Chapter 249: Not Alone
Timothy nearly dropped his phone when he saw Fitzgerald standing beside him.
Thankfully, the moment he had heard his brother’s voice, he had instinctively locked the screen and slipped the phone against his thigh. Fitzgerald had arrived too suddenly to glimpse what had been on it.
"Just... something," Timothy said, standing.
"What something?" Fitzgerald asked.
His curiosity was genuine.
That smile...
It wasn’t one Timothy wore often.
As someone who had spent his entire life studying other people’s emotions just to imitate them, Fitzgerald noticed changes most people overlooked.
Timothy gave him a suggestive look.
Fitzgerald tilted his head.
"Oh."
Realization flickered across his face.
"I see."
His expression immediately turned dismissive.
"I didn’t realize you enjoyed... visual stimulation."
Timothy pinched the bridge of his nose.
"For a moment," Fitzgerald continued thoughtfully, "I wondered why you looked so... fulfilled. That expression resembled the aftermath of an orgasm."
"...Will you stop talking?"
"Hm."
Fitzgerald seemed satisfied with his conclusion.
Timothy quietly slid his phone into his pocket.
Good. His brother believed him. That was all that mattered.
"Why are you here?" Timothy asked, unable to hide the annoyance in his voice.
Fitzgerald blinked before casually reaching into his coat pocket.
He pulled out an apple.
Timothy watched him with faint disbelief.
His brother’s strange obsession had apparently reached the point where he carried apples in his pocket.
It was always the same variety. A crisp, tart apple that pastry chefs insisted made the finest apple pies.
And every single time, Fitzgerald took one bite... Sometimes two... Before throwing the rest away.
Timothy had stopped trying to understand him years ago.
"You were smiling," Fitzgerald said before taking another bite. "So I assumed you haven’t heard."
"Heard what?"
"Your friend is dead."
Timothy’s heartbeat stumbled.
"He stopped breathing," Fitzgerald continued matter-of-factly. "And... that was the end of it."
Relief surged through Timothy so violently it nearly escaped as a sigh.
It worked.
Catherine’s plan had worked.
He would get to see Charlotte again.
"Oh." He forced himself to shrug. "That’s... unfortunate."
He lowered his gaze.
He had to be careful.
Fitzgerald was notorious for reading emotions. He had spent a lifetime observing people because he needed to understand feelings he himself struggled to experience.
"Well," Timothy said after a pause, "that’s life. I’ll just have to... make new connections."
"That’s all?" Fitzgerald frowned. "Your reaction is considerably weaker than I anticipated."
Timothy clenched his jaw. Nothing escaped this antisocial psychopath.
He met Fitzgerald’s gaze evenly. "What exactly were you expecting me to say?" Then he narrowed his eyes.
"And why do you look disappointed?"
"Disappointed?" Fitzgerald let out a soft laugh. "Hardly."
He stared absently at the apple in his hand. "It’s just..." His voice drifted. "I expected her to grieve longer."
"Her?"
"Catherine Preston."
He finally looked up.
"Her fiancé isn’t even buried yet, and she’s already living under the roof of the man who killed him."
He paused.
"That is... unexpectedly efficient."
Timothy’s heart pounded.
Damn him. His brother saw far too much.
He forced out a weary sigh.
"A woman’s heart is a mysterious thing," Timothy said. "She knows Dorian is the only one who can protect her now, so she changed sides."
He shrugged.
"You judged her correctly, Fitz."
"She only cares about herself."
For the first time, uncertainty crossed Fitzgerald’s face. He had questioned Catherine’s timing and wondered if there were more.
But...
Perhaps Timothy was right.
After all, Fitzgerald had disliked Catherine from the beginning. He had always believed she was capable of abandoning anyone if it served her interests.
Timothy adjusted his cuffs and started walking away.
"Where are you going?" Fitzgerald asked.
"I’ll buy some flowers."
He didn’t stop walking.
"I did consider him my friend. The least I can do is pay my respects."
Fitzgerald chuckled.
"This is your opportunity, you know."
Timothy glanced back.
"To become the head of the family." He smiled faintly. "You might finally obtain everything you’ve always wanted."
Timothy simply shook his head.
"What?"
Timothy let out a slow breath.
"Too soon?"
"Too crass," Timothy replied.
Fitzgerald merely laughed.
"You and your inconvenient morals."
Fitzgerald turned and walked away, taking another absent-minded bite from his apple. Timothy watched him disappear before finally allowing himself to exhale.
Then he took out his phone... and called Sebastian Remington.
-----
On the drive back, Catherine kept talking.
She spoke about inconsequential things, filling every silence before Dorian could. If he had intended to question her further, she left him no room to do so. By the time the car pulled into the estate, even he seemed exhausted by the constant conversation.
The gates opened.
As the mansion came into view, Catherine fell silent.
It stood imposingly against the evening sky, its sprawling façade illuminated by rows of warm lights. It was magnificent.
She had lived in palaces in her previous life. A mansion like this should not have intimidated her. Yet, as she stepped toward it beside Dorian, an old fear tightened around her heart.
For one fleeting moment, another residence surfaced in her mind.
The castle Maximilian had built for her. The place where he had knelt before her and asked her to become his wife.
Almost unconsciously, her thumb brushed over the bare ring finger of her left hand. There was nothing there now.
"Coming?" Dorian asked.
Catherine drew a slow breath and forced a gentle smile onto her face. "It brings back memories."
"It does," Dorian agreed, extending his hand.
She slipped her left hand into his.
Her fingers felt strangely naked without the engagement ring that had once rested there.
You’re doing this for Maximilian.
Don’t forget.
Dorian led her inside.
The mansion’s interior was every bit as grand as its exterior. Wide corridors stretched in both directions beneath high ceilings, lined with polished wood, oil paintings, and crystal chandeliers. It possessed the quiet elegance of an old aristocratic estate.
Oddly enough... It felt familiar. Not because of Dorian, but because it reminded her of the royal residences she had once called home.
Her gaze swept across the halls with quiet calculation.
When this is over... perhaps this house should belong to someone else.
A faint smile almost reached her lips.
Behind them, several maids followed in perfect silence, each carrying trays laden with fresh towels, tea, and neatly folded clothes.
Catherine found the sight almost surreal.
In her previous life, such service had been ordinary.
In this life, she had grown accustomed to handling most things herself. She had household staff, certainly, but never servants who waited for the slightest gesture before rushing to fulfill her every need.
Dorian climbed the grand staircase and led her to the second floor.
The hallway branched in opposite directions, revealing what appeared to be the family’s private living quarters.
He stopped before one of the corner rooms.
Catherine’s heartbeat quickened.
Was he bringing her into his bedroom?
Dorian rested his hand on the doorknob...
Then, at the last second, he turned and opened the room directly opposite.
"You must be tired," he said. "Stay here tonight."
Relief quietly settled over her.
"Thank you," Catherine replied with a sweet smile.
She stepped inside.
The maids immediately followed, insisting on unpacking her belongings and making certain every detail of the room met their standards.
Only after politely dismissing them and waiting until the hallway outside had grown silent did Catherine allow herself to move.
She showered, changed into fresh clothes, and then walked to her suitcase. Beneath a layer of neatly folded clothing rested another phone. One, no one knew she possessed.
She powered it on.
A single message was already prepared.
[I’m safe. Commence the operation.]
She pressed send.
Within seconds, the message was marked as read.
Her brothers.
Her sisters-in-law.
Sebastian.
Bernice.
Roxana.
Even her nieces and nephews.
A quiet warmth spread through her chest. She had walked into the enemy’s home alone.
But she had never been fighting this war by herself.