Chapter 82: The Meeting

Catherine was startled by the unmistakable panic on Maximilian’s face. The urgency in his expression, the tightness in his jaw, and the way he had grabbed her arm unsettled her more than the news itself. Instead of reassuring her, his agitation irritated her.

“You’re forgetting the baby sleeping inside,” she reminded him firmly, pulling her arm back. “Go inside.”

Her voice deepened, calm but commanding, like a mother steadying a child on the verge of a tantrum. For a brief moment, Maximilian looked caught off guard. Then, unexpectedly, he complied.

They both stepped back into the house, the door closing behind them with a soft thud. Catherine released a slow breath as the warmth of the interior replaced the sharp winter air. Now that the immediate rush had passed, her mind began working through the possibilities.

Why would Gabriel Whitmore summon Alexander?

At first, she assumed Alexander had crossed path with the Whitmores, or someone of their own. That seemed the most logical explanation

But then another thought surfaced, clearer and far more strategic. It must have something to do with their meeting at the Winthorp the previous night.

Politics.

Alexander had long intended to step into that arena. The Whitmore family held deep-rooted connections there. What the Whitmores lacked, however, was financial flexibility. The Prestons, on the other hand, had wealth in abundance.

An alliance between the two families would benefit both sides.

Catherine was not naïve. She understood how families like theirs operated. She herself had considered forming calculated alliances when necessary.

But something about this approach felt wrong. Gabriel had chosen to speak with Alexander directly, bypassing her father and eldest brother. He knew perfectly well that in the Preston family, major decisions were never made individually. They acted as one.

Which meant this was deliberate.

Gabriel was likely attempting to appeal to Alexander’s ambition, to isolate him, to make him feel important enough to agree before the rest of the family weighed in.

A faint, incredulous smile touched Catherine’s lips. “He really thinks he can manipulate Alexander that easily…”

She glanced at Maximilian, who was texting rapidly, his expression still tense.

“You actually believe Alexander would give his word to marry me off to your cousin?” she asked, her tone steady but edged with disbelief. “He wouldn’t even like Geoffrey. And he would never make a decision about my marriage without my consent.”

Alexander was ambitious, yes, but he was loyal first and foremost. He would never trade her future for political convenience, no matter how tempting the offer.

“You’re certain?” Maximilian asked, lifting a brow. She didn’t even remember his name right. There was skepticism there, but also something else… uncertainty.

Alexander had already deemed him unsuitable for his sister.

“I’m certain,” she replied without hesitation. “And that man… he may not be foolish, but he’s the type of clever I can’t stand. The kind who whispers into the ear of someone powerful and calls it influence. He’s not a leader. He’s an echo.” She grimaced slightly. “I’d be miserable standing beside someone like that.”

Maximilian studied her quietly. Her assessment of Godfrey was unsettlingly accurate. He had always known his cousin preferred maneuvering behind the scenes rather than standing at the front. But he wanted to be at the front, and that was his failure. Catherine had understood that within minutes.

“How do you read people so well?” he asked, his voice lowering. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “Why can’t you see me for who I am?” He couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He couldn’t bottle up his pain anymore.

The question was softer than the tension that had preceded it, but it carried more weight.

Catherine had not expected that. The vulnerability in his tone caught her off guard. She could hear the strain beneath his composure, the frustration he was trying, and failing, to conceal.

She struggled for a response. “Because he’s a clean slate,” she said finally, her gaze dropping. “And you… I remember too much.”

Too much pain. Too much betrayal. Too many moments she had relived in her mind.

Maximilian’s expression tightened. “Why don’t you remember everything?” he asked.

“I do remember everything,” she replied immediately, almost defensively. She would not allow herself to be persuaded that her memories were incomplete simply because he wished they were.

And yet, deep in her heart, there was a faint disturbance she could never fully settle. The moments surrounding her death, before she saw him, and after… They remained blurred. Fragmented. No matter how hard she tried, those pieces would not align.

Maximilian clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists before he forced them to relax. She had died in his arms. She had asked him for something terrible, and he had complied. He remembered that much with painful clarity. But what followed had never made sense, not even to him.

Why would she forget that part? Why only that part?

A troubling thought lingered in his mind.

What if her memory had not simply faded? What if it had been taken from her?

If there was even the slightest chance that someone had tampered with her memories, he needed to know. He would look into it quietly. Thoroughly.

He forced his expression back into neutrality and turned toward her. “Shouldn’t you at least call your brother and speak to him?” he asked, unable to mask the edge in his voice. He still did not trust Alexander entirely in this matter.

Catherine rolled her eyes in response, as if the suggestion were absurd, and walked straight into the kitchen. She needed to do something she could control.

A few minutes later, the faint clatter of utensils echoed through the house.

She was baking.

A pie.

Maximilian stared at the ceiling in disbelief before dropping onto the couch with a pout he did not bother to hide. While she calmly prepared dessert as though nothing were wrong, he pulled out his phone and began typing furiously.

[She will marry me. No one else. She promised me.]

The message was sent before he could reconsider the childish tone.

Alexander had informed him, rather coolly, that he was meeting Gabriel for a specific reason. He sure was planning something.

And yet, a reluctant thought surfaced.

Maybe he should trust Catherine more.

This was not the same life as before. She would not surrender herself to a man she did not love.

—

Across town, Alexander’s lips curved into an amused smile as he read Maximilian’s message.

It sounded possessive. Almost petulant. But it was unmistakably his younger brother.

In their previous life, Alexander had loved carrying the little princess in his arms, showing her off like a precious treasure. Partly because he adored her. Partly because it conveniently drew the attention of admiring ladies.

Maximilian had never been tall enough to lift her back then.

The memory made Alexander’s smile deepen.

His little brother, who used to look at him with stars in his eyes, would glare fiercely whenever he carried the princess. Once, Maximilian had even kicked him in protest, declaring that he was forbidden from touching his fiancée.

It had been adorable.

Maximilian used to be so very adorable.

“I heard about your latest disagreement with the senators. They’re not pleased.”

Gabriel’s voice cut through the memory like a blade.

Alexander’s smile vanished. He placed his phone face down on the polished table and met Gabriel’s gaze evenly.

“A minor setback,” Alexander replied, crossing one leg over the other with casual confidence.

Regaining the memories of his past life had been a blessing. As crown prince, he had navigated far more treacherous waters than this. Politics in this era felt almost transparent by comparison. It was easy to read intentions, especially from men who were desperate.

“Minor?” Gabriel chuckled softly. “Your path into politics is locked. From both sides.”

“Is it?” Alexander’s lips curved slightly.

“You may believe money can resolve this,” Gabriel continued, folding his hands together. “But this is about pride. Pride cannot be purchased.”

Alexander knew precisely what he was attempting. Corner him. Create pressure. Offer salvation.

He leaned forward, uncrossing his legs, interest flickering in his eyes.

“Then enlighten me, Mr. Whitmore,” he said smoothly. “How does one unlock such a door?”

Gabriel’s eyes gleamed.

He had been waiting for that question.

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