Chapter 252: His Love
What did I expect from him?
When Catherine first met Maximilian in this life, she had blamed him for everything that had gone wrong.
She blamed him for every misfortune, for every tear she had shed. She had even blamed him for murdering her.
Knowing the truth all along, Maximilian had accepted every accusation in silence. He had carried her anger without once trying to defend himself, silently arranging so that she lived comfortably, peacefully... even if it meant she hated him forever.
And this man...
All Dorian could do was lie.
Perhaps she had been wrong about him from the very beginning.
Not morally wrong. Fundamentally wrong.
Perhaps he simply did not experience the world the way other people did. He did not feel guilt. He did not understand remorse. Every relationship, every conversation, every act of kindness was merely another calculation, another move on a board where only one outcome mattered.
Winning.
Her fingers slowly curled beneath the table.
So this... This obsession he called love... It had never been love at all.
It was possession. Conquest. The satisfaction of obtaining something he believed belonged to him.
Perhaps that was why he appeared almost indifferent now that Maximilian was "dead." The chase was over. Catherine had come to him of her own accord. In Dorian’s mind, she had nowhere else to go.
Almost.
He was still watching her. Still measuring her. Still suspicious.
As long as the Preston family remained powerful, as long as she retained the freedom to walk away, she remained beyond his complete control.
Unlike men who loved deeply and feared losing the woman they cherished, Dorian would never ask someone to stay.
He would simply make leaving impossible.
A quiet chill settled over Catherine. She had lingered here long enough. It was time to move the next piece.
Abruptly, she sat upright.
Dorian’s hand, which had been resting behind her against the backrest, was caught beneath her shoulder. His jaw tightened as he carefully pulled it free.
"I’m sorry," Catherine murmured absently.
Then she looked at him.
"It was him... wasn’t it?"
Her breathing grew uneven.
"Maximilian."
She stared into space as though another memory had surfaced against her will.
"It had to be him."
Her lips trembled.
"How could he do that to me?"
She pressed a trembling hand against her stomach, her expression twisting with grief and fury.
"He knew me for years."
Her voice rose despite herself.
"Years."
"He chased me for years... made me feel threatened for years..."
Her breathing became ragged.
"And after all that... knowing me... He grew up with me and still..."
"He poisoned me?"
A hollow laugh escaped her.
"How could he? And... How cowardly... If he truly wanted me dead, why didn’t he face me?"
She looked directly at Dorian, though her eyes seemed to be looking through him.
"Why didn’t he stab me himself?"
"Why poison me?"
"What kind of man kills the woman he claims to love with poison? What kind of man can’t even kill honestly?"
The questions poured out one after another, each one sharper than the last.
"What was he afraid of?"
"My eyes?"
"My answer?"
"I know. He simply was too much of a coward to watch me die..."
She laughed again, bitterly this time.
"A man who hides behind poison..."
Her lips curled in contempt.
"What a pathetic little coward. Craven."
Dorian had listened quietly until then, allowing her grief to spill freely. Every insult she hurled at the man she believed had betrayed her seemed to reassure him that her suspicions were pointed in the wrong direction.
But as her words grew harsher, something in his expression shifted.
"That’s enough," he said, more sharply than he intended.
Catherine looked at him, her eyes still burning with anger, as though she could not understand why he would stop her.
Inside, however, she had already found her answer.
Every insult meant for the "dead" man struck the living one instead.
He could tolerate lies.
He could tolerate manipulation.
But Dorian could not bear to hear himself described for what he truly was.
"You’re too worked up," he said at last, his tone calm and measured. "Go upstairs and get some rest."
Catherine lowered her gaze.
There it was... She had finally reached the limit of what he was willing to tolerate.
An old memory surfaced unbidden.
Whenever she became emotional in their previous life—whenever she dared to voice her fears, her frustrations, or simply spoke a little longer than he wished to listen—Dorian would end the conversation the same way.
You’re tired.
Go and rest.
Back then, she had believed him.
She had thought she was the childish one, too emotional, too impulsive to conduct herself with the dignity expected of a queen. Dorian had always appeared composed, always so effortlessly in control. Compared to him, she had felt immature.
She had blamed herself.
Only now did she understand.
Maximilian had never once told her to stop feeling. When she cried, he stayed. When she was angry, he listened. When she vented, he let every bitter word leave her heart before quietly asking, What do you want me to do?
He had never treated her emotions as inconveniences to be silenced. He had treated them as something worthy of being heard.
That was what love looked like.
Dorian, on the other hand... He did not know what to do with emotions he could not manipulate.
So, he ended them.
Catherine rose quietly from her chair and gave him a small bow before turning toward the staircase.
She had barely taken a few steps when his voice stopped her.
"My queen."
She turned.
"Should we apply for our marriage license tomorrow?"
For a fleeting moment, Catherine forgot how to breathe.
She looked at him with eyes still damp from tears, unable to read the thoughts hidden behind his composed expression.
Perhaps the recent uncertainty had unsettled him.
Perhaps, after Maximilian’s "death," he feared she might somehow slip through his fingers again.
"Whatever you think is best, Dorian," she answered softly.
The words tasted like ash.
The very thought of becoming his wife again—even if it existed only on paper—made her stomach tighten.
She would sooner watch the world burn than bind herself to him a second time.
But refusing him now would only awaken the suspicions she had worked so carefully to lull.
As she lowered her gaze, her fingers drifted almost unconsciously to her bare left hand.
The ring finger.
Empty.
If she had to choose... A ring was infinitely preferable to a marriage certificate.
Dorian followed the movement of her hand.
A faint satisfaction settled over him.
She had not argued. She had accepted his decision without resistance.
Good. She still understood him.
He remembered how much Katerina had loved grand celebrations. Every time they attended a noble wedding in their previous life, she had always grown strangely quiet afterward. At the time, he had assumed she envied the attention.
Perhaps she had simply wanted a wedding of her own.
Besides, this was not merely about her.
Catherine Preston belonged to one of the country’s most influential merchant families. Their only daughter could hardly disappear into a quiet civil ceremony. As the sole heir to the Blackwood family, he could not marry in secret either.
No.
The wedding had to be worthy of both their names.
"We’ll have a proper wedding," Dorian said. "A grand one."
Once BioQuant announced the cure for Alzheimer’s disease, the entire country would be celebrating him.
There would be no better time.
His reputation would reach its peak.
His empire would be secure.
And Catherine...
Where else could she possibly go?
Catherine smiled.
It was beautiful...Convincing; the smile of a woman who had just been promised the wedding of her dreams.
Yet behind it, her heart remained perfectly still.
She had already begun calculating how her wedding would not happen before the funeral of Dorian Blackwood’s empire.