Chapter 256: Moving Chess Pieces
Dorian stayed motionless, visibly unsettled by her quiet resignation.
Catherine noticed the confusion in his eyes and almost laughed.
How ironic.
In their previous life, he had never wanted her to speak out of turn. He had disliked her offering opinions before his ministers, disliked her intelligence drawing attention, disliked anything that made her appear as more than the beautiful queen seated beside him.
Every lesson he had taught her had been the same one wrapped in different words—know your place.
And now that he had discovered her brilliance had value... Now he seemed disturbed that she no longer wished to use it.
"...Except being your perfect wife," she added softly.
Dorian’s throat tightened.
Those lowered eyes.
That quiet voice.
The obedience.
This was what he had wanted once, wasn’t it? A queen who never challenged him, never argued, never stepped beyond the boundaries he had drawn around her. He had spent years correcting every habit he deemed improper, and now she stood before him appearing to have accepted every lesson without resistance.
Yet something about it felt deeply wrong.
This wasn’t what he had meant.
He hadn’t wanted her to become... empty.
He wanted Catherine to remain extraordinary, to continue astonishing everyone with her mind and talent—but under his protection, beneath his name, hidden within his shadow where no one else could claim her.
Why, then, did it feel as though every conversation between them drifted further from what he intended?
For once, he found no words.
Without another glance at her, Dorian turned and walked out of the room.
Only after the bedroom door clicked shut did Catherine allow herself to collapse backward onto the mattress.
A long breath escaped her lungs.
That had been close.
She doubted Dorian would simply abandon the thought. If anything, tonight had likely convinced him that she was slipping beyond his control. It would not surprise her if he had already begun considering how to cripple the Preston family financially so she would have nowhere left to turn.
Fortunately...
Her family was not a helpless prey.
They had anticipated retaliation long before she stepped into Blackwood Manor. Every company had been restructured, investments redirected, contingency plans prepared. If Dorian chose to strike, he would discover that the Prestons were no longer waiting to be hunted.
Catherine remained still for several minutes, listening carefully for footsteps beyond her door. Only when she was certain Dorian had retired to his own room did she retrieve the hidden phone from its hiding place.
The screen illuminated her face.
A single unread message waited for her.
Sebastian: Fitzgerald suspects something. He’s on the move.
Catherine closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.
Fitzgerald Rathbourne.
She had never truly understood that man.
She couldn’t tell whether his fascination with Dorian stemmed from loyalty, curiosity, rivalry, or simply boredom. He had never meddled in the business of others, never had any friends. What was his obsession with helping Dorian?
That unpredictability made him more dangerous than Dorian in some ways.
Dorian’s actions always followed calculation.
Fitzgerald’s followed...
What was his driving force in this issue?
It was far harder to anticipate.
-----
Fitzgerald Rathbourne stepped out of his Bentley when a familiar sign caught his eye along the roadside.
Meridian Wholesale.
The sprawling warehouse-style store belonged to Catherine Preston’s second brother.
His lips curved ever so slightly.
"You’re dismissed," he said, closing the car door behind him.
His chauffeur blinked in surprise.
"Sir?"
"I’ll manage from here."
The chauffeur glanced at his employer’s immaculate three-piece suit, polished Italian shoes, and the leather duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Watching a man like Fitzgerald Blackwood voluntarily walk into a wholesale warehouse was strange enough, but he knew better than to question him.
He bowed slightly, returned to the Bentley, and drove away.
Fitzgerald remained where he was for a moment, his eyes drifting over the large gilded letters fixed above the warehouse entrance.
Still wearing the faint smile, he walked inside.
The bright warehouse lighting replaced the afternoon sun as towering shelves stretched into the distance. Without hesitation, he picked up several plain cotton T-shirts, a pair of faded blue jeans, two plaid flannel shirts, inexpensive socks, and a digital wristwatch that cost less than what he normally spent on lunch.
The cashier barely looked at him.
Perfect.
He carried everything into the fitting room. The tailored jacket came off first. Then the crisp dress shirt. The handcrafted leather shoes.
One by one, every trace of Fitzgerald Rathbourne disappeared.
He pulled on the faded jeans, slipped into one of the plain shirts, and buttoned the plaid overshirt over it before opening the duffel bag he had brought with him.
Inside lay clothing that looked as though it had lived an entirely different life.
Beneath an old felt cowboy hat whose brim had been softened by years of use were a pair of worn custom-made cowboy boots and a weathered waxed jacket; each piece had been deliberately aged.
He changed into the jacket and boots with practiced efficiency before placing his expensive clothes neatly into the duffel bag.
On his way out, he stopped at a display near the entrance and picked up an inexpensive baseball cap.
The transformation was complete.
The man who stepped out of Meridian Wholesale no longer resembled Fitzgerald Rathbourne, heir to one of the country’s wealthiest families.
He looked like an ordinary traveler passing through town. Exactly as intended.
He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, walked to the roadside, and raised a hand as a taxi approached.
The driver rolled down the window. Fitzgerald climbed into the back seat.
"To the airport," he said.
As the taxi pulled away, he caught his own reflection in the window.
He smiled.
Sometimes, the easiest place to hide... was in plain sight.
-----
When Catherine walked downstairs for breakfast, she almost laughed.
Stacks of papers lay scattered across the polished dining table, occupying the place where her breakfast should have been. The usually immaculate walnut surface had been turned into a cluttered workspace overnight.
Just as she had predicted.
Dorian would never leave the matter alone.
She let her gaze wander over the documents before tilting her head in innocent confusion.
"Why is the table such a mess?" she asked softly, reaching for the nearest stack. "Dorian won’t be pleased if he sees breakfast served like this..."
Her voice gradually faded.
The moment she recognized the pages, her expression shifted ever so slightly.
Her research.
The incomplete continuation Jonathan had been struggling with.
She slowly lowered herself into her chair, flipping through the pages as though she had become absorbed before she even realized it.
Exactly as expected.
Jonathan had become trapped at the same point she knew he would. Every mistake, every incorrect assumption, every misplaced conclusion was precisely where she had anticipated it to be.
She almost smiled.
"Could someone bring me a pen?" she asked absentmindedly, never lifting her eyes from the papers.
A maid hurried away and returned moments later.
The instant the pen reached her fingers, Catherine forgot the world around her.
She circled faulty data, crossed out entire paragraphs, rewrote calculations, corrected experimental assumptions, and filled the margins with concise notes that redirected the research toward the proper methodology. Every correction came naturally, as though she were simply continuing a conversation she had paused weeks ago.
Time slipped away unnoticed.
When she finally placed the pen down, a familiar voice reached her ears.
"You’ve been busy."
Catherine looked up.
Dorian stood a few steps away, watching her with unreadable eyes.
She glanced at the clock on the wall.
It was nearly lunchtime.
How predictable.
She quickly gathered the papers together, looking almost embarrassed.
"I’m sorry..." she said, lowering her gaze. "I completely lost track of time. I recognized where they went wrong, and once I started reading, I noticed they’d entered one set of data incorrectly. That mistake affected everything after it, so I just..."
She trailed off apologetically.
"It’s alright."
Dorian stepped closer and gently patted her head.
"I was looking through those earlier and left them there. You simply found them."
Catherine nearly rolled her eyes.
Looking through them?
He wouldn’t understand three pages of this research if someone explained it to him line by line.
Still, she lowered her head obediently.
"I’m sorry."
Dorian gathered the papers into a neat stack, his eyes lingering over the handwritten corrections covering nearly every page.
Excellent.
He had known she could do it.
Jonathan had failed because he lacked Catherine’s brilliance.
As for Catherine... She still couldn’t resist helping when she saw flawed work. Exactly as he had hoped.
Without another word, he carried the documents away.
Catherine followed him as far as the entrance hall, politely watching him leave for the company.
Only after the front doors closed behind him did the pleasant smile leave her face.
A slow, dangerous curve spread across her lips.
He had taken the bait.
She returned to her bedroom, retrieved the hidden phone, and typed a single message.
[It is done.
Now we wait.]
The reply came almost instantly.
But it wasn’t from Sebastian.
It was from Samantha.
[Uncle suffered another brain bleed. They’re taking him into surgery.]
The color drained from Catherine’s face.
Her fingers tightened around the phone until they trembled.
The smile vanished as though it had never existed.
Maximilian...