Chapter 262: The Collision
Catherine looked at Alexander, forcing herself to meet his eyes.
She didn’t want to sound weak. More than that, she refused to become weak. There were moments when exhaustion pressed so heavily against her that she wanted nothing more than to collapse beside Maximilian’s bed and let someone else carry the burden. But every time that temptation surfaced, her gaze would drift toward the man lying motionless beyond the glass.
Her strength was there... Silent, breathing, and waiting for her.
And that was precisely why she had to remain standing.
Maximilian had deliberately provoked both Dorian and Fitzgerald before everything happened. He had known they would retaliate. A man like him never stirred a hornet’s nest without preparing for the swarm afterward.
So where was the contingency?
He had told her almost everything. Every suspicion. Every hidden ally. Every calculated move.
Except...
Leon Aureus.
Her brows drew together. The stock market had always been the one subject that made her tune him out. Whenever Maximilian launched into discussions about market manipulation, short positions, shell companies, and financial instruments, she’d teasingly tell him that if she wanted to torture herself, she’d read accounting textbooks instead.
He would only laugh and continue explaining anyway.
She never truly listened.
A bitter smile tugged at her lips.
So whatever he had prepared... whatever final move he had hidden... it had to be through Leon Aureus.
She needed Sebastian.
Alexander watched his sister in silence.
When she’d spoken of death earlier, terror had seized his heart. Yet looking at her now, he realized she wasn’t surrendering to despair.
She was consumed by purpose.
And somehow, that frightened him even more.
Because wasn’t returning to Dorian the same thing as choosing death? That man had already tried to kill her once.
He opened his mouth, intending to reason with her gently, but before a single word left him, Catherine’s phone vibrated.
She glanced at the screen and immediately straightened.
"Dorian will focus on our family next," she said quietly before stepping outside the room.
The door clicked shut behind her. She answered the call. "Timothy?"
His breathing was uneven. "Fitzgerald has disappeared."
Catherine’s expression hardened instantly.
"He figured something out," Timothy continued. "The last conversation we had... it was about you and Dorian. After that, he vanished."
Her pulse skipped.
No.
Not now.
Everything was finally moving exactly as planned. Every piece was falling into place. She had endured weeks of living beside Dorian, lying through every conversation, waiting for this exact moment.
She was so close.
The last thing she needed was Fitzgerald Rathbourne acting on instinct.
"Where is he?" she asked sharply.
"I can’t get anything useful from his assistant," Timothy admitted. "The last confirmed sighting was at the airport..."
He hesitated.
"...and he was dressed like he was heading to a ranch."
Catherine’s blood ran cold.
Laurel Hollow.
"I’ll check our side," she said immediately.
If Fitzgerald discovered Maximilian was alive...
No.
Dorian could never know.
"Thank you," Catherine said.
She was about to end the call when his voice stopped her once more.
"Catherine..."
She lifted the phone back to her ear.
"I don’t want him in danger."
Silence settled between them.
Slowly, Catherine’s hand drifted to the pistol holstered beneath her jacket.
If Fitzgerald already knew the truth... She couldn’t promise anything. The cold weight of the weapon against her palm reminded her of the reality she had accepted long ago.
Dead men told no tales.
But killing Fitzgerald Rathbourne would not end with a single gunshot. It would ignite a war with one of the most powerful families in the country—a war none of them could afford while Dorian Blackwood still stood.
Her fingers tightened around the grip before she slowly let it go.
She gave Timothy no answer.
Quietly, she ended the call.
Then she immediately dialed her own people. She needed to know whether Fitzgerald Rathbourne had already reached Laurel Hollow.
Her hands were shaking. Still.
So, first... coffee.
She walked to the cafeteria.
-----
Fitzgerald studied Samantha quietly, his fingers loosely wrapped around the warm coffee cup.
"So..." he said after a moment, his voice carrying an unusual hesitance. "How’s life?"
The question sounded casual enough, but his mind was anything but.
Only minutes ago, Samantha had overturned one of the assumptions he’d held for years. She no longer hated Catherine Preston. The revelation had struck him harder than he cared to admit, quietly dismantling the game he had been playing with Dorian and the obsessive pursuit of finding out what everyone was hiding. Somehow, all of that had lost its urgency.
His gaze remained fixed on Samantha.
"Married?" he asked. "Boyfriend?"
His heartbeat thudded against his ribs.
The answer was only a word away.
He had deliberately avoided asking during the past several weeks, even as curiosity lingered at the back of his mind.
Was he... afraid of the answer?
The thought made no logical sense.
Yet the pounding in his chest refused to stop.
Across from him, Samantha felt her own pulse quicken.
She had almost married. Almost. Until she’d discovered the man cared far more about the Preston fortune than he ever cared about her.
There was no reason to tell Fudgie that.
Not today.
"I’m single," she answered with a small smile before lifting her cup. "What about you?"
The question sounded light. Ordinary.
But neither of them believed it was.
Five years.
Five long years had passed, and somehow fate had placed them at the same table again. It almost felt like providence.
Or...
A small doubt crept into her heart.
Fudgie no longer looked like the heir she remembered. His expensive clothes were gone, replaced with ordinary jeans and a plaid shirt that looked almost too convincing. Had something happened to his family?
Or worse...
Had he approached her because she was the wealthy one?
The thought felt unfair.
Yet after what she’d been through, suspicion had become second nature.
Before Fitzgerald could answer, movement near the cafeteria entrance caught the corner of his eye.
His expression stilled.
Catherine Preston.
She had just walked inside, a phone pressed against her ear as she listened intently to whoever was on the other end. Her attention hadn’t shifted toward the seating area yet.
But it would.
Someone like Catherine noticed everything.
And the moment she recognized him... Things would become very complicated.
Not because he feared Catherine. He had no desire to explain himself. More importantly...
He couldn’t allow Samantha to learn who he really was.
Without another word, Fitzgerald rose from his chair. Samantha looked up in confusion. Before she could ask what he was doing, he leaned over the table. The height difference made it effortless.
His fingers slipped beneath her chin, gently lifting her face. Then he kissed her.It wasn’t rushed. Nor hesitant.
His lips lingered against hers, stealing the air from her lungs just as they always used to. When he finally drew back, he caught her lower lip between his teeth in a playful nibble before slowly releasing it, his tongue brushing lightly over the spot he’d bitten.
Only then did he straighten.
A slow smile curved his lips. "See you later, gator."
He tipped the brim of his cap, picked up his phone from the floor, and walked away without looking back.
Samantha remained frozen in her chair. The warmth of the kiss still lingered on her lips. Almost instinctively, her fingertips rose to touch them.
Heat flooded her face until her cheeks burned crimson. "W-What..."
Her voice barely came out.
What had that been?
Why now?
And... why had she wanted him to do it again?
-----
Meanwhile, Fitzgerald rounded the corner outside the cafeteria, finally allowing himself to exhale.
His phone screen had gone dark after the fall. He thumbed the power button, intending to check whether the email had actually been sent.
Before the display could fully illuminate, someone collided with him. The impact halted him mid-step.
He lifted his eyes.
Catherine Preston.
She stood directly in front of him.
The phone was still pressed to her ear, but her emerald eyes had already narrowed in recognition.
His gaze dropped instinctively.
Beneath the drape of her tailored jacket, just behind her hip, the unmistakable outline of a holstered pistol pressed against the fabric.
And from the way the jacket shifted ever so slightly...
It was already angled toward him.