Shackled To The Enemy King

Catherine finished touching up her makeup and stepped out of the ladies’ room.

Jonathan was already waiting in the quiet corridor, his hands tucked into his pockets. The moment he saw her, his expression softened.

"Billy was about to make a scene," he said. "I sent him home before he did something we’d all regret."

Catherine lowered her eyes. "I’m sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for." Jonathan’s voice was calm, but there was a heaviness behind it.

"You know..." He exhaled quietly. "It’s hard for us to stand there and watch someone treat our little sister like that."

Catherine pressed her lips together. She understood. More than anyone, she understood.

Every one of her brothers wanted to drag her out of that ballroom and take her home. Every instinct they had told them to protect her. Yet instead, they endured this humiliation alongside her because they believed in her.

That faith...

It was what gave her the strength to continue.

Jonathan looked at her for another moment before deciding not to say anything further. Advising Catherine to stop would achieve nothing. If anything, he trusted Maximilian more than he trusted her own judgment in matters like this. If that man had entrusted everything to Catherine, then there had to be a reason.

And this...

This engagement.

It was only temporary.

That thought alone kept Jonathan’s temper under control.

"About that margin deposit..."

Catherine immediately stepped closer. "You found something?"

Jonathan nodded. "It took a ridiculous amount of digging." He lowered his voice. "Maximilian quietly accumulated enough exposure to control roughly fifty-one percent of BioQuant."

Catherine blinked. "...Control?"

"He originally owned around twenty percent outright. The rest..." Jonathan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Let’s just say he used a very expensive and very complicated financial structure to hide what he was doing."

She frowned.

"So... he owns BioQuant?"

Jonathan gave a small laugh. "I knew that’d be your conclusion."

"It isn’t?"

"Not exactly."

He smiled patiently.

"Ownership and control aren’t always the same thing. Whether he can actually command the company depends on voting rights, settlement, corporate law, and a dozen other things I won’t bore you with."

Catherine sighed dramatically. "I understood maybe... four words."

"I expected as much." Jonathan patted her shoulder. "So, here’s the part you’ll understand." He leaned closer.

"Maximilian never wanted to run BioQuant."

Catherine looked at him.

"He wanted to destroy it."

Her eyes widened.

Jonathan’s own smile turned almost dangerous. "And if I’m reading this correctly... he built the perfect weapon to do exactly that."

Catherine’s heart skipped. "So what do I—"

Jonathan suddenly stopped speaking. His gaze shifted past her shoulder. Someone was approaching.

His expression returned to its usual calm. "We’ll finish this later."

He slipped a folded piece of paper into his inner pocket before gently nudging her toward the ballroom.

"For now, smile."

Catherine glanced back once.

Jonathan had already taken out his phone, casually pretending to answer a message while the stranger walked past.

Despite herself, she smiled.

She wasn’t fighting alone.

Dorian might think he had isolated her. He might believe stripping away her freedom would eventually strip away her resolve.

But he had underestimated something fundamental.

The Prestons did not abandon their own.

Every one of her brothers had quietly stepped onto the battlefield beside her, risking businesses, reputations, and perhaps even their lives.

The thought steadied her breathing.

But it also reminded her of something else.

This couldn’t continue.

Her research was already approaching human trials. BioQuant had barely begun animal testing.

The gap between them was growing by the day. She needed to force Dorian’s hand before he realized just how badly he was already losing.

More than anything... She wanted this war to end before Maximilian opened his eyes. She wanted to be there when he woke.

And tonight’s engagement party had confirmed one thing beyond any doubt.

Whatever had changed inside Dorian... It was becoming dangerous for her to remain at his side much longer.

Lost in thought, Catherine rounded the corner with her head lowered. She nearly walked straight into someone. Polished black Oxfords stopped scarcely an inch from the hem of her gown.

She lifted her eyes.

Fitzgerald stood before her, one hand tucked behind his back, the other extended toward her. "Care for a dance?"

His smile was small, almost amused.

Catherine instinctively looked across the ballroom.

Dorian was speaking with several businessmen near the champagne tower, yet she knew him well enough to understand that his attention was never truly elsewhere.

She had already spent too much time speaking to Fitzgerald once tonight.

Another conversation... Another perceived slight...She didn’t want to imagine how Dorian would choose to punish either of them.

More importantly... She couldn’t bear the thought of losing her son again.

"He isn’t going to do anything to me," Fitzgerald said quietly, following her gaze without turning his head. "You, perhaps."

His steel-grey eyes settled on hers.

"He may decide kissing you once wasn’t sufficient."

Catherine’s expression stiffened. "Dance?"

She glanced around.

Several ladies were already watching them with barely concealed curiosity. Their hands hid their mouths, but not their eyes.

"They already think we’re flirting."

"I know."

"That won’t help me."

"It won’t hurt either."

Before she could object again, Fitzgerald gently took her hand. Not possessively. Simply as though escorting a guest. He led her toward the dance floor.

The orchestra shifted into a slow waltz. When he placed one hand lightly against her back, he deliberately left almost an entire arm’s length between them.

No one could mistake this for intimacy. It was merely two acquaintances sharing a dance.

"Relax," he said.

Catherine almost laughed. Relax?

She had just accepted an engagement ring from one man while desperately waiting for another to wake from a coma. Relaxing was impossible.

Her thoughts drifted despite herself.

Jonathan probably still had his pistol. One clean shot... Everything would end.

"Killing him would be strategically unwise."

His voice cut through her thoughts.

She blinked.

"Your brothers would have to spend years cleaning up the consequences."

Catherine slowly turned her head. "...Since when did you learn to read minds?"

"I don’t." A corner of his mouth lifted. "You look at exits every seventeen seconds."

He rotated them effortlessly with the music. "Your right hand keeps drifting toward where a weapon would normally rest."

His gaze lowered briefly. "And you’ve imagined shooting him at least twice since this dance began."

Catherine stared."...That’s unsettling."

"I’ve been told." Despite herself, she almost smiled.

For several moments, neither of them spoke. The orchestra filled the silence. Finally Fitzgerald broke it.

"Why?"

She looked at him.

"Why choose this?"

"What?"

"You hate him."

His tone carried no judgment. "It is obvious. He wants to possess you."

Another slow turn.

"That is also obvious." His eyes remained fixed on hers. "So why?"

Catherine let out a quiet breath. "And why should I answer you?"

"You shouldn’t." He accepted that immediately. "I was merely curious."

Silence settled again. Fitzgerald found himself studying her expression. Her eyes.

They stirred something inside him that refused to fit into any diagnosis, any psychological framework, any logical explanation.

It irritated him.It fascinated him. Finally, almost under his breath, he spoke.

"I don’t understand something."

"What?"

"You feel..." He frowned. "...familiar." The word sounded wrong the moment it left him. "I dislike people entering my personal space."

"I know."

"I don’t joke."

"I noticed."

"I rarely touch anyone."

"I noticed that too."

He looked genuinely puzzled.

"But with you..." His brows drew together. "My behavior becomes statistically inconsistent."

Catherine’s heart skipped. He could feel it—their past connection. He could not remember, not yet. But somewhere beneath the surface... His soul remembered.

She smiled before she realized she was doing it.

Fitzgerald noticed immediately. "There."

He pointed very slightly. "That smile... You’ve done it several times."

"When?"

"When I say something I don’t understand." He tilted his head. "As though you already know the answer."

Catherine looked away.

How could she possibly explain reincarnation to a man who dissected the world into measurable variables?

She looked back at him. "What do you want to know?"

He held her gaze for a long moment. Then, instead of asking about her plan... Or Dorian... Or Maximilian... He asked something entirely different.

"How would you define love?"

Catherine blinked. "...Love?"

"Yes." His expression remained perfectly serious. "My brother betrayed me because of it." His voice was calm, almost clinical. "You are risking your life because of it."

Another measured step carried them across the dance floor. "People abandon wealth for it. They start wars over it. They forgive things that should be unforgivable."

He looked directly into her eyes.

"I have spent years observing human behavior. I can predict decisions. I understand incentives." I understand fear. I understand greed." He paused.

"But love..."

For the first time since Catherine had met him... His voice carried something almost vulnerable.

"...Love refuses to obey any model I build."

His eyes searched hers, not for manipulation, but for understanding.

"How do you look at another person... and decide... that this is the one? That they’re worth risking everything for?"

He spoke the final words almost to himself.

"What is it... that makes people choose love?"

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