Chapter 29: Who’d Blink First?

“Have some milk,” Maximilian said, holding out a tall glass like a peace offering.

Catherine was, unfortunately, a little hungry. She wasn’t the type to starve herself out of principle, especially not when she’d done absolutely nothing today. Which, frankly, was a rare achievement.

She took a sip.

And froze.

Her face drained of color, as though the last surviving fragment of her soul had quietly packed its bags and left without saying goodbye.

“That’s not milk,” she said, slowly placing the glass on the coffee table with the kind of gravity usually reserved for last words and murder weapons.

“That’s oat milk,” Maximilian replied, smiling.

Her lips twitched.

It’s what now?

“Go on,” he continued pleasantly. “It’s packed with nutrients and—”

“I admire the imagination,” Catherine cut in sharply. “Truly. But I prefer my milk to originate from a living creature, not… a grain.”

Her father owned one of the largest ranches in the country. She had grown up surrounded by cattle, land, and honest-to-God milk that knew it was milk. Milk with a lineage. Milk with dignity.

Why on earth would she willingly drink sad little… nut juice masquerading as dairy?

Maximilian laughed.

Then, without hesitation, without ceremony, and without a shred of self-preservation, he picked up the very same glass she had just sipped from and drank it all in one go.

Every last drop.

Did he hate waste that much? Or did he genuinely enjoy grain water? Catherine had no idea. He drank it like it was the elixir of the gods, wiped his mouth casually, and walked back into the kitchen as if nothing unholy had just occurred.

Catherine stared after him, faintly horrified.

The dream, she concluded, was officially off the rails.

“Here,” he said, returning a moment later. “An apple.”

He tossed it at her.

Catherine caught it on reflex. Then stared at it. Carefully.

Because at this point, nothing in this house could be trusted. For all she knew, it was an oat apple. Or infused with supplements. Or worse… a magic apple that would put her into a cursed sleep for a hundred years.

She squinted at it like it might bite her back.

“That’s just an apple,” Maximilian said, smiling.

She flinched at the smile.

“Where’s the mother?” Catherine asked flatly, setting the apple down.

The question was heavy. Sharp. Loaded. And yes, slightly intrusive. It did absolutely nothing to his expression.

“Oh. She’s in Europe,” he replied easily. “Vacationing with her friends. Push present.”

Her eyebrow twitched.

So. His wife was alive. Thriving. European-vacation alive. Their relationship was so stable that she could leave their forty-day-old newborn with him and fly across continents without a second thought.

And this man, this audacity in human form, had stood inches from her earlier that day and confessed eternal devotion like he meant every word.

Is he married to Charlotte in this life too?

Wait…

If his wife is alive and well… was he trying to recruit me into some discreet, academic, old-money polygamy cult?

Catherine went very still.

She needed to wake up.

Immediately.

Before this nightmare offered her almond milk next. He might make it extra bitter for LOLs.

Maximilian sat down beside her as if the couch belonged to him. Maybe it did. Catherine scooted away anyway.

And then a thought slipped into her mind… smooth, horrifying, and far too reasonable.

What if I kill him?

Won’t that break the curse?

Soul curses like this were usually valid until both parties held the soul. Once the spirit leaves and the soul departs, the curse would be broken.

She looked at him properly then. At his perfectly brushed hair that was still immaculate despite emotional warfare, infant care, and the general chaos of existence. He’d had beautiful hair in her past life too. Infuriatingly so.

If this curse required both parties to be alive…

Well.

Her life was far too valuable to sacrifice.

But his?

That was negotiable.

Alexander would be furious, yes, mostly because he wouldn’t want her to be a murderer, but he’d help her wipe the footage. Bobby was excellent with chainsaws; logistics wouldn’t be an issue. William knew places where even police instincts went to die. Burial solved.

It was, objectively, a solid plan.

Just as Catherine subtly shifted her purse, angling it, testing the weight, preparing to reach for the gun…

Another thought slammed into her brain.

What if killing him didn’t end it?

What if the curse escalated?

What if I still can’t leave… and have to leave with him?

She had dealt with decomposing bodies in her previous life and had not enjoyed the experience.

And what if she had to carry his bones around afterward?

Or worse… what if she was condemned to sit beside his grave forever?

Her mind screamed.

Dragging bones everywhere sounded exhausting. Even cremation had logistics. Urns were heavy. Ashes got everywhere.

“I don’t hurt anymore.”

His voice brushed her ear.

Catherine yelped and jerked back, clutching her purse to her chest like a shield.

Maximilian sat there calmly, one hand over his heart, smiling like a man who had just discovered inner peace and zen.

“I’m closer to you,” he said thoughtfully, “but I’m not hurting. I think when you’re emotionally in pain, it transfers to me as physical pain, when we’re close.”

She stared at him.

He looked… happy.

Her mouth twitched.

Maybe he was in pain, she reasoned. Men exaggerated pain. All men did.

“I… guess not,” she said carefully. “I was just thinking about killing you.”

Silence.

Only after the words left her mouth did realization strike…

Oh.

I just gave him ideas.

If he killed her, wouldn’t the pain stop for him too?

And unlike her, he planned well. She had watched him win situations he had no right surviving in her past life. Taking her life would be simple.

No! Her life was infinitely more valuable than his. She was not dying in his hands again.

“I don’t think it would work,” she added quickly, standing up.

Her purse was already in her hand. Her other hand hovered near the gun. He had the physical advantage. Speed was her only ally.

His dog was not here and that worked out for her advantage.

“What if I have to drag your dead body around for the rest of my life?” she finished calmly.

Their eyes met.

She knew it. He understood. Completely. Instantly.

And she knew…knew that he’d already clocked the purse’s weight, the tension in her shoulders, the precise distance she was keeping.

He knew exactly what she would do if he moved even an inch.

Tick.

Tock.

The air thickened between them, stretched so tight it could snap.

It was no longer about who would move first.

It was about who would blink.

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