Chapter 54: The Blackwood Heir

“My dearest Maximilian…”

The familiar voice sliced through the moment like cold water.

Catherine’s eyes flew open.

Maximilian was still kissing her.

Reality slammed back in all at once—her legs were locked around his waist, his hand pressed firmly against her back. Bare back. She was wearing a dress.

It was just a kiss.

So how had it spiraled into this?

There was no way to explain it away. No angle, no excuse. Anyone with eyes could see exactly what had been happening.

She tugged sharply at Maximilian’s collar.

He froze. His eyes snapped open.

“Max?” the voice called again.

Maximilian exhaled slowly, heavily, his jaw tightening as if he were holding himself together by force alone. He lowered her carefully, hands lingering only long enough to help her smooth her dress back into place, to fix a strand of hair that had fallen loose.

Catherine couldn’t look at him.

She covered her face with the back of her hand, shoved her laptop and papers into her bag, and walked past the man standing in the doorway—who he was, what he looked like, what expression he wore didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

She just needed out.

She walked.

Fifteen meters.

Twenty.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-five—

Her steps slowed, cautious now.

She glanced back.

Twenty-eight.

Twenty-nine.

Thirty.

She stopped as she couldn’t move further.

But at thirty, she could still breathe, still stand, and still think.

She had crossed thirty meters without a single spike of pain.

Her pulse skipped.

She turned fully, half-expecting him to be behind her.

He wasn’t.

The office door remained open, exactly as she had left it.

Her knees weakened, and she sank onto the nearest bench, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks.

So… this was possible.

Because I acted on my desire?

Because he answered my desire?

A shaky breath left her as her fingers trailed on her slightly swollen lips.

That…

was…

dangerously good.

She shook her head hard, forcing herself out of the haze. This was not the time to float on lingering heat and reckless thoughts.

Her gaze dropped to the bracelet at her wrist.

“So petty,” she muttered.

Of course it was. That insecure woman’s magic punished hatred and rewarded desire. The moment their want aligned, the curse loosened its grip.

“If a kiss gives me thirty meters…” she whispered, staring at it, “…then what happens if we…do it?”

She groaned, dropping her head back against the bench.

“Ugh!”

For now, she decided to pretend none of this had happened.

What mattered was the result.

She would test it.

See how long this distance held.

And whether the bracelet would tighten again—or finally break.

Ideally, it would hold until at least tomorrow night. Finding herself a husband would be significantly harder with this man tugging at her wrist every few minutes.

Inside the office, Maximilian leaned back against the wall, one hand braced over his aching groin as he exhaled slowly through his nose. He pressed his forehead to the exact spot where she had been moments ago—where her warmth still lingered.

Or maybe that was just his imagination.

His fingers twitched, traitorous, remembering the way her body had fit against his.

He slid a hand up to his chest.

No pain.

None.

She wasn’t hurting. She wasn’t recoiling. She hadn’t fled in regret.

His lips brushed the wall, curving into a helpless, genuine smile.

“You can lick the wall all you want,” Sebastian Remington’s voice drawled, “but she’s not there anymore.”

Maximilian turned sharply, the sound he made low enough to resemble a restrained growl. “Why are you here?”

Never in his life had he wanted to kill someone quite this much.

“Ouch,” Sebastian said, clutching his chest theatrically. “That wound is deep.” He grinned. “You’re blaming me for the interruption? I saved you from disappointment.”

Maximilian dragged a hand through his hair, forcing himself to breathe, to settle. Sebastian wasn’t wrong—and that realization irritated him even more.

“Help me delete the footage,” he said, nodding toward the camera. “I don’t want anyone whispering about her.” He paused. “And I’ll ask again—why are you here?”

It was strange seeing Sebastian without one of his ridiculous costumes.

“I just finished class,” Sebastian shrugged. He glanced around the room, then picked up the fountain pen from Maximilian’s desk. “Hey. This is my pen, isn’t it?”

Maximilian adjusted his sweater, shaking his head with a faint chuckle. “You know that’s my father’s pen.”

“Right. Right.” Sebastian set it down quickly. “I was actually here to get more dog food for Arcturus.”

Maximilian glanced past him—and there the dog was, sitting patiently.

“Leave him with me,” Maximilian said. He’d missed him.

“No.” Sebastian crossed his arms. “I’ve raised him for two whole days. By the ancient code of knights, he’s mine.”

Maximilian said nothing. He simply whistled.

Arcturus walked straight past Sebastian, ignoring the leash entirely, and stopped at Maximilian’s side.

Sebastian stared. “…Traitor,” he muttered.

Maximilian laughed softly. “Who is it this time?”

Sebastian collapsed onto the couch with a heavy sigh. “The same woman,” he groaned, staring at the ceiling. “I should’ve worn my Corinthian column outfit again. It really unsettled her last time.”

Maximilian shook his head, amused. Sebastian had been dodging his arranged fiancée for two years now, hiding behind eccentricity and costumes. From what little Maximilian knew, the woman was just as stubborn.

They might actually deserve each other.

“Maybe…” Sebastian suddenly sat up. “I should enter a contractual marriage with someone else. That would really throw her off.”

Maximilian said nothing as Sebastian spiraled into speculation, the faint smile still lingering on his lips: unwanted, unbidden, and entirely Catherine’s fault.

—–

A luxurious Bentley rolled to a smooth stop before a towering Art Deco skyscraper.

BioQuant gleamed across the façade in gold lettering, catching the afternoon light like a crown.

Four men were already waiting at the entrance. One hurried forward, opening the door.

A long leg emerged first—pinstriped trousers cut to perfection, polished leather shoes worth more than most people’s monthly rent. Then the man stepped out fully, buttoning his suit as a lock of dark brown hair slipped loose from his neatly slicked-back style and fell across his forehead.

He tilted his head up, studying the building.

A smirk touched his lips, but it never reached his eyes. Those eyes were dark brown, almost black, with a faint, unsettling hint of purple beneath the surface.

“Welcome to BioQuant, Mr. Blackwood,” the men said in unison, bowing slightly. “Your seat awaits.”

He walked inside.

From the reception desk to the private elevator, from the hushed corridors to the executive floor beside his grandfather’s office… everything bowed to him. Not literally, perhaps. But the tension in the air said enough.

This was the first time most of them had laid eyes on the elusive heir to the Blackwood pharmaceutical empire.

The office waiting for him was all dark wood and restrained opulence—less modern trend, more inherited power. He settled into the leather chair behind the desk as if it had always belonged to him.

His gaze drifted to the neatly stacked files laid out in advance.

He reached for the top one.

HELIOS BIOTEK.

His fingers lingered on the title, thoughtful, almost intimate.

“Has she received the invitation to Winthorp?” he asked calmly.

Mrs. Lowe, his secretary—an older woman who had served his grandfather faithfully for over thirty years—straightened. “Yes, Mr. Blackwood. It was confirmed this morning.”

A faint smile curved his lips.

His first order of business.

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