Catherine’s stomach chose that mont to betray her with a soft, traitorous growl.
She sighed and marched toward the refrigerator.
She wasn’t thrilled about grain milk... or anything that had once been a grain and now dared call itself food, but surely a grown man had sothing edible in his fridge. Civilization demanded it.
She also desperately needed to use the bathroom, but pride... and a very real fear stopped her. Using a single man’s bathroom felt... perilous. After he ca out, she’d demand to go ho. Her ho. Where she could breathe. Where she wasn’t shackled by a cursed bracelet and an infuriating man with too much presence.
Then she’d figure out how to get rid of the bracelet.
She opened the fridge.
Stared.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Leaves.
Vegetables.
More leaves.
And there it was. Sitting smugly on the shelf like an accusation.
Oat milk.
No eggs.
No butter.
No cheese.
No at.
Who—who—lived like this?
Frustration exploded out of her.
She scread.
"Catherine!"
Maximilian ca running.
The sound of his voice that was sharp and panicked, froze her in place.
It echoed too closely to last night’s dream. The rain... The battlefield... Him shouting her na like the world was ending.
"Are you okay?" he asked urgently.
She blinked, pulling herself out of the mory. "Yes," she said stiffly, fixing her hair as if dignity could be smoothed back into place. He was the enemy. The dream ant nothing.
She inhaled. "Are you... raising a rabbit sowhere?" she asked flatly.
"A rabbit?" he repeated, baffled.
"You only have leaves," Catherine snapped. "I’m starving."
His shoulders relaxed. That was it? He’d nearly had a heart attack over lettuce?
"I’ll make you breakfast," he said, heading into the kitchen.
"With leaves?" she asked darkly.
"There are mushrooms."
"Lovely," she said. "They go well with sausage."
He froze.
Blinked.
Fidgeted.
"Do you have another freezer?" she asked hopefully.
"...No."
Her eyes widened. "Where’s the at?"
"I’m... vegan."
Silence.
Vegan?
"I have vegetables," he offered weakly. "They’re healthy."
Catherine walked straight to the door.
That was it. The warlord had fallen. Not to betrayal... but to vegetables.
Heat flared painfully along her skin as the curse reacted to her movent, but she ignored it. She’d rather die than stay here and eat leaves.
Maximilian caught her arm. "Catherine—"
The tears ca anyway.
Hot. Sudden. Unforgiving.
And the mont they spilled, it frightened them both.
"I want to go ho," Catherine said between broken breaths. She wasn’t crying prettily. She was sobbing—ssy, humiliating sobs that tore out of her chest like sothing feral.
Everything crashed down at once: the betrayal at the symposium, what Calhoun had done to her, the humiliation, the isolation... and now this... being shackled to the man she despised most in both her lives.
Two lives lived, and still—she was human. Still breakable.
"I’ll take you," Maximilian said imdiately.
She stood in front of him, head bowed, shoulders shaking. She looked small like this. Too small. Not the woman who once stood before armies.
His heart twisted violently.
"Don’t cry, Catherine," he said, voice rough. Every instinct scread to pull her into his arms, to shield her from the world. His hands hovered, then settled—hesitant—on her shoulders, fists clenched like holding back a storm.
"I’ll do whatever you want."
That snapped her back.
She straightened abruptly, mortified at herself. Crying in front of him? Unacceptable. She wiped her face hard and turned away, locking herself inside the bathroom without a word.
She braced for filth.
Instead—clean. Immaculate. Dry floors. Soft scent. Exactly how she liked it.
That... unsettled her.
She washed her face, breathed, pulled herself together. When she finally stepped out, Maximilian was waiting on the couch—diaper bag packed, baby settled into the carrier, keys in hand.
He looked tense.
Then he saw her and smiled softly. "Have so water."
She drank.
They dropped the baby at daycare. He took her to a diner—an actual one—and only after coffee, eggs, and sausage did her strength return.
The drive to her apartnt was silent. He texted constantly. She didn’t ask.
"Don’t make yourself at ho," she said coldly as she unlocked her door.
He didn’t respond.
She locked herself in her bedroom, breathed in the familiar scent of her own space, then took a long, indulgent bath—scrubbing away exhaustion, fear, and humiliation.
When she erged, it was nearly lunchti.
Maximilian was still there.
Sitting on her couch.
Flipping through one of her thick research books, his brow furrowed like he actually belonged there.
She stared.
What a history professor thought he’d find in her work... she had no idea.
And then it clicked.
Bernice.
The password.
Ashley’s grubby little hands reaching for what wasn’t hers.
Catherine’s spine straightened.
She sat down on the couch without sparing Maximilian a glance and logged into her account. Her fingers flew, precise and cold. If Ashley thought she could steal her research and parade it at BioQuant, she was about to learn what professional annihilation looked like.
"Do you know—"
She stopped herself.
She’d almost asked if he knew anyone at BioQuant.
No.
Absolutely not.
Across from her, Maximilian watched her falter mid-sentence. He wet his lips, lowered his gaze briefly, then looked up as if nothing had happened.
"I’ll look into the bracelet," he said calmly. "I’ve already requested the street footage. If we find the seller, we find the source."
Her fingers paused.
She wanted to ask him—Did you do this to ?
She didn’t.
He wouldn’t tell her the truth anyway.
She snapped her laptop shut. "I don’t have leaves in my house," she said flatly. "Only peas and potatoes. Do you eat cheese, or should I order takeout?"
"Cheese isn’t vegan," he replied.
Catherine inhaled slowly through her nose.
Her family owned one of the largest ranches in the country. Four at-loving brothers. Endless dairy. And this man—this man—had the audacity to ask her to be his wife while refusing cheese.
"If you’re cooking," he added quickly, smiling, "I’ll eat anything. Even poison."
She stared at him, stunned into silence.
In the end, she made him a salad—lettuce, olives, tomatoes. She cooked herself a steak.
He smiled at his plate like he’d been given a feast.
"Are you free this weekend?" he asked casually.
She shot him a look. With the bracelet still on her wrist, was she ever free?
He seed to realize it at the sa ti and laughed softly. "Have you heard of the Winthorp Legacy Dinner?"
Her expression sharpened.
Of course, she had. The gala. The academic elite. Philanthropists. Power players. Invitations were rarer than ethics at BioQuant.
Jonathan had once said getting in was a career miracle. Even Ashley had to beg connections every year.
"Want to be my plus one?" Maximilian asked.
Her eyes widened despite herself.
That gala could reopen every door that had slamd in her face.
Which was exactly why she didn’t trust it.
"What’s the catch?" she asked coolly.
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