Maximilian watched Catherine from a distance.
He had been there when she briefed Sebastian. She spoke calmly, decisively, as if giving orders ca as naturally to her as breathing. And Sebastian simply nodded, agreeing without hesitation—like a knight who had already pledged himself once before.
As if so forgotten part of him still rembered she had once been his queen.
She didn’t look at Maximilian even once.
Was she truly that angry because he hadn’t told her that Dr. Eileen Morcant was his mother? Or had he misstepped sowhere else entirely?
He pressed a hand lightly against his chest.
She looked perfectly fine on her own. Untouchable. Self-contained. She didn’t need him.
Yet he... He felt like she was the oxygen he breathed.
If not for the bracelet binding them together, she might not even allow him to stand near her. There was too much between them. Too much history. Too many truths she had forgotten.
And he rembered all of it.
One thing didn’t escape him: she refused every drink offered tonight. Once. Twice. Again. She wasn’t drinking.
Was it trauma? Or was she keeping her mind sharp on purpose?
He took a step toward her, but was imdiately intercepted by guests eager for his attention.
Over their shoulders, he saw him.
Dorian.
Walking straight toward her.
Maximilian’s jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself not to react like a jealous fool in the middle of a legacy banquet.
He couldn’t leave her alone anymore. Not when there were things she had forgotten. Not when soone else rembered.
-----
Catherine turned... And nearly collided with soone.
She looked up.
Dorian.
Again.
He wore that sa disarming smile, the one that made her lower her guard without realizing it.
"So," he said lightly, tilting his head. "I see you’re not particularly fond of the co-author of your research."
Catherine tried to smile.
Her facial muscles felt stiff from the heat rising beneath her skin. She was almost certain she was blushing, and her heart was pounding so loudly it felt like drowning.
"What makes you think that, Mr. Blackwood?" she asked, wetting her lips unconsciously. Her throat felt dry.
Dorian didn’t answer imdiately.
He just looked at her.
His gaze moved slowly—her eyes, her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. Down to her shoulders. Then back to her lips. And finally, her eyes again.
Ti seed to thin.
Catherine swallowed.
"Did you forget my na, Katerina?" he asked quietly.
The na hit harder than it should have.
A waiter passed by. Dorian picked up a glass of scotch for himself and a glass of wine for her. He held it out casually, as if offering sothing ordinary.
"I hope you haven’t lost your love for wine."
Her heart skipped.
He rembers our past... And he isn’t hiding it.
After days surrounded by half-truths, manipulation, and carefully curated expressions, his blunt acknowledgnt felt almost... relieving.
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
"I loved watching you savor it."
The past rose uninvited.
In their previous life, she had loved wine. And her husband had sourced the finest jars wherever he traveled, sending them to her without her ever asking. When they were together, he would sit quietly and watch her sip... like she was sothing rare, sothing worth morizing.
After their first night that was harsh, political, and inevitable, he had declared her Queen of Velmont the very next day despite his court’s objections. Slowly, he let her share his work. Trusted her insights about her holand. Listened to her when the strategy concerned her people.
But he never touched her again. And she hadn’t minded. It had sparked rumors, but she had preferred it that way.
Until the night he brought her a jar of wine himself.
She had been finishing a report, sipping absently, when she realized...
They were alone.
Just him and her.
She had nearly dropped the goblet when he approached. He sat beside her, took her hand, wiped the wine from her lips with his thumb...
And kissed her forehead.
Tender. Gentle. Soft.
That night...
It didn’t hurt.
After that night, whenever he personally handed her a glass of wine, it beca their silent code.
An invitation neither of them voiced. A promise neither of them defined.
And now...
He was offering her a glass again.
*****
Maximilian watched from across the hall, his gaze fixed on Catherine’s hand as it hovered in hesitation.
Dorian stood too close.
Too confident.
Too certain.
Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe Dorian wasn’t forcing her. But Maximilian had once ignored his instincts before. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
His fingers curled into fists at his sides. For a brief, reckless second, he considered walking over and driving his fist straight into Dorian’s face.
The image was satisfying. But useless.
If he acted now, Catherine would only be pushed further toward Dorian. She despised impulsiveness. She distrusted possessiveness.
No.
This ti, he had to be rational. He couldn’t let history repeat itself. Not if he wanted her in this life.
*****
Catherine reached for the glass.
Her fingers trembled before they wrapped around the slender stem.
Dorian didn’t rush her. He simply watched, his gaze steady, patient, as if he already knew she would take it.
Crystal touched crystal with a soft chi.
"How about a date?" he asked.
She stilled. The wine barely touched her lips. He wasn’t smiling. He was serious.
"A proper one," he continued quietly. His voice lowered, losing its usual sharp edge. "Just a man and a woman. You and , Katerina... getting to know each other."
Her throat tightened.
"I..."
The word dissolved before it could beco an answer.
She had sworn to herself she wouldn’t marry him again. This life would not mirror the last.
And yet...
Standing this close to him... Feeling that familiar pull... That gravity he carried so effortlessly...
The refusal wouldn’t form. No matter how rational she tried to be, he could still move her.
Her gaze dropped.
The bracelet around her wrist caught the light. mory slamd into her.
*Snap*
Her spine straightened.
This was not the ti to be soft. Not the ti to be foolish. Not the ti to let her heart wander toward sothing dangerous.
She lifted her eyes to his, focused and steady.
But his gaze... It was unfair how difficult it was to look away.
"My na is Catherine... Mr. Blackwood," she said carefully. "Not Katerina."
It was a coward’s escape, and she knew it. She couldn’t reject him outright. Not while looking at that face. Not while hearing that tone.
So, she pretended not to understand.
For a fraction of a second, his smile faltered. Sothing darker flickered behind his eyes — disappointnt laced with restrained anger.
Catherine gently placed the glass back into his hand. "And I don’t like wine."
She turned.
She didn’t get far.
Pain shot through her wrist.
His fingers had closed around it, firm and unyielding. Not enough to bruise, but enough to stop her.
Enough to hurt.
She inhaled sharply and looked back at him. "Mr. Blackwood?" she said evenly, concealing the sting beneath composure.
But her pulse was racing.
And his grip had not loosened.
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