How could he say that so casually?
The warmth his words had stirred in her chest rose quickly to her cheeks, spreading like sunlight across winter skin. For a brief, reckless second, her heart fluttered. Her body betrayed her, leaning toward the promise hidden inside his tone.
But her mind was not so easily deceived.
Of course, it’s easy for him to say.
He had once promised to marry her too. And the very next day, he had shattered their engagent in the cruelest way possible—by turning her into a cheater in the eyes of the world.
The warmth drained from her just as quickly as it had co. The flutter in her chest stilled. She did not lash out, did not raise her voice, but sothing inside her must have shifted visibly.
Maximilian stiffened. He looked at her as though sothing precious had slipped through his fingers.
"Why did you break our engagent?" she asked quietly.
He had already admitted that the annulnt had been orchestrated by him. That he had lied. That he had used his authority to end it.
But she had never asked the simplest question.
Why?
Maximilian’s face lost its color.
He had known this would co. The mont he told her he rembered their past life, he had prepared himself for this confrontation. He had rehearsed explanations in his mind—carefully structured, reasonable, almost defensible.
Yet now, under her steady, wounded gaze, every word deserted him.
Because no explanation would erase what followed.
He stepped forward slowly and sank to his knees before her. Not in dramatics, not in pride... but because standing felt impossible.
He took her hand gently and pressed his forehead against the back of it.
"What I did to you was terrible," he said, his voice rough. "I knew it even then. And after seeing what that decision led to... for both of us..." His throat tightened. "I regret it a thousand tis over. No matter what I say, it won’t undo it. It won’t take away even a single drop of your pain."
His voice broke.
"All I can do is apologize. I ant it when I promised you. I was willing to lay my life down for that promise. But..."
Silence pressed in. He was holding his breath as if breathing would tear sothing out from inside him.
"I’m sorry, Katerina," he whispered. "I’m so sorry. I thought I—"
The sentence collapsed into a deep, fractured sigh that seed torn from sowhere far deeper than his lungs. The rest would not co.
Catherine let out a small, incredulous scoff.
"If you wanted the engagent annulled," she said, her tone trembling despite her control, "you had a hundred other options. But you chose to brand a cheater. Was there a specific reason for that?"
Her hand burned where he held it. Her chest felt tight, as though the air had thickened around her.
Maximilian’s fingers trembled, but he did not release her. His free hand rose to clutch his own chest, steadying the pain rising from inside; her pain he felt.
"Katerina... I’m sorry..."
She felt it then.
A drop of warmth on her skin.
Then another.
His tears fell onto the back of her hand, warm at first, then cooling as they slid down.
Slowly, sothing inside her began to harden.
He was right in one sense. Discussing it would not change the past. It would not resurrect what had been destroyed.
But it clarified one truth.
"I trusted you," she said. Her voice was no longer trembling. "You insulted my trust."
She pulled her hand away firmly.
Maximilian remained kneeling. He did not look up. His tears fell unchecked onto the floor beneath him. There was no audience here. No reason for theatrics.
He was not pretending.
Perhaps he truly regretted it. But regret did not rebuild trust.
"You can impress my family," she continued, her composure returning piece by piece. "You can charm everyone around . But in the end, it is I who will have to say ’I do.’"
She paused.
"And I never will."
The words landed with finality.
She turned and walked toward the bedroom without looking back.
Arcturus watched Maximilian for a mont, then glanced at Catherine disappearing into the room. After a brief hesitation, the dog followed her.
Catherine closed the door quietly behind her.
The urge to cry rose violently in her chest, but she swallowed it down. Instead of collapsing, she picked up her phone and called her family—just as she always did on Sundays.
Her voice, when they answered, was steady, as if nothing inside her had just cracked open again.
Maximilian sat on the floor, his back resting against the cold wall, his eyes fixed on the ground as though the answer to everything he had lost might be hidden within its dull surface. But the floor remained stubbornly ordinary, and the silence around him stretched wide and rciless.
-----
Ashley walked ho from the grocery store with a plastic bag looped over her wrist, her heels tapping sharply against the pavent. Her eyes drifted restlessly and alert. A prickling sensation crawled along her spine. She had the unmistakable feeling of being watched. Yet every ti she turned her head, she saw nothing but an ordinary evening in a safe, well-lit neighborhood. Nothing suspicious.
Her calls were not being answered.
The n she had hired the previous night to infiltrate Winthorp had vanished into silence. Not one of them was picking up. She had paid well. Very well. All because she had suspected Catherine would attend the Winthorp event and had planned to intimidate her, perhaps corner her, remind her of her place. It was ant to be simple.
Instead, Catherine had been untouchable.
Ashley’s fingers tightened around the grocery bag as the mory replayed in her mind: Catherine smiling calmly while Ashley herself was escorted out.
That woman was not just so country bumpkin who had stumbled her way into academia through blind luck. No. There was sothing else about her. Sothing solid. Sothing anchored.
And worse... she had moved comfortably among legacy nas, people whose surnas opened doors without knocking.
Ashley had assud that if Catherine was beyond reach, Bernice would be easier to catch. Bernice had always been more... accessible. That had been the backup plan. She had plans involving Bernice. Careful ones.
But she didn’t know what happened.
The air felt heavier as Ashley turned into a dim alley that served as a shortcut to her building. She had walked through it countless tis. It was a safe neighborhood. Nothing ever happened here.
The arm that yanked her backward was strong and rciless.
Before she could scream, a fist drove hard into her throat. Pain exploded through her windpipe, sharp and suffocating. No sound escaped her mouth—only a choked gasp that dissolved into silence. The grocery bag fell, oranges rolling uselessly across the dirty ground.
What followed was not chaos. It was deliberate.
One man. No weapon. Just fists.
Blow after blow landed with calculated force, knocking her to the pavent. This was not robbery. He did not reach for her bag or her jewelry. He did not demand anything. He simply beat her as though fulfilling an assignnt.
As if soone had hired a professional not to kill her—but to send a ssage.
Ashley’s vision blurred, her ears ringing as blood ward the corner of her lips. The world felt distant, unreal. She curled instinctively, trying to shield herself, but the strikes kept coming until darkness began to press in from the edges of her sight.
When the beating stopped, she lay there barely conscious, the alley quiet once more. No one looked her way. No one noticed. It was dark enough, isolated enough, that her broken breaths blended into the night.
But Ashley did not give up.
With trembling fingers slick with blood, she fumbled inside her coat and pulled out her phone. Her vision doubled as she tapped a familiar na.
Jonathan.
The line rang. She forced her lips apart, trying to push sound through her ruined throat. But before she could speak... Her consciousness slipped away, and everything faded into black.
-----
[It’s done]
Dorian’s lips curved into a satisfied smile, seeing the ssage and the attached image. He had been watching her after last night. He knew it all.
You deserve it for trying to touch my queen!
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