Chapter 75: A Peaceful Night?!

Catherine was not pleased.

This… this was exactly the kind of situation she had sworn to avoid in this life.

Her brows drew together. Heat rushed through her veins, anger rising sharp and immediate as she tried to wrench her wrist from his grasp.

Dorian’s fingers did not loosen.

His eyes were wide now, his lips pressed into a thin line. There was possession in that hold — unmistakable and raw.

But beneath it…

There was something else.

Anxiety.

As if letting her walk away would cost him something he could never reclaim.

Still, that did not make this acceptable.

This was not the past. Times had changed. No man could claim a woman against her will. Overbearing was not romantic.

It was suffocating.

She pulled again, harder this time. Her heartbeat steadied, anger replacing surprise. Instead of releasing her, Dorian drew her half a step closer. Catherine wanted to see what he might do.

“Dr. Preston, if you’re not busy… Dr. Harper wanted to ask you something.”

Sebastian’s voice cut cleanly through the tension.

Dorian’s grip remained for a moment longer. Slowly, he turned his head, his gaze sharp as it landed on Sebastian.

The air shifted.

Then, after a few deliberate seconds, his fingers loosened.

Catherine withdrew her hand immediately, suppressing the urge to rub her wrist. She inhaled deeply and smoothed a polite smile onto her face, the kind perfected in boardrooms and conferences.

“Why, of course, Mr. Remington,” she replied, stepping gracefully to Sebastian’s side.

Sebastian adjusted his cuffs and chuckled lightly, casting Dorian an easygoing grin.

“I’m terrified of their neuroscience banter,” he joked. “I’m merely a linguistics professor. What do I know about neural pathways and… brain-stuff?”

He laughed at his own exaggeration. “I’ll borrow Dr. Preston for now.”

Catherine gave a small, respectful nod toward Dorian.

Defiance was one thing. Open hostility was another. She’d let him save face. He still owned one of the largest pharmaceutical conglomerates in the country.

Dorian inclined his head in acknowledgment. The earlier tension had smoothed from his expression, replaced by something far more controlled.

Professional.

His gaze softened when it returned to her. He slipped a card from his inner pocket and extended it. “Let’s meet about your research this week, Dr. Preston,” he said, the faintest smile touching his lips. “I’d like to discuss potential collaboration.”

Catherine accepted the card without hesitation. He did recover pretty quickly.

“Of course, Mr. Blackwood.”

Her tone was composed, as if her pulse hadn’t betrayed her just moments ago. As if his touch hadn’t lingered on her skin long after he let go.

Catherine walked away, Sebastian at her side. As they moved through the crowd, Sebastian glanced back over his shoulder.

In the distance, Maximilian stood near one of the marble pillars, his expression dark and restrained. Sebastian gave him a subtle nod.

Handled.

Maximilian wasn’t the type to hesitate when he wanted something. He wasn’t timid. He wasn’t passive. So why hadn’t he confronted Dorian himself?

Sebastian couldn’t quite figure that out.

“…Dorian Blackwood,” Sebastian muttered under his breath.

Catherine turned slightly. “What about him?”

Sebastian slipped his hands into his pockets, gaze thoughtful. “He seems like a sketchy dude.”

Something tightened in Catherine’s chest. She didn’t know what it was — discomfort, perhaps. Or something sharper.

But she didn’t like it.

“Why?” she asked evenly.

Sebastian exhaled, then offered her an easy smile. “It’s just… intuition. He’s too composed for someone attending a gala of this scale for the first time.”

Catherine’s immediate instinct was to disagree.

Too composed?

If only Sebastian knew.

In another lifetime, Dorian had presided over royal feasts that dwarfed events like this. Banquets where nobles measured power in glances and kingdoms shifted between courses.

A modern gala was nothing.

“Do you find me sketchy too?” she asked lightly.

Sebastian laughed. “Not really.”

He noticed her slide Dorian’s card carefully into her clutch.

His brows lifted slightly. Across the hall, Maximilian caught his eye again, looking unconvinced.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “You can stay at our mansion tonight,” he said casually. “Maximilian already has a room. I’ll have one prepared for you as well.”

“That’s not necessary—”

But Sebastian had already started walking, pretending not to hear her refusal.

“I insist,” he called back with a chuckle.

Catherine sighed softly.

She didn’t mind.

Eventually, she found Dr. Eileen Morcant and approached her with a polite smile. She apologized first, half-playfully blaming Maximilian for never mentioning that his mother was practically the Queen of Physics.

Maximilian joined them soon after.

To Catherine’s quiet relief, Dr. Morcant harbored no resentment. If anything, she openly acknowledged her own role in their earlier friction. And when they talked about the Renfield family, Dr. Morcant was more than pleased by what Catherine pulled earlier with Ashley.

The air felt lighter. So did Catherine’s chest. For the first time that evening, she felt at ease.

And yet…

A subtle prickle crawled across the back of her neck.

A gaze.

Unwavering.

She didn’t need to turn to know.

Dorian was watching her.

And Dr. Morcant gave a meaningful nod to her son.

Looks like you have competition!

Maximilian shrugged.

—–

Catherine chose the room next to Maximilian’s. The moment the door closed behind her, the world softened into quiet. Steam curled through the air as she sank into a long, warm bath, a glass of wine balanced in her hand while soft orchestral music drifted from her phone.

For the first time in days, she allowed herself to relax. No politics, no power games, no past-life shadows clawing at her thoughts, and no curses. Just warmth, music, and a rare, fragile peace.

When she stepped out, she dried her hair slowly, unwilling to rush the calm. That was when she noticed the neatly folded fabric resting on the bed—a silk slip, soft and elegant, waiting for her.

Her lips curved faintly. She had missed this kind of comfort more than she realized. The past few days with Maximilian had been too tense, too controlled, and she had longed for something that felt quietly feminine and entirely her own.

She poured herself another glass of wine, lifting it to her lips. The first sip went down warm and smooth, settling pleasantly in her chest.

And then the burn came.

It rose through her veins without warning. Her gaze dropped instantly to the bracelet wrapped around her wrist.

“This can’t be…” she whispered under her breath.

There had been distance between them—plenty of it. At least thirty meters separated them. The bracelet should have been calm.

Instead, it pulsed in a faint violet glow, as if mocking her.

Catherine’s jaw tightened. For a brief moment, the urge to smash something surged through her, but she swallowed it down. She was a guest here, not a woman who lost control.

So she forced herself to move instead, walking toward the shared wall between their rooms.

Why so sudden…?

The burn didn’t fade. It lingered, deepened, and then sharpened into something restless and demanding that coiled through her nerves.

“Damn it…” she muttered, exhaling slowly as she tried to steady herself.

Today had gone well—better than she expected. She deserved one peaceful night.

Instead, the heat intensified… and a knock sounded at her door.

“Catherine…!”

Maximilian’s voice came from the other side, low and strained.

Her pulse stumbled as she crossed the room and opened the door. As she walked closer, she felt the shift, the pull, and the invisible tether tightening immediately.

Three meters.

The distance had shrunk to three meters.

Her mind didn’t need long to understand why. She had wanted him earlier—strongly enough to guide his hand, strong enough to let him undress her without protest, strong enough to blur the line she had sworn to keep.

The bracelet didn’t lie, and she had no one to blame but herself.

Swallowing, she stepped back and opened the door wider.

Maximilian stood there in a loose bathrobe, his hair still damp and his breathing slightly uneven. He looked like he had rushed over without thinking.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. His gaze had already moved, drawn downward in a way he didn’t even seem aware of.

From her face… to her neck… and lower.

Until it stopped at her chest.

Catherine blinked, a flicker of disbelief crossing her expression.

What…?

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