Chapter 243: Promise And Trust
"Did you hear the news?" Timothy burst into Fitzgerald’s office without bothering to knock.
Fitzgerald was seated beside the tall window, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. His steel-grey eyes lifted from the newspaper resting on his lap and settled on his younger brother.
A full tea service had been arranged neatly on the round coffee table beside him, steam still rising from the cup. Even in a modern penthouse office, Fitzgerald looked more like an Edwardian gentleman than a contemporary businessman.
And, of course, there were apples.
"Maximilian Whitmore is gravely injured," Timothy said, breathing hard. "They say he won’t survive."
"Well, hasn’t that worked out daintily for you?" Fitzgerald replied calmly. "You can march to his home and take your daughter if you want to."
There was no visible emotion on his face.
Even for Fitzgerald, that felt wrong.
Timothy slowly pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. "What do you know?" he asked quietly.
Fitzgerald picked up his teacup. "I thought Dorian was going to kill Maximilian," he said. "I thought it would be an apt punishment for that Preston."
He took a measured sip of tea.
"And?" Timothy prompted. "Isn’t Maximilian almost dead?"
Fitzgerald lowered the cup. "The intended casualty was always the Preston woman."
Timothy’s eyes widened.
"That’s—"
"Cold, isn’t it?" Fitzgerald said.
His hand moved toward one of the apples, but stopped halfway, as though he had suddenly lost interest.
Timothy stared.
The tips of Fitzgerald’s fingers were trembling.
Had Timothy not known his brother his entire life, had doctors not certified long ago that Fitzgerald was incapable of empathy, he might have mistaken it for grief.
"Are you coming down with something?" Timothy asked carefully. "You should rest."
"You think so?" Fitzgerald looked down at his own hand, noticing the tremor as well. "I have not felt quite right for a while."
Ever since learning that Dorian had intended to kill Catherine Preston rather than Maximilian, something inside him had been unsettled. He did not understand what it was.
"Timmy."
Fitzgerald caught his brother’s wrist before he could leave.
"You’re... normal, right?" he asked. "What would make someone attempt to murder the person they claim to love?"
Timothy looked at him.
Really looked at him.
Now he wanted to understand emotions?
"You asked me to kidnap Amelia and Charlotte," Timothy reminded him.
"That is not the same as killing the mother to take the daughter," Fitzgerald said immediately. "I would never suggest that. It would complicate things."
He frowned slightly.
"I never asked you to kill anyone. I may be a psychopath, but even I understand that killing is excessive. Killing ends someone. Their ambitions, desires, preferences, everything. That is... rather final."
Timothy released a slow breath.
"Kidnapping isn’t so different from murder."
"No, it’s not," Fitzgerald said absentmindedly.
"Kidnapping takes away a person’s freedom," Timothy continued. "They can’t choose for themselves. They can’t do what they want. They can’t even dream freely when they’re trapped in an oppressive environment. Nobody who truly loves someone would force them to stay."
Fitzgerald was silent.
For several long moments, he simply stared at Timothy, as though carefully dissecting every word.
Then his phone chimed.
Timothy glanced at the screen.
Dorian.
"Oh. It’s your new best friend," Timothy muttered. "You should see what he wants now."
Fitzgerald ignored him and opened the message.
A moment later, he smiled.
"He only intended to kidnap her right under everyone’s noses," Fitzgerald said. "But he seems delighted that Maximilian is almost dead."
Timothy clutched his temples.
"And that makes it acceptable?" he demanded. "Do you hear yourself? You’re a psychopath. He’s a sociopath. No wonder you get along."
"Oh, don’t be dramatic, Timmy."
Fitzgerald rose gracefully from his chair, slipped the phone into his pocket, selected an apple, and took a bite.
Then he paused again.
He looked strangely lost.
Timothy disliked that expression immensely.
"If I fancy someone," Fitzgerald said slowly, studying the apple in his hand, "and I manipulate circumstances... perhaps, like... diverting a river by creating a few obstacles... and thereby guide that person toward me... that isn’t kidnapping, is it? I’m merely playing God to bring them to me. It is an exhibition of intellect, not coercion."
"Not legally," Timothy said immediately, suddenly alarmed. "But, Fitz, how do you not understand this? If you love someone, you don’t manipulate them into staying beside you."
For the briefest moment, Fitzgerald’s expression twitched.
Then he grimaced.
"I’m glad I’m not like you. You people do have too many rules."
He patted Timothy’s shoulder.
"You should loosen up."
He walked toward the door, already instructing his assistant to prepare his jet.
"Where are you going?" Timothy hurried after him.
"I’m going to see what love is," Fitzgerald replied.
Timothy stopped.
"What does that even mean?"
Fitzgerald didn’t answer.
"If you so much as think about getting close to Amelia or my daughter," Timothy shouted after him, "I swear I’ll kill you myself!"
Fitzgerald merely raised two fingers in a casual wave and disappeared around the corner.
Timothy watched him go, dread settling heavily in his stomach.
Then he pulled out his phone and called Catherine again.
"Come on," he muttered as it rang. "Answer your phone."
Once again, the call went straight to voicemail.
-----
Catherine was back.
Back beside the lake within the royal palace of Elyndra.
The sight of it stole the breath from her lungs.
The water shimmered beneath the evening sun exactly as she remembered it, untouched by time, serene and achingly beautiful.
This place had once belonged to both of them. It was where they had argued, reconciled, made promises they had never managed to keep, and loved each other in ways neither had ever found the courage to confess aloud.
It was theirs.
And now she stood there alone.
Catherine looked down.
The bracelet was still around her wrist. But Maximilian was nowhere to be seen.
"Maximilian..."
Her voice broke.
"Come back to me... please."
Tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked as she turned desperately, searching the lakeshore. He told her that he looked for the bracelet in the lake and found it.
"I have the bracelet, Maximiliam. Come back!" she shouted.
There was no answer.
Only the gentle rustle of leaves.
Only the quiet lapping of water against stone.
Only the sound of her own sobs.
"Please..." she whispered again, clutching the bracelet. "Don’t leave me alone again..."
Silence answered her.
An eternity seemed to pass.
Then...
"I promise."
Catherine froze. Her heart stopped.
It was his voice.
Her Maximilian’s voice.
It echoed across the lake, warm and familiar and impossibly distant.
Catherine’s eyes widened. She stumbled to her feet so quickly that she nearly fell.
"Maximilian!" she cried, spinning around frantically. "Where are you?"
"Trust me..."
His voice echoed once more, carried by the wind itself.
"I promised."
Catherine’s heart began to pound violently.
The promise.
The promise he had made.
That no matter what happened, he would return to her.
"Maximilian!" she screamed, tears blurring her vision. "Please!"
But the lake had already fallen silent once more.
The world around her shattered.
Catherine woke with a gasp.
Her eyes flew open.
White ceiling... Sterile smell... The steady beeping of monitors.
She was in a hospital room. An IV line was attached to her hand. She was dressed in a hospital gown.
For several seconds, she could only stare upward, disoriented, her dream and reality refusing to separate.
"You’re awake!"
Catherine slowly turned her head. Caleb was sitting beside her bed. He looked exhausted and terrified.
The moment their eyes met, something inside Catherine clenched.
"The doctors..." Caleb began, his voice rough. "They say he’s brain dead."
The words did not make sense.
Brain dead.
No.
No, she had just heard him.
She had heard Maximilian.
He promised.
"His mother..." Caleb swallowed hard. "She’s about to sign the consent forms for organ donation."
For a moment, Catherine felt nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
It was as though her mind had simply gone blank.
Organ donation?
Brain dead?
No.
No.
No.
That wasn’t possible.
Maximilian had promised her.
And this time... he wouldn’t break his promise.
She trusted him.