Timothy raised his brows but said nothing. Their family had its hands in far too many businesses to afford careless decisions, and the Blackwood na had been tied to theirs for decades. He understood why his brother hesitated.
"Are you seriously considering siding with soone who killed his own grandfather—the man who raised him?" Timothy asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.
Fitzgerald, who had been staring at the bitten apple as though it concealed so hidden code, finally looked up. His gaze snapped to Timothy, sharp and faintly amused.
"We both know Edward deserved it, Timmy," he said coolly before taking another deliberate bite. "So spare the vicarious indignation."
Timothy exhaled slowly, pressing down his frustration. His brother had been diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder years ago, though Fitzgerald himself treated it as nothing more than an inconvenient label. Where Timothy moved through the world guided. perhaps too often, by emotion, Fitzgerald operated on sothing colder. Cleaner. Efficiency. Outco. Nothing else.
Which was why that earlier question about whether Maximilian was in love with his girlfriend, lingered in Timothy’s mind.
"You’ve looked into Maximilian’s girlfriend?" he asked. "I didn’t even know he had one."
Fitzgerald’s gaze lifted again, thoughtful now. "Maximilian’s rise to power... might be because of her," he said.
Timothy raised his brows. It was rare to hear uncertainty in his brother’s voice.
Fitzgerald continued, "Dorian Blackwood killed his grandfather for her." A faint pause followed, his fingers tightening slightly around the apple. "I was curious."
With a careless flick of his wrist, he tossed the half-eaten apple into the trash and rose, brushing his hands together as though discarding the thought along with it.
"She might be worth the trouble," he added.
Timothy’s lips pressed into a thin line as he watched his brother’s back. It was unsettling, the way Fitzgerald’s mind worked—like a machine assembling patterns faster than anyone else could follow.
But that last statent...
"Interested?" Timothy asked carefully. "She looked young."
He regretted the words the mont they left his mouth. His brother was thirty-five, and the last thing Timothy wanted was to complicate matters with Maximilian any further. If not for the Rathbourne na, he was certain Maximilian would have buried him long ago without hesitation.
Fitzgerald turned his head slightly, glancing back at him. "You could have your daughter and her mother with you if you desired," he said, almost idly. "What’s stopping you?"
The casual cruelty of it made Timothy stiffen. As if taking a woman and a child were as simple as claiming misplaced property.
"Oh, brother..." Timothy brought his hands together in a pleading gesture, his voice lowering. "Please. I’m asking you... I beg you. Do not interfere in my personal life. Please..."
A quiet chuckle left Fitzgerald as he returned to the table, selecting another apple. "May this kind of pathetic love never find ," he murmured.
Timothy rolled his eyes, so of the tension easing despite himself. "As if you’d even recognize it if it did," he muttered. "It could knock on your door on a Friday night, and you’d mistake it for a business proposal."
Fitzgerald ignored the remark. He adjusted the apples in the bowl with precise care, aligning them into perfect symtry before finally picking one up. Only when he was satisfied did he turn and walk toward his room.
The air seed to shift as he passed, a quiet, oppressive weight following in his wake.
"Preston... huh? This is going to be so fun..." Fitzgerald’s voice drifted through the hallway, low and thoughtful.
Timothy stilled.
Fun?
Sothing about the way he said it made the hairs on his arms rise.
He watched the empty corridor long after his brother disappeared, unease settling deep in his chest.
What is that man planning?
And more importantly...
Should he warn Maximilian?
But first, he needed to see what Dorian was up to. Maximilian ca here for a reason. And if it concerned his girlfriend... he would have to look into it.
-----
Inside the car, Catherine turned toward him, her brows drawn together in curiosity. "What was that?" she asked.
Maximilian glanced at her, a faint smile forming on his lips—one that carried more aning than it revealed. "You already know everything about my businesses," he said lightly. "So in the future, if you ever feel like playing chess, you could always use the Rathbournes as your pieces on your—"
"What’s between Alia and Timothy?" Catherine cut in, her voice quick and insistent.
Chess? Power plays? She had no interest in any of that right now. What lingered in her mind was sothing far more imdiate... and far more human.
Maximilian paused.
For a brief mont, irritation flickered at the edges of his thoughts. He had been speaking about their future—about giving her power, positioning her where she would never have to bow to anyone again. It would have been easy to snap, to redirect her attention, to make her understand the weight of what he was offering.
But then he looked at her.
That expression—bright, impatient, a little mischievous—was so achingly familiar that it stilled him.
This was her.
The Katerina he had known before everything changed. The girl who had once lived for whispered rumors and harmless intrigue, who would tug at his sleeve just like this, demanding answers he rarely bothered to find.
A quiet smile spread across his face, softer now, almost unguarded.
In their past life, she had forced herself to grow too quickly. He had watched her sharpen into sothing precise and calculating, always thinking, always preparing, only to be t with resistance and dismissal. Even then, she had never stopped trying.
That sa vigilance had followed her into this life, turning her into soone her own family found "too mature," too composed for her age.
And yet now...
This small, almost childish curiosity had surfaced again.
Didn’t that an she felt safe?
Safe enough not to calculate every step. Safe enough to let go.
Safe enough to simply be.
The thought settled quietly within him, warm and resolute.
He would protect that.
Whatever it took, he would make sure that light in her eyes never dimd again.
"It would be better if you heard it from Alia," he said at last, his tone gentler.
In their past life, she had never been satisfied with the way he told stories. She would always have questions he had never thought to ask, details he had never cared to notice. It had frustrated her endlessly.
"Tell what you know," Catherine insisted, gripping his sleeve and giving it a small shake.
Maximilian looked down at her hand, then back at her face, and let out a quiet breath.
"You won’t let this go, will you?" he murmured.
Her answer was imdiate. "No."
For a mont, he said nothing, as if weighing how much to reveal. Then he leaned back slightly, his gaze turning thoughtful.
Catherine leaned closer in curiosity.
User Comments
0 comments from readers