Chapter 110: A Father’s Hope

Catherine’s eyes drifted to the ICU door. She took a step toward it. William caught her wrist.

“It’s… Catherine…” His voice faltered.

She turned slowly.

“Dad found out,” he said quietly. “Jeremiah Calhoun called him last night.”

The words settled heavily between them.

She had been right to ask her brothers not to tell their father. But it hadn’t mattered. It had reached him anyway.

Catherine stepped forward and pulled William into a tight hug.

“It’s not your fault, Billy,” she whispered against his shoulder. She knew that look on his face — the self-blame, the guilt. But this wasn’t the time for that. “None of this is your fault.”

He exhaled shakily.

“We stay strong,” she murmured.

Bobby joined them, wrapping his arms around both of them. The three of them stood like that for a moment, not heirs to an empire, not powerful adults, just siblings trying not to fall apart.

“Jon and Alex will be here in ten minutes,” Bobby said quietly.

Just then, the ICU door opened.

Dorothy stepped out, her expression soft but steady. “He’s awake. You can see him now. Just… keep it light. Give him hope.”

William gently pushed Catherine forward. “Go. He’ll want you first.”

She nodded.

If Calhoun’s call had been what strained his heart, then she needed to be the one to ease it. She stepped inside, drawing in a long breath.

The machines beeped rhythmically. Tubes. Monitors. Oxygen. Her father who was so strong and so invincible in her memories… Now laid fragile against white sheets.

“Daddy,” she called, forcing a smile.

It didn’t last.

She had never needed to be brave in front of him. With him, she had always been allowed to be small.

“Daddy…” Her voice broke as he reached out his hand.

She rushed to his bedside and knelt, pressing his hand to her forehead. That was all she could manage.

He gently wiped the tears from her cheeks with trembling fingers and smiled at her, even with wires and monitors wrapped around him.

“You have to get better,” she said stubbornly through tears. “They’ll take you to surgery, and you’ll come back. I won’t forgive you otherwise.”

She was his pampered princess. She was allowed to speak like this.

James smiled faintly. But something in his eyes still carried weight.

She swallowed and forced herself to address it.

“William told me you know about Calhoun.” Her tone softened. “I asked them not to tell you. Bobby didn’t know. Alex and William handled it. There is nothing for you to worry about, Daddy.”

His eyes glistened.

The guilt was still there.

“Daddy, I’m fine,” she insisted. “And don’t blame yourself. You didn’t know he was a piece of trash. Nothing happened to me. I don’t even think about it.”

It wasn’t entirely true, but compared to everything else happening in her life, she truly hadn’t had space to dwell on that trauma.

James studied her, not entirely convinced.

But he squeezed her hand.

Soon the room filled.

William and Bobby stepped in with the children, Miranda and Sophia close behind, speaking gently, filling the air with warmth and noise so the silence wouldn’t swallow him.

Then hurried footsteps echoed in the hall.

Alexander and Jon entered, Victoria right behind them.

The room that had felt cold moments ago now felt full — crowded with love, fear, hope.

And Catherine stayed by her father’s side, still holding his hand, silently praying that this wasn’t goodbye.

Maximilian remained outside the ICU, giving the family space. He stood quietly in the corridor, hands clasped in front of him, listening to the muted sounds of voices and machines beyond the door.

Inside, William noticed the weight still lingering in their father’s eyes.

The unfinished worry.

And he knew exactly what might ease it.

Without warning anyone, William stepped out, gripped Maximilian lightly by the arm, and brought him inside.

“Dad,” William said gently, guiding him closer to the bed. “There’s someone you need to meet.”

Catherine turned sharply.

“Billy—”

“Catherine’s boyfriend.”

“Boy—”

Before she could finish, Miranda and Sophia swiftly grabbed her from both sides. One covered her mouth; the other tightened an arm around her waist.

Catherine shot them a glare that promised vengeance later.

They simply pointed toward the bed.

Maximilian did not protest.

Of course, he hadn’t.

He stepped forward, then bent slightly, taking James’ frail hand with both of his, not arrogantly, not possessively, but respectfully.

“Sir,” he said quietly. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

James couldn’t speak. The oxygen mask covered most of his face. But his fingers tightened weakly around Maximilian’s hand.

And then… Tears filled his eyes.

Not tears of fear or pain. Tears of joy. Pure, unfiltered relief, as if seeing a man standing there for his daughter — solid, steady — had lifted a burden he hadn’t realized he was still carrying.

Catherine felt something twist in her chest.

Her father had always worried about her. Always. About who would stand beside her. About whether someone would cherish her properly.

And now, in this fragile moment, he believed he had seen that answer.

Her protests died in her throat. She swallowed them all.

For now.

For today.

She would not shatter this peace.

Let him go into surgery believing his daughter was loved. Let him hold onto that comfort.

When he recovered, and he would recover, she would explain. She would untangle truths. She would deal with the bracelet, the complications, the impossible mess that was her life.

For now… She simply watched as her father held Maximilian’s hand, and allowed herself to stay silent.

James wasn’t finished.

Even with the oxygen mask and trembling fingers, he lifted his hand again, beckoning.

Catherine stepped closer immediately.

“Daddy?”

He gestured weakly for her hand. She placed it in his palm without hesitation.

And then, with the last bit of strength he seemed determined to use stubbornly, he reached for Maximilian’s hand as well.

Before she could process what he intended, he pressed her hand over Maximilian’s.

Just like that. Like a scene out of some overly dramatic morning soap. Like a father formally placing his daughter’s hand into another man’s.

Catherine’s breath caught.

Her father had always joked, half-serious and half-dreaming, about walking her down the aisle himself. About handing her over properly to a man worthy of her.

All her brothers had married before twenty. She was twenty-one. In their family, that was practically late.

She glanced at Maximilian.

He looked stunned for a split second, but then something shifted in his expression.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t look uncomfortable. There was a quiet, solemn acceptance in his eyes.

An odd smile. Not triumphant, not smug, but a steady smile, as if he had silently accepted the weight of what that gesture meant.

Catherine’s heart pounded violently.

What is that look?

She gently pulled her hand back.

“Daddy,” she said quickly, forcing brightness into her voice, “you’re not allowed to do this halfway. If you’re going to give me away, you have to stand at the altar and do it properly.”

The room let out a soft, collective breath.

James smiled.

This time, the smile reached his eyes. It wasn’t strained. It wasn’t fragile. It was warm… Satisfied.

The tension that had been clinging to the room eased, if only slightly.

Soon, the medical team came in, speaking in calm, professional tones. James was wheeled out toward surgery, and Catherine walked alongside the bed for as long as she was allowed.

Maximilian stayed at her side. Not too close, not intrusive, but present.

His hand settled lightly at the small of her back, a steady, grounding touch.

And for once, she didn’t protest.

As the doors to the operating wing closed, her phone vibrated in her hand. She glanced down.

Dorian.

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Not now.

Of all moments…

Not now.

Exhaustion washed over her. Emotional, physical, everything at once.

She really didn’t have the strength to deal with him today.

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