"Do you have a hamr?" Catherine asked, tossing the pliers aside like they had personally offended her.
Earlier, only when an officer ca to them asking if they had a problem, did she realize she was shouting at him in the middle of the street.
Maximilian acted quickly, sending away the officer. "Perhaps we could...discuss this sowhere more private?" he asked
And that was how she ended up here... at his ho.
His ho.
Which, inconveniently, happened to be a brownstone in one of the most aggressively old-money neighborhoods in all of ridon: nestled near the university, frad by iron railings, ancient trees, and the kind of quiet that whispered generational wealth.
She didn’t want to follow him. But pain was a very persuasive argunt.
And now she was standing inside his apartnt.
The fireplace crackled with so delicately scented wood that scread imported and curated, probably purchased by soone who had opinions about forests. The Persian carpet under her shoes was thick, handwoven, and soft enough to make ordinary floors feel like a personal insult.
Catherine took it all in without blinking. This wasn’t overwhelming.
It was simply Maximilian’s flavor of excess: quiet, inherited, and smugly understated, and if wealth were a personality trait, his whispered. This man lived like a footnote in a history textbook.
And the more irritating thing was... she liked his style.
About the bracelet... They’d tried everything. Pulling, twisting, prying... Nothing worked.
On the way here, they’d even searched for the woman who sold the bracelet. She’d vanished like a cursed Etsy seller.
"Hamr!" she raised her voice. She wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible.
"Hamr?" Maximilian repeated now, staring at her in disbelief. "Don’t have one."
His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms that absolutely did not deserve to exist in this situation. His hands were encased in thick kitchen mittens like he was about to wrestle a cursed turkey. He wanted to brace for the blisters forming every ti he touched the bracelet.
Catherine rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw her past life. "I’m only surprised you’ve made it this far without owning a hamr," she said coolly. "It suggests either extraordinary luck or an astonishing dependence on others."
Maximilian opened his mouth. Closed it.
This was not the first insult she’d lobbed at him today, but there was sothing about the elegance with which she’d just implied he was an incompetent aristocrat and less of a man that genuinely stunned him.
Of course, he had a hamr. He just wasn’t giving it to her. Because he knew what she would do. She would absolutely try to smash the bracelet and very possibly her own wrist with it.
And he was not prepared for that level of disaster.
Before he could respond, his gaze snapped to the window.
He strode over, looking out at the park below, an absurdly scenic stretch of green that probably raised property values just by existing.
"It’s getting late," he said, removing the mittens. "I need to be sowhere."
Catherine’s jaw tightened. "What could possibly be more important than this?" She pointed accusingly at the bracelet. "And... where is your dog?"
She hadn’t seen the dog once since arriving.
"Ah... Arcturus." Maximilian blinked, genuinely startled. "Right."
He had, in fact, completely forgotten his dog.
"He’ll be fine," he said quickly. "He’s with Se—" He paused. He didn’t want to say the na Sebastian Remington to her and corrected himself smoothly. "—with a friend."
Catherine narrowed her eyes. Interesting.
"I need to go," he repeated and turned toward the door.
She stared after him, lips pressed thin. Only when that familiar warmth began creeping up her arm did she react.
"Wait!" she snapped, hurrying after him.
Grumbling under her breath, she followed him outside as he walked briskly down the street.
"Don’t you own a car?" she asked.
"A car?" he echoed, genuinely puzzled. "Why?"
Catherine could only stare at him.
Then she sighed and looked around.
...Annoyingly, it made sense.
Everything—cafés, bookstores, the university, parks—was within walking distance. This was a neighborhood designed for people who didn’t need to rush anywhere.
She hated that.
She hated him.
And she hated that she currently couldn’t walk more than ten ters away from him without setting herself on magical fire.
This life was a nightmare.
And apparently, it didn’t even co with a hamr.
Catherine waited.
And waited.
And waited so more—long enough to reconsider every life decision that had led her to following Maximilian down a leafy street like an emotionally tethered balloon.
Finally, he stopped.
In front of a daycare.
Catherine stared at the cheerful building painted in aggressively optimistic colors. There were cartoon animals smiling too hard on the walls. The windows were low. Tiny shoes were lined up inside like evidence of a cult.
Her soul took critical damage.
"You’re joking," she said flatly.
Maximilian didn’t even look back. "Wait here."
Before she could protest, he disappeared inside. Catherine stood there, rooted to the pavent, the bracelet warm and smug against her wrist.
Minutes passed. Then the door opened. Maximilian stepped out. And... he was holding a baby.
A small one. Bundled up. Soft. Round-cheeked. One tiny fist was clutching the front of his coat as it owned him. Slung over his shoulder was a diaper bag—neutral-colored, expensive-looking, the kind that said I read parenting reviews.
He looked... natural. Effortlessly so.
Handso man. Calm expression. Baby cradled securely against his chest.
It was the kind of sight that made other won soften. The kind that launched unsolicited daydreams and reckless emotional attachnts.
For Catherine...
It was like being stabbed in the chest with a mory.
Her vision went white for a second.
In her past life, he had killed her children. He had ordered it. He smiled through dinner while it happened.
And now...
Now he stood there in the winter light, living comfortably, freely, on his own terms. Carrying a baby as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. As if blood had never soaked his hands.
Her fingers curled slowly into fists.
In this life, she couldn’t even step into her own research lab without traitors clawing at her work, trying to steal it, sell it, erase her. She was fighting tooth and nail for every inch of ground.
And him?
He had a ho. A career. A dog. And now...apparently... a baby.
Why was she so unlucky?
Why did the universe keep handing him peace... while she paid interest on trauma she didn’t even rember asking for?
Maximilian adjusted the baby gently, unaware of the war burning behind Catherine’s eyes.
"Sorry," he said casually. "Took longer than I expected."
She stared at him.
At the baby.
At the way the bracelet on her wrist pulsed faintly, as if mocking her.
"...You didn’t think to ntion," she said, voice dangerously calm, "that you’d be collecting an infant?"
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