Shackled To The Enemy King

At BioQuant, Jonathan Vale and Ashley Renfield reran the sequence Catherine had corrected earlier that morning.

The results appeared one after another across the monitors.

Jonathan leaned forward while Ashley watched the screen almost without blinking. One graph stabilized. Then another. Finally, the simulation completed without a single error.

"It worked," Ashley whispered.

A slow smile spread across Jonathan’s face.

"Of course it did." He folded his arms, unable to hide his excitement. "Now we can finally prepare for the trials."

He wasn’t even surprised anymore.

Whenever Catherine corrected something, it worked.

Without saying another word, Ashley gathered the pages covered in Catherine’s handwritten notes. A lighter clicked open, and a small orange flame licked the corner of the first sheet.

Jonathan instinctively glanced around the laboratory. It was empty. The other researchers and technicians had left already.

Most importantly... No cameras covered this corner of the lab.

"What are you doing?" he asked, lowering his voice.

Ashley calmly fed another page into the growing flame. "Destroying the evidence."

The fire spread quickly, blackening the edges before devouring Catherine’s elegant handwriting line by line.

"When we’re ready to publish," Ashley said as another page crumbled into ash, "there won’t be a single piece of proof that Catherine Preston ever contributed to this project."

Jonathan watched the flames in silence. His gaze remained fixed on the burning pages.

It wasn’t a matter of if anymore.

It was a matter of when.

Judging by today’s breakthrough, they would reach human trials before the end of the year.

The finish line was finally visible.

And history...

History never remembered the anonymous genius working quietly in the background. It remembered the names printed on the paper.

Jonathan had secured the grants. He had assembled the laboratory. He had spent years pushing the project forward. He would oversee the clinical trials.

By the time the cure reached the world, he convinced himself, it would be as much his achievement as anyone else’s.

So why should Catherine Preston take the glory?

Jonathan watched the final sheet curl into black ash.

Then he quietly smiled.

He had no intention of sharing history with her.

-----

Catherine returned to Meridon just before dawn.

The city was beginning to wake, but she felt as though she had lived through several lifetimes in the span of a single day.

She had found her son.

She had watched Maximilian survive another brush with death.

She had negotiated with a man who should have been her enemy, only to discover he had once been someone she had loved beyond reason.

She had unknowingly stepped into Leon Aureus’s financial battlefield and somehow managed to keep whatever game Maximilian had started from collapsing.

And now... She was back.

Back to the place she hated. Back to the man she intended to destroy.

Sleep tugged at every muscle in her body, but there was no room for exhaustion. Throughout the flight, she had sent encrypted instructions to Sebastian and Bernice, making sure they knew everything that had happened during the past twenty-four hours. Fitzgerald. The margin call. Maximilian’s improvement. Every piece mattered now.

Only after she was certain everything had been set into motion did she finally allow herself to breathe.

Maximilian was alive.

Not awake yet... But alive.

That thought alone steadied her heart.

A stab of guilt followed almost immediately.

She should have remained beside him. She should have been there when he opened his eyes. If he woke while she was here...

Her fingers curled tightly around her bag.

No.

This was her battle now.

Maximilian had already walked into the fire for her once. He had taken the blow meant for her.

The rest...

The rest she would finish herself.

She didn’t know whether she had days or merely hours before Dorian discovered everything. All she knew was that she had started this war.

She intended to end it.

Dorian was already waiting outside the airport.

Even from a distance, she recognized the black sedan, the bodyguards standing several paces away, and the man leaning against the vehicle as though he had been waiting there for hours.

The smile that had lingered on her face ever since leaving her home quietly disappeared.

How much does he know?

By the time she reached him, another smile had replaced it: gentle, warm, perfect. She slipped her arm through his as though nothing in the world had changed. "I’m back."

His eyes searched hers for a long moment before giving a small nod. "You are."

They had dinner together. His eyes lingered on her ominously as he cut the steak. She pretended she didn’t notice, laughed when appropriate, answered every question with practiced ease, allowed him to escort her through the mansion as though she belonged there.

That night, for the first time in days, she slept.

Not peacefully. Never peacefully. But exhaustion eventually won.

Somewhere during the night, she heard her bedroom door click open. Her body tensed beneath the blankets. She slowed her breathing, pretending to remain asleep.

She sensed Dorian standing in the darkness, watching... Waiting.

After what felt like several minutes, the door closed again. He never stepped inside. Only after his footsteps disappeared did Catherine allow herself to open her eyes.

Something had changed. She could feel it. The restraint he had shown could not last forever.

She stared at the ceiling until dawn.

The following morning... Trouble was already waiting for her.

Dorian was nowhere to be seen when Catherine came downstairs.

Instead, the housekeeper stood in the foyer with her head respectfully lowered, while nearly a dozen people waited behind her in neat rows. Makeup artists. Hairstylists. Manicurists. Aesthetic specialists. Even a wardrobe consultant stood beside several garment bags, each one bearing the logo of an internationally renowned fashion house.

Catherine paused.

For a brief second, she wondered if she had entered the wrong house.

The housekeeper stepped forward.

"Miss Preston," she said with a practiced smile, "Mr. Blackwood has instructed us to prepare you for this evening’s event."

"My event?"

"The event."

Nothing more. No other explanation.

Every instinct Catherine possessed whispered that something was wrong. Very wrong. Yet she showed none of it. She simply smiled politely and allowed them to begin.

For hours they worked on her.

Her hair was styled into soft waves that cascaded elegantly over one shoulder. Diamonds sparkled around her neck and wrists. The makeup artist softened every sharp edge of her face until she looked less like a researcher and more like someone accustomed to walking red carpets beneath flashing cameras.

When they finally finished, they helped her into an ivory floor-length gown that flowed around her like liquid silk.

Catherine barely recognized the woman staring back from the mirror. This was not how she usually did her makeup, but still...

Beautiful.

Elegant.

Perfect.

Like a lamb prepared for sacrifice.

While the stylists fussed over the final details, she quietly excused herself for a moment and sent Alexander a message.

[What’s tonight?]

His reply came almost immediately.

[William accepted Dorian’s invitation. Big charity gala. Half of Meridon’s elite will be there.]

William...?

Catherine frowned.

Why would Dorian suddenly invite William?

She had expected retaliation. Not... A party.

Nothing about this made sense.

Unless...

When she descended the mansion steps, Dorian’s black Maybach was already waiting outside. The chauffeur opened the rear door without a word. The drive into the city passed in uneasy silence. The deeper they traveled into Meridon’s financial district, the heavier the feeling in Catherine’s chest became.

She couldn’t explain it. She only knew she was walking into something carefully planned.

The car eventually stopped before one of the city’s grandest hotels. Crystal chandeliers glittered through towering glass windows. Luxury cars stretched as far as she could see. Security personnel stood at every entrance. Someone was expecting important guests.

A hostess greeted Catherine with a respectful bow. "This way, Miss Preston."

She was led through the marble lobby, past private security, through a pair of gilded double doors, and into a long carpeted corridor.

The music grew louder with every step. Voices... Laughter... The unmistakable murmur of hundreds of influential people gathered in one place.

The hostess stopped. With both hands, she pushed open the enormous doors. The hallway opened into the grand ballroom.

Catherine stepped inside. Her breath caught.

The color drained from her face.

Her heart dropped straight into her stomach.

No!!!

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