence.
After a mont, she leaned, barely, her shoulder resting against his, as if it were accidental, as if she didn’t need it.
But she didn’t move away. And he didn’t either.
In that quiet hospital corridor, surrounded by family and fear and fluorescent lights, he didn’t try to be her boyfriend. He just stayed.
It was sothing he had failed to do in their previous lifeti, and sohow, this ti, that alone steadied her.
Maximilian noticed sothing else as the hours dragged on.
The Prestons functioned like a single organism.
William would rise to get water without being asked, and Alexander would subtly shift to fill the space he left. Bobby would kneel to distract the children just as one of them began to sniffle. No words exchanged. No instructions given.
Their spouses moved in rhythm with them.
Miranda knew exactly when to tease and when to fall silent. Sophia passed tissues before tears fully ford. Victoria’s hand would settle on a shoulder without interrupting a conversation.
Even the grandchildren and the great-grandchildren acted maturely. The kids shared snacks without fighting. Took turns with phones. An older one tied a younger one’s shoelaces without complaint.
It wasn’t perfect.
Maximilian noticed small frictions. A glance held half a second too long. A pause in tone that hinted at disagreent.
But beneath it all...There was no quiet calculations. There was only loyalty.
He belonged to a large family too. Not as wealthy, but prestigious.
But at ho, smiles were often asured. His grandfather favored one branch openly. His uncles laughed at dinners while maneuvering behind the scenes. His aunts complinted gowns while undermining inheritances. His cousins smiled for photographs and sharpened knives in private.
He had grown up learning to read micro-expressions the way other boys learned sports. Vigilance had been survival.
His childhood ho had not been so different from the royal court he once navigated in his previous life — alliances, betrayals, power wrapped in silk and civility.
He had never known what it felt like to relax inside his own family.
Watching the Prestons now, he found himself wondering how they handled disagreent. With this many mbers, there had to be conflict. Yet they lived in one compound. Separate houses, yes, but within the sa gates.
How did they stay so close without suffocating each other? How did they argue without fracturing? How did they protect one another without turning possessive?
He admired it.
And sothing deeper, quieter, more vulnerable stirred in him.
It wasn’t just Catherine he wanted.
It was this. The noise, the loyalty, and the unspoken unity.
He yearned to have a family that closed ranks around you instead of asuring your worth, to have brothers who would stand in front of you without calculating gain, and to have a place where staying didn’t require strategy.
His gaze shifted to Catherine.
She was still leaning slightly into him, trusting him enough to rest, but fearful enough not to say it out loud.
He let his arm remain exactly where it was.
For the first ti in a very long ti, Maximilian allowed himself to imagine sothing dangerously soft.
A ho.
And he realized...
He didn’t just want Catherine.
He wanted to belong to the world that had shaped her.
And that longing... felt far more terrifying than love.
Finally... The red light above the operating room flickered off. The doors opened.
The sound was soft. But it echoed like thunder.
Everyone moved at once. Chairs scraped. Shoes scuffed against polished tile. Conversations died mid-breath.
The Preston brothers stepped forward instinctively, forming a line without aning to. Their wives were already beside them — Miranda’s fingers laced through William’s, Sophia anchoring Bobby, Victoria slipping her hand into Jon’s free one.
Alexander had Jon’s grandson in his arms, holding the child close, protective even in that small detail.
Catherine didn’t rember walking. She only knew she was suddenly closer.
And that her hand... was gripping sothing warm and familiar. Maximilian’s hand.
She hadn’t ant to reach for him. She hadn’t thought about it. Her fingers had simply found his and locked.
His hand tightened around hers imdiately. He stepped half a pace forward, beside her.
The doctor removed his mask.
There was sothing about that mont... the second before a doctor speaks, that stretched like a lifeti.
Catherine could hear her own heartbeat in her ears.
Please.
Please.
The doctor’s gaze swept across the gathered family.
"It was a complicated procedure," he began.
Catherine’s nails dug into Maximilian’s palm. He didn’t flinch.
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