Remington Building.
The na glead in gilded gold, impossible to miss, heavy with legacy and influence. Catherine felt sothing click into place.
She pulled out her phone and searched, fingers swift and deliberate.
Remington of ridon, family mbers.
There had to be a bachelor. There always was.
And once she had that na... Her path would no longer be blocked. It would be cleared.
As expected, the family had a website—immaculate, curated to perfection. Foundations. Art museums. Scholarship programs. Think tanks.
Catherine scrolled, unimpressed and mildly amused. The Remingtons were everywhere. Politics. Academia. Arts. Philanthropy. Finance. Insurance. Even entertainnt, with one of them being a celebrated actor, his smile plastered across international billboards.
An aristocracy that had not only survived history, but monetized it.
Impressive, she thought dryly. And annoyingly thorough.
She scrolled down and reached the younger generation, when...
"What are you doing?"
Catherine’s breath hitched, and she nearly dropped her phone. She recoiled like soone caught doing sothing indecent.
Yes, she was researching powerful surnas like weapons. No, she did not appreciate being caught mid-calculation.
She looked up.
Of course.
Maximilian.
Before she could lock her screen, he stepped closer... too close. Whatever faint amusent lingered in his expression vanished the instant he saw what she was browsing.
"...You’re looking into the Remington family?" he asked.
The air shifted.
Sothing sharp flickered through his gaze, sudden and undisguised, cutting through his usual restraint like a blade slipping free of its sheath.
Catherine relaxed when she realized it was only him. "So what?" she said coolly, thumb moving to scroll.
He caught her wrist. Firm. Unyielding.
And before she reacted, turned her phone off.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
The tone wasn’t curious.
It was territorial.
"I had a reason," she replied evenly, refusing to pull away. "They have a building nad after them. I was checking whether the family ca with a potential husband before curiosity got the better of ."
She didn’t bother to soften it.
If he ant to interfere, she would deal with him the sa way she dealt with everyone else and step over him if necessary. The Remingtons weren’t the only family with power. Soone, sowhere, who were in need of money would want her.
"Husband?" Maximilian echoed.
The word landed wrong in his mouth.
His brows lifted, then slowly drew together. Sothing dark and dangerous settled behind his eyes, replacing the earlier confusion with unsettling clarity.
"You need a husband," he repeated.
"Yes," Catherine said simply.
Not a man.
A na.
For a long mont, he said nothing. Then his grip tightened, just enough for her to feel it, just enough to make her pulse jump.
"And you decided that so easily?" he asked softly. "As if it’s a coat you can borrow when the weather turns cold?"
She tilted her head.
"How are you planning on achieving that?" he asked.
"Drop a handkerchief, see if he picks up...? Or... What do kids do these days?"
That earned her a low and incredulous laugh from him.
"Which century are you from?" he murmured, shaking his head.
But he didn’t let go.
She noticed then that he was not wearing glasses. His eyes crinkled faintly as he laughed, the severity lting just enough to reveal the man beneath her mory. Human. Warm. Dangerous in a quieter way.
Not the ghost from her past.
Not the monster.
She cleared her throat and got out of his hold. "So... do you think there’s a dating website?" she asked lightly. "For Remingtons. Hamiltons. Windsors. Bourbons. Glücksburgs. There must be a club. An application."
She began to walk past him.
"You’re aiming for European royalty now?" he asked.
"Or dukedoms," she replied over her shoulder. "I don’t discriminate."
She took two steps.
Then his voice rang closer, low, and entirely certain, right beside her ear.
"You won’t marry any of them."
Her steps faltered.
She turned slowly. "Excuse ?"
Maximilian looked at her the way one looked at sothing already claid, already chosen. His voice was calm, but underneath it was steel.
"You’re not shopping for a husband," he said. "You’re looking for protection. A shield. A na big enough to crush the people who cornered you."
Her lips parted.
"And you think," he continued, stepping closer until there was no space left between them, "I would let you hand yourself to strangers for that?"
Her heart slamd hard against her ribs. "And who exactly is going to stop ?"
His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes.
"I am."
The word wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
"You want a na?" he said. "You want power that makes them regret touching you?"
He leaned down, his voice brushing her ear.
"Then use mine."
The courtyard seed to hold its breath.
And Catherine realized that the most dangerous man she could have chosen had just stepped forward willingly. And he had no intention of letting her go.
Catherine’s heart skipped a beat. The way his warmth surrounded her, the way his breath brushed her earlobes...
Just like...
Her eyes clouded as she got a little dizzy. Old mories rushed in bitter and raw. This was not the first ti he had offered her marriage.
Then... there were no witnesses, and he beca the witness to ruin her. The last ti she trusted his word, he destroyed her reputation. The last ti she believed him... Her mother died.
This ti... she looked around to see a few curious eyes on them. A professor, leaning so close to a woman in open... What was he even thinking?
The racing pulse in her chest turned to fire. To rage. She clenched her teeth and shoved him back.
"Even if there were no n left on earth, Professor, you would still be the last person I’d ever agree to marry."
She didn’t bother to look at his face; instead, she turned on her heels and walked away from the courtyard.
Maximilian watched her go, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His eyes burned red at the edges.
"What do you rember?" he muttered.
He watched her pass through the gates... and followed.
Catherine left the university grounds and headed toward the upscale neighborhood nearby. Her brother’s penthouse was there, all glass and steel and privacy. She could sense Maximilian behind her, a steady presence she chose not to acknowledge.
She didn’t care.
She needed to walk. Needed air. Food. Sothing to anchor her thoughts before they tore her apart.
Maximilian followed at a asured distance.
She didn’t like it, but it wasn’t a private space, and she couldn’t exactly demand he disappear. Not after she’d tried to kill him the previous day.
Irony was a bitter thing.
She had just begun to relax when Catherine’s path was blocked by one of those people... the kind who made a living shoving cute little microphones into strangers’ faces and calling it content.
Catherine stopped with a soft sigh. Seriously?!
And without hesitation, Maximilian stepped up beside her, as if the space belonged to him. As if she did.
"Are you a couple?" the influencer asked, flashing the fakest grin known to mankind. He didn’t wait for an answer. "Mind if I ask a few questions? It’ll only take a minute."
Catherine was about to walk away...
When Maximilian leaned closer, wearing a strange, amused smile that made the hair on the back of her neck rise.
He looked... entertained.
"Sure," Maximilian said smoothly, adjusting his tweed jacket like this was exactly where he wanted to be.
Catherine glared at him.
She still wanted to leave, but then a colder, more strategic thought surfaced. A video. Proof. Maximilian Whitmore standing comfortably beside her, unafraid, uninjured.
It wouldn’t erase what happened in the hospital, but it might soften the narrative. It might give Alexander leverage.
She stayed.
The influencer brightened instantly. "Alright! Tell you’re wealthy, without telling you’re wealthy."
That.
That was the question.
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