Chapter 62: The Winthorp Legacy Dinner (7)

Ashley caught Catherine’s smirk, and it only made the fury boil hotter.

She was so happy to get into Winthorp. And what did she find here?

While she herself was stranded in the back rows, unnoticed, unserved, invisible, Catherine was among the elites, sipping premium wine and gliding across the floor with the most eligible men in the room.

How was that allowed?

“Seducing?” Catherine chuckled softly. “I accepted the dances I was invited to. If that’s what you call seduction, we clearly have very different definitions of basic social skills.”

Ashley scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself, Preston. Just because you slept your way in here—wearing Laurent Noir, looking all perfect—doesn’t mean you’re better than me.”

Catherine calmly wiped her hands with a towel, then dropped it into the trash.

“Thank you,” she said lightly.

Wasn’t that a compliment?

Ashley froze.

A faint burn pulsed at Catherine’s wrist. She sighed inwardly. Maximilian should be far from here by now. She needed to return to the hall—soon.

As she reached the door, Catherine added casually, “I haven’t met the Blackwood heir yet. Didn’t you say you were with him?” She paused, then smiled. “Maybe I should ask him to dance next.”

Ashley’s teeth clenched.

She wasn’t with the Blackwood heir. She’d been searching for him all evening and hadn’t caught a glimpse. She was with Jonathan, and she had no intention of letting Catherine anywhere near him.

“You really think he’d fall for your tricks?” Ashley snapped.

Catherine turned back, her smile sweet and unbothered.

“You won’t know unless you try, would you?”

Her diamond earrings caught the light as she walked away, every step composed. Behind her, Ashley stamped her foot in rage.

“I’m rewriting your research thesis,” Ashley called out. “It’s coming along nicely.”

Catherine slowed.

Ashley’s smile twisted. She clicked closer, heels sharp against marble.

“Except, Cathy… you know it isn’t really coming along, don’t you?”

Catherine stopped.

The last time she’d logged in, she’d altered a critical sequence. The system wouldn’t run properly anymore.

But how much did Ashley know?

“You’re the co-author,” Catherine said coolly, resuming her walk. “Shouldn’t you know if something’s wrong?”

She didn’t want this argument. Not here.

Before she could reach the hall, Ashley grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

“That four-eyes.” Ashley thrust her phone forward. Bernice’s ID glowed on the screen. “I saw her lurking around in the lab, in places she shouldn’t be. I heard she’s very loyal to you. Are you sure you’re not doing something behind my back, Cath?”

Catherine’s heart skipped.

She had warned Bernice to stay invisible, but the girl seemed to have not listened to her.

“You think I’m where I am because of my knowledge in neurology alone?” Ashley sneered. She was sitting on research worth billions. She didn’t mind spending some thousands to ensure that research stayed with her.

Catherine scoffed. “Of course not.”

As if that would earn her a place like this. She was here because she stole others’ works.

Ashley swiped her screen. “Look.”

Catherine leaned in.

It was a live security feed from the Winthorp.

And there she was.

Bernice.

Disguised in a server’s uniform.

Catherine’s breath caught.

What was she doing here?

Ashley leaned closer, her voice low and sharp. “What are you planning?”

Catherine studied her in silence.

The wide, darting eyes. The restless twitch of her lips. The sharp pulse in her neck, thudding so visibly it betrayed her agitation. A vein throbbed at her temple, swollen with panic rather than certainty.

This woman knew nothing.

And yet—she was still dangerous.

Catherine stepped closer, close enough that Ashley stiffened, then leaned in as if sharing a secret. Her voice brushed Ashley’s ear, calm and unhurried.

“I’m busy,” Catherine whispered. “Talk to you later.”

Then she walked past her.

As expected, Ashley followed—long strides, careless, fueled by anger. Catherine didn’t bother to slow. She needed to find Bernice now, before Ashley did something reckless.

For that, she needed Sebastian.

This was his estate. He would have access to the security feeds. Cameras. Staff. If Bernice was anywhere in trouble, Sebastian could get to her faster than anyone.

She scanned the hall—

And collided with an obstacle she hadn’t anticipated.

An older woman stood before her, elegant but flustered, fingers tangled in a jeweled clasp caught in her hair. “Oh—could you please help me with this?” she asked softly. “I can’t seem to—”

“Of course, ma’am,” Catherine replied automatically.

She stepped closer, deft fingers working through silk and metal, freeing the clasp with practiced ease. “There you go.”

“Oh, thank you, young lady—”

The woman turned.

Catherine froze.

Her breath caught, sharp and sudden.

“Dr. Eileen Morcant…”

The name slipped out before Catherine could stop it.

For a heartbeat, everything else vanished—the music, the whispers, even Ashley lingering nearby. This woman was her hero. The Queen of Physics. The one who broke glass ceilings.

Behind Eileen, Miranda Prestly laughed softly into her wine glass, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Her sister found a way to talk to that girl, finally. Even now, she wanted to keep her pride… and succeeded.

Maximilian arrived moments later noticing it. He took in the scene instantly—Catherine star-struck, Eileen mildly amused, Miranda entertained—and wisely chose not to interrupt.

Instead, he leaned toward Miranda, grin easy and boyish. “What’s the verdict, Aunt?”

Miranda tilted her glass, whispering conspiratorially, “Your mother’s been observing her all evening. Still too proud to admit she approves of your… choice.”

Maximilian shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “She’ll come around.”

He wasn’t worried. Not even a little.

After all, Dr. Eileen Morcant was his mother.

And Miranda, his aunt.

He had almost told Catherine the other day. Almost. But some surprises were better earned. He wanted to see how long it would take her to piece it together herself.

She might not marry into the Whitmore name.

But the son of her lifelong role model?

That… might be a different story entirely.

Ashley saw Catherine standing beside Dr. Morcant—and panic struck first.

That was one person she absolutely could not afford to cross.

She lowered her gaze, shifting her weight, already calculating her escape. If she slipped away now, maybe no one would notice. Maybe…

“You’re Noah Renfield’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Eileen Morcant’s voice cut through the hum of the hall—calm, precise, impossible to ignore.

Ashley froze.

Slowly, she turned back, schooling her expression into something passable. “Dr. Morcant,” she said, smiling just enough to be polite. Just enough.

That was all it took.

Heads turned. Conversations paused. Senior academics, drawn instinctively to Eileen, began to gather, curiosity sharpening their attention.

One of them stepped forward, an older man with silver hair and an unmistakably analytical gaze. “Ah,” he said thoughtfully. “Renfield. I remember your name.”

Ashley’s smile tightened.

“I had the fortune of attending the symposium where your paper was presented,” he continued. His eyes flicked—briefly, sharply—from Ashley… to Catherine.

“I wanted to clarify something.”

The air shifted.

Ashley had painted Catherine as a petty newcomer. A difficult junior who wanted sole credit. She had framed herself as the wronged senior—gracious, patient, stolen from.

But now, under this many eyes, the lie felt thin.

“Oh?” Ashley chuckled lightly, though her fingers curled around her glass. “I’m not sure what there is to clarify, but—”

Eileen’s gaze slid to Maximilian.

Then back to Ashley.

She remembered him mentioning Catherine needing help. Remembered the murmurs from the neurology conference. And too vividly—far too vividly—she remembered another Renfield. Noah Renfield. The same tactics. The same entitlement. The same quiet theft dressed up as collaboration.

History, it seemed, had teeth.

Eileen was about to step in…

When Catherine moved.

She stepped forward smoothly and, without hesitation, slipped her arm through Ashley’s, holding her as if they were close colleagues. Friends.

“Oh, my senior would love to clarify any doubts for you, sir,” Catherine said brightly, eyes shining with enthusiasm. “She’s always been so generous with explanations.”

Ashley stiffened.

Eileen looked at Maximilian.

Maximilian bit back a laugh.

Of course, Catherine wouldn’t let this opportunity pass.

Ashley opened her mouth… then closed it.

Because now, retreat would look like guilt.

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