Chapter 56: The Winthorp Legacy Dinner (1)

Catherine watched Ashley’s jaw drop.

She smiled.

Sophia.

Bobby’s wife. Her third brother’s soulmate, and so much more than that.

When Catherine was born, Sophia was only nineteen, still grieving a stillbirth of her own. During Catherine’s mother’s illness, it was Sophia who stayed by her bedside, who fed Catherine, bathed her, held her when she cried. Until Catherine was three, she had believed Sophia and Bobby were her parents.

She had called them Mommy and Dada.

Even now, the word still slipped sometimes.

With Bobby’s unwavering support, Sophia had risen to become a formidable name in the fashion world. Ironically, for all her devotion to dressing women, she had only sons—two of them. And so, Catherine had remained her muse.

Most of Sophia’s designs were made to Catherine’s measurements. With her six-foot height and what Sophia fondly called a model’s figure, Catherine had been relentlessly pressured to walk runways.

Too bad Catherine preferred laboratories to spotlights.

Maximilian watched the exchange with quiet awe.

So… her entire family is terrifyingly impressive.

Good to know.

“T-th-that’s not—” Ashley stammered, her voice collapsing in on itself.

Catherine didn’t spare her another glance. She turned smoothly and walked inside, the manager following half a step behind her, attentive and deferential. Another staff member politely gestured for Maximilian to move toward the waiting area.

Ashley stood rooted in place, her fists clenched, trembling with disbelief.

“So what if you can get Laurent Noir?” she suddenly screamed after them. “You’re still nothing! I’m invited to the Winthorp! The Blackwood heir invited me himself! You’ll never be that important, Preston!”

The manager turned sharply, ready to intervene.

Catherine reached back and gently touched her hand, stopping her.

Then Catherine turned.

She smiled at Ashley, calm and almost curious.

“But aren’t you too old for him?” she asked lightly.

Ashley froze.

Her eyes widened, rage flooding her face… but no words came. Her mouth opened, closed. Opened again. Nothing.

Catherine turned away without another word and walked inside, as though the world bent naturally around her steps.

And perhaps it did.

After all, the woman who owned this place had always believed it should.

Ashley stomped her foot in frustration and stormed off.

She was still more important.

She had

to be.

—–

Maximilian waited.

And waited.

As the sun slowly dipped toward the horizon and the sky bloomed into the muted pastels of early winter, he finally changed into his white-tie suit himself. He brushed his hair, checked his face in the mirror, and adjusted his cuffs.

Ten minutes. That was all it took.

Catherine, on the other hand…

Five hours.

There was still no sign of her.

He exhaled softly, then noticed a florist setting up nearby. His lips curved before he even thought about it. He bought a bouquet of roses.

Would it trigger something?

Would it hurt her?

The thought came too late.

He hadn’t bought them for the curse. He hadn’t bought them with a strategy in mind.

He just… wanted to give her flowers.

Another half hour passed. The gala time crept dangerously close. Finally, he walked up to her door and lifted his hand to knock…

It opened.

Catherine stood there.

Still. Silent.

Her eyes widened slightly, as though she hadn’t expected him to be there.

“You don’t look different,” Maximilian said.

He meant it.

He had seen her barefaced, fresh from the shower. After workouts, skin flushed and hair damp with sweat. He had seen her at her most unguarded… and it had been torture every time to look away.

She didn’t look different now.

She was beautiful then.

She was beautiful now.

Her beauty had never depended on adornment.

Catherine stared at him.

Then she laughed.

Not softly. Not politely.

She laughed from the chest, bright and unrestrained.

Of all the things he could have said… He had said that.

He had said the exact same thing once before… in another lifetime.

She had been fourteen, newly of age as she got her period, and their engagement had been celebrated with a grand ceremony. She had been shy, nervous to meet him afterward.

And he had looked at her and said…

You don’t look different.

Back then, she had sulked for days.

Now?

She found it hilarious.

Gods, he really did make it easier not to fall for him.

And she loved that.

She stepped past him, and he remained standing there, momentarily stunned.

“I can’t see what you’re wearing,” Maximilian said belatedly.

Catherine clutched her coat closer around her shoulders and smiled, slow and knowing.

“Sharp observation, Professor.”

In the warm hallway light, as she glanced back at him…

Maximilian’s heart skipped.

Perfect.

Unfairly, devastatingly perfect.

Behind her, a Rolls-Royce Phantom VIII rolled to a stop.

At first glance, it looked black, but as the streetlights caught it, he realized it wasn’t. The paint was a deep, luxurious green, dusted with fine gold flecks that shimmered subtly as the car moved.

The color of her eyes.

When he stepped closer, the opulence became impossible to ignore. Bespoke interior. A privacy suite. Serenity seats upholstered in hand-woven silk, bamboo-fiber covers soft as a whisper. Royal walnut and lapis lazuli inlays traced the cabin with quiet authority.

This wasn’t just a car.

It was a statement.

Well over a million dollars.

Maximilian had grown up surrounded by wealth, but even he had never been enclosed in this kind of luxury. For a fleeting moment, he assumed she would ask him to follow in another vehicle.

She didn’t.

They settled in together, and the car glided forward as smoothly as a thought.

He turned toward her.

Fit for a queen.

Only then did he realize he was still holding the bouquet. Slightly flustered, he placed the roses beside her.

Catherine glanced at the flowers. Then at him.

He said nothing.

She asked for nothing.

Still, his heart thudded painfully against his ribs.

He couldn’t see what she was wearing beneath the coat. She had spoken so casually about attracting men, about finding a husband, and…

He stopped himself.

He had no right.

And yet, the urge to pull her closer, to keep her beside him where no one else could look at her, burned hot and unreasonable.

She’s mine.

The thought startled him.

His mind rebelled. He forced himself to breathe.

“What are you wearing?” he asked anyway, betraying himself.

Catherine turned toward him. Above them, the tiny lights embedded in the ceiling shimmered softly, catching on her earrings, setting them aglow.

“Something scandalous,” she said lightly, a teasing smile curving her lips.

A single curl escaped her updo, resting against her shoulder, intensionally. The long coat hid everything else.

Maximilian swallowed.

His imagination was not being helpful.

He exhaled slowly, reining himself in.

This is Catherine, he reminded himself.

She would never do anything inelegant—no matter how desperate the situation.

Calm returned, reluctantly.

Then he looked up.

“Did you notice,” he said, thoughtful now, “the stars on the ceiling? They match your zodiac.”

Catherine followed his gaze.

Only then did she realize.

The Starlight Headliner above them was arranged exactly like the constellation she had been born under.

“Oh, William…”

Her eyes misted.

Even now. Even like this.

Her family never failed her.

As Catherine watched the stars overhead, lost in quiet emotion, Maximilian watched her.

Soon, the car slowed.

They had arrived.

The Remington Estate—host of the Winthorp Legacy Dinner—loomed ahead in stately grandeur.

Maximilian stepped out first and moved around the car, waiting as the door was opened for her.

Inside, Catherine drew a slow, steady breath.

This is it.

Her future balanced delicately on tonight. She needed to be flawless.

Leaving the coat behind on the seat, she straightened.

And stepped out.

Maximilian watched her descend.

His heart very nearly burst from his chest.

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