Chapter 39: Pinned Underneath Him

Catherine wanted to be alone… to lock herself in her bedroom, to curl inward and breathe without witnesses. But the bracelet flared against her skin, a warning pulse of heat that made her stomach twist. She wasn’t allowed to leave him behind.

She turned.

Of course, Maximilian was in pain too.

“Do not involve my family,” she said flatly, though her heart was screaming, battering against her ribs.

In her previous life, she had lost every single one of them because of him.

In this life… she had been given a miracle: a whole, living family who loved her, who pampered her, who anchored her to the present.

She didn’t want them anywhere near his gaze. Didn’t want their names shaped by his lips. This wasn’t just hatred.

It was fear.

“But I—” Maximilian couldn’t finish. The pain split his skull apart, white-hot and merciless. He staggered, breath shuddering. He had never known a headache like this… never known pain that felt as though it was tearing through both heart and mind.

“What happened in our past life?” he asked hoarsely, almost collapsing to his knees before her.

The agony undid him.

Catherine stepped closer.

His grunt turned into a broken sound. “Can’t you feel it?” she asked quietly. “What happened?”

Why speak of it, when the feelings still lived? When his body coule feel her remembered pain, even if his mind denied it?

Maximilian dropped fully to his knees, hands hovering uselessly… heart or head, he didn’t know which was breaking faster.

Catherine watched him writhe.

She should have felt satisfied. Vindicated.

She wasn’t.

If anything, fear curled tighter in her chest. She wanted nothing to do with him. She had people to protect now—a family she loved fiercely. She would do anything to keep them far from his eyes, far from whatever bloodlust had once ruled him.

She dragged her hatred back, clenched down on rage and grief until her hands trembled. Even her feelings were dangerous now as it were punished, mirrored, and shared.

She despised him.

She despised the shackle binding them.

Closing her eyes, she breathed slowly. Thought of home. Her father. Her brothers. Her nieces and nephews. Their children after them.

With every face, the storm inside her eased.

“Your feelings might be valid,” Maximilian said suddenly.

Her eyes snapped open.

He was still kneeling.

“But what if your convictions are wrong?” he asked. “What if the truth is different from what you believe?”

She laughed—low, bitter. She bent down until they were eye to eye. “Gaslighting me now?”

She had tried to believe that once. Tried to excuse him. Court factions. Political manipulation. Anything but the truth. That was why she dodged his advances. Why she saved his firstborn and his wife… Why she thought ceasefire was possible… She thought being kind would make him remember their past good times…

Until… her son was murdered.

Until… Maximilian did nothing to spare her dignity when others blamed her for sleeping with Maximilian that other night, while their child was butchered… Just like that day… It split her marriage open beyond repair and Maximilian enjoyed the fallout, integrating her unprotected land with his empire.

No.

She knew. With brutal clarity.

The one who killed her son was Maximilian’s right-hand general. Acting under direct orders.

She knew because he confessed right before she slit open his throat by her own hand.

She could forgive many things.

But not that.

Never that.

Maximilian stood.

She followed his movement, his shadow rising over her. His eyes were red, glassy with restrained fury and pain.

Her mind remained calm.

Whatever he felt now… whatever tore through him… it did not originate from her.

This pain was his alone.

And for the first time since the curse bound them… it felt right.

Let him hurt.

“What did you and my brother talk about?” Catherine asked.

Maximilian only looked at her.

Silence stretched between them—heavy, deliberate. He couldn’t tell her. Not this. Not that Alexander had once been his brother too, bound by blood and crown in another life. If she knew, the one pillar she trusted without hesitation would crumble.

So he said nothing.

And with every second of his silence, he felt it—the distance between them widening. She stood barely an arm’s length away, tethered to him by a curse that refused to loosen… yet she was drifting farther, retreating into hatred.

She was right there.

And utterly unreachable.

Catherine scoffed.

She stepped forward and pressed the invitation flat against his chest, right over his heart, the contact sharp and deliberate.

“If you are ever going to hurt my family,” she said coldly, “kill me first.”

His breath stuttered.

“I’m not going to hurt them,” Maximilian said, voice trembling despite his effort to steady it. “Or you. Catherine… I love you.”

It was a useless confession. He knew that. But without sincerity what else did he have left?

“Love?” Catherine echoed softly.

Her green eyes were painfully clear—unclouded by doubt, unsoftened by nostalgia.

“Love, sir, is a generous proposal,” she said. “But it is one fortune I have no wish to inherit from you.”

Something inside him cracked.

The curse twisted his heart relentlessly, but her words shattered it into pieces. He gently pushed the invitation back into her hand. He had pulled strings for that moment… and it was hers, regardless of whether she ever chose him.

“Then I won’t speak of love,” he said quietly. “But answer me this.”

Before she could react, his arm slid around her waist.

The world tilted. The invite dropped to the floor.

In the next heartbeat, they were in her bedroom. Her back hit the mattress, breath knocked from her lungs, his body following—caging her in with practiced ease. Not rough. Controlled. Intent.

His warmth engulfed her.

Their foreheads hovered a breath apart. A strand of his hair brushed her skin. His lips lingered just shy of hers, his breath ghosting over her mouth, sending heat straight through her spine.

Catherine gasped.

Not from fear.

Her heart thundered wildly. When he touched her, it felt… natural. Wrong, yes… but terrifyingly natural.

“What are you—” She struggled, pushing at his chest, but he caught her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand.

Then he lowered himself and pressed his ear to her chest.

Her pulse betrayed her instantly.

A low scoff left him. He lifted his head and met her gaze—dark, searching, consuming.

“Then what is this?” he asked.

His eyes traced her face slowly, obsessively… lingering at her lips just a fraction too long.

“Your mouth says you don’t want me,” he murmured. “Your heart says you hate me.”

He tilted his head, lips drifting dangerously closer.

“And yet…”

His voice dropped, intimate and relentless.

“Why does your body tell me otherwise?”

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