Chapter 139: Choosing To Trust Again

Maximilian pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her as though he could hold together the pieces she was struggling to keep from falling apart. He did not try to stop her, because he knew, that this was not something words could soothe.

The last time, she had said those very same words.

I trusted the wrong man.

He remembered the weight of her in his arms back then, the way her body had slowly gone still as realization consumed her, as if the truth had drained the very will to live from her veins. He had watched it happen, helpless and unmoving, forced to witness the moment she understood everything and lost everything in the same breath.

And the cruelest part of it all was that he had not been separate from that truth.

He, too, had once been a man she trusted.

He, too, had failed her.

Perhaps not in the same way, not with the same finality, but enough that it had still carved its mark into her fate. She had been surrounded by power, by men who claimed to protect her, to stand beside her, and yet she had been the only one who had walked through it all without deceit in her heart.

She had been the only innocent one.

And she had paid the highest price for it.

But now, as she trembled against him, her breath breaking into uneven sobs that she could no longer contain, there was something different about this moment. This time, she was not slipping away from him. This time, she was not beyond saving.

This time, she was still here.

Catherine let go completely, her composure dissolving as she leaned into him, her forehead resting against his shoulder as though she no longer had the strength to hold herself upright. The quiet dignity she carried so effortlessly in front of others vanished in his arms, replaced by something far more fragile, far more real.

Maximilian did not speak. He simply held her, steady and unyielding, allowing her to grieve not just for what she had lost, but for what she was finally beginning to understand.

Dorian…

Even now, the name carried a weight she could not easily define. What they had shared was never love, not in the way she had come to understand it now, but it was not empty either. There was respect between them, a kind of silent alignment that came from standing on the same side of a war that demanded absolute trust.

At least, that was what she had believed.

She had trusted him. Not blindly, but deeply enough that she had built her sense of security around that trust, convincing herself that no matter how ruthless the court became, no matter how strong Edward’s influence grew, Dorian would not abandon her or her son.

Edward had never hidden his intentions. He had always moved with the certainty of a man who believed the throne belonged to his bloodline, shaping the court, the generals, and the narrative to favor his own grandson. Yet Catherine had never once seen those children as her enemies. Her son had been Dorian’s blood too, and she had believed that this alone would ensure his safety.

Even now, part of her wanted to hold onto that belief.

There were moments when she tried to convince herself that what happened had been beyond Dorian’s control, that he had intended to protect their child but had failed, that Charlotte’s father’s men had simply acted faster, more ruthlessly than anyone could have anticipated.

It was a comforting thought.

A merciful one.

But it did not survive the weight of what she knew.

Because deep down, beneath every justification she tried to construct, there was a truth she could not escape. If Dorian had truly intended to protect her son, then he would have done so. There would have been no oversight, no lapse, no opportunity for such a loss to occur.

That certainty had followed her into this life. It was why she had kept her distance, why she had refused to let herself become entangled with him in his world again, no matter how familiar or tempting it felt.

And yet, as the memories continued to resurface, another possibility began to take form—one far colder, far more difficult to accept.

What if her son’s death was not simply a failure?

What if it were… convenient?

Her fingers tightened against Maximilian’s arm as the thought fully settled in her mind, her breath catching despite herself. Dorian was not a man who acted without reason, nor was he needlessly cruel, but he was undeniably pragmatic. He understood power, and more importantly, he understood when something, or someone, became a liability.

If Edward had pushed hard enough, if the pressure from the court had grown unbearable, would Dorian have chosen her?

Or would he have chosen stability, the support of his strongest ally, the future of the sons who already stood firmly within the court’s favor?

He had always been fiercely protective of them.

And if Edward had managed to plant even the slightest doubt, if he had convinced Dorian that Catherine might one day become a threat, that she might seek to secure the throne for her own child…

The thought made her chest tighten painfully.

Because she had never had the power to do any of that.

She had no allies beyond him, no faction to support her, no hidden ambition strong enough to challenge the foundation of his rule. Everything she had… every bit of influence, every fragment of security, had come from Dorian himself.

And he had known that.

He had always known that.

Which meant that if he had chosen not to protect her, if he had allowed her son to fall despite having the power to prevent it, then it was never a matter of inability.

It was a choice.

And that was what hurt the most.

Her sobs slowly began to quiet, though the tremor in her breath lingered. When she finally pulled back, her face was flushed from crying, her nose tinged red, her eyes swollen and glassy with everything she had yet to say.

Maximilian’s gaze softened at the sight, and with a tenderness that felt almost reverent, he reached up to brush her hair back into place, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

She did not need to ask.

The answer had already settled deep within her, heavy and unshakable.

If she had chosen the man she had once feared instead of the one she had trusted, her son would not have died alone, frightened, and abandoned to a fate he never deserved.

“Did you ever try to kill me?” she asked quietly.

Maximilian did not hesitate. He shook his head, his expression tightening with something that looked dangerously close to regret. “Never. Not once. I tried to warn you about Dorian more times than I can count, but every time I got close enough to speak to you—”

“I ran away,” Catherine finished for him. The memory felt distant now, almost like something that had belonged to another woman entirely.

Was there proof for what he was saying?

There were no documents, no records, and no undeniable evidence she could present to the world.

And yet…

There was something far more convincing than that.

The way he held her now.

The way he looked at her, as though she had always been something worth protecting, not using.

The way her heart, traitorous as it was, found no fear in his presence.

That was her proof.

“He was afraid of losing you,” Maximilian said after a pause, his voice quieter now, more measured. “And men like him… they don’t know how to love without trying to possess.”

He might not have said it if she hadn’t needed to hear it.

But he did. And she listened.

“Then let’s get married,” Catherine said.

The words came without hesitation, steady and clear despite everything she had just unraveled.

Maximilian blinked, as though he had misheard her.

For a brief moment, he simply stared, searching her face for doubt, for uncertainty, for anything that suggested she might take it back.

“Or are you taking back your offer?” she asked, tilting her head slightly when he didn’t respond, her voice softer now but edged with something that felt dangerously close to vulnerability.

Tthe fact that she had said it so simply, as though it had already been decided in her heart, shook him.

The next moment, he moved.

His hand slid to her waist, guiding her down with a firmness that left no room for retreat, his body following as he captured her lips in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. It carried the weight of everything he had held back, everything he had lost once before and refused to lose again.

Catherine’s breath caught as his warmth surrounded her, the closeness of him overwhelming in a way that made her forget, if only for a moment, everything except the way he made her feel. The kiss deepened, unhurried yet consuming, as though he was trying to convince himself she was truly here, truly choosing him.

Her fingers tightened against him, her legs wrapped around his waist, her body getting warm.

Maximilian paused for a moment, his warmth resting against her womanhood… looking into her eyes.

Catherine leaned and kissed him deeply; consent given.

And then…

“Gigi…”

The soft voice from the doorway cut cleanly through the moment.

Both of them stilled.

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