Shackled To The Enemy King-Chapter 102: Can’t Escape

Maximilian stepped in until Catherine could feel the heat of him; the steady, contained, and overwhelming heat.

He leaned closer.

She retreated a step, then another, until her back met the wall, clutching her chest.

His palm came up beside her neck, bracing against it...caged her in.

Catherine looked up.

His face was inches from hers. His presence filled the air, pressed into her senses, stole her breath. If she wanted to slip away, she probably could.

But she didn’t.

A soft, traitorous flutter sparked in her chest.

This felt... romantic.

Dangerously so.

But...

She placed her palm flat against his chest before he could lean any closer.

"You cannot kiss your way out of this question, Professor," she said, steady despite the quickening of her pulse.

Maximilian’s gaze didn’t waver. His lips curved.

"Meanie," he murmured, dipping closer, voice teasing against her mouth. "Meanie mouse..."

A soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it. She covered his lips with her hand, trying to push him back.

He didn’t retreat.

Instead, he nipped playfully at her palm, looking right into her eyes.

Her heart slammed harder.

Dangerous.

He was dangerous.

With him, everything blurred. Her thoughts, her anger, her caution... all gone.

"Answer me." She pushed at him again, more firmly this time.

He barely moved. He stood there, like a mountain.

Then he leaned in, not to her lips, but to her ear.

"I found you when I was eighteen," he said, voice low.

Her fingers tightened on his sleeve.

"You were on the cover of a magazine as a child prodigy." His breath brushed her skin. "The moment I saw your face... I knew."

Silence settled between them.

"I was nine then..." Catherine whispered.

She remembered it clearly now. Her father’s pride. He had arranged the photoshoot and the article because he wanted the world to see how smart his daughter was.

She had never imagined ’finding’ could go both ways and her father’s pride would lead to Maximilian finding her.

Was it fate... or something else?

"I remembered my past after my father died," Maximilian continued softly. "And finding you... gave me my life back."

His nose brushed her cheek.

Time paused. Catherine’s hold on his sleeves loosened. For someone who didn’t trust him fully, her body betrayed her every time... softening, leaning toward him before her mind could stop it.

His phone chimed at the moment, breaking the silent intimacy between them. Catherine drew a sharp breath and got to the bathroom while he walked to the living room, answering the call.

Catherine sank beneath the bathwater, the heat wrapping around her like a fragile shield. For a moment, the world dulled, all sound muted, and her thoughts blurred.

But his face followed her even there.

Those steady eyes. That quiet confession.

I found you when I was eighteen.

She had seen his photographs. The boy at sixteen with hollow, extinguished eyes. The boy who had lost everything.

And then... He found her.

Her chest tightened.

The water suddenly felt too heavy.

Catherine surfaced with a sharp breath, wet strands clinging to her face as her heart pounded against her ribs.

So... he found me, and then what?

Her fingers curled against the edge of the tub.

Did he watch from afar?

Did he follow her life from the shadows, planning each step until he could reach her?

The thought sent a tremor through her... something tangled between unease... and something softer she didn’t want to name.

Her reflection wavered on the water’s surface, eyes wide, conflicted.

"Maximilian..." she whispered to the empty room, as if he could still hear her through the door, through the walls, through the strange thread that kept tying them together.

Was it fate that led him to her... or was it something far more deliberate?

Catherine’s gaze fell to the bracelet, snug against her wrist, its green stones glinting softly in the warm light.

She leaned back, closing her eyes. She had told Sebastian she’d call Bernice—but Bernice didn’t answer. They must be busy, she thought, finishing her bath in silence.

Wrapped in a robe, she stood drying her hair when the bathroom door opened.

Maximilian stepped out, a towel low on his hips, water still tracing down his chest.

She turned to face him.

He had been honest earlier. Maybe he would be honest now too.

"What did you do after you realized I was nine?" she asked.

Maximilian tilted his head slightly. "I didn’t approach you," he said simply. "You were a child. I decided to wait until you turned twenty-one." His jaw flexed. "Then I found you."

Catherine smiled faintly. You’re skipping years in between, she thought.

"Weren’t you... disappointed?" she asked softly. "Didn’t you rethink things when you realized the age difference?"

In her heart, he had always felt her age be it then or now. But to the world, nine years was... visible. In their past, Dorian had been aware of their age difference. She needed to know what Maximilian had felt.

"I was," he admitted. "I hoped you’d be closer to my age. Nine years is a lot." A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. "And you have four brothers built like tanks. I prefer not being buried alive for looking at you wrong."

Catherine laughed. It wasn’t entirely a joke.

"But... I know our age doesn’t matter," he said, looking into her eyes.

They had so much history between them. And... She had promised... promised they’d be together...

He leaned in, his cheek brushing hers, voice lowering. Shaking. "You forgot..." he whispered.

"Forgot what?" Catherine said.

He didn’t answer and pressed a kiss on her cheek. She wrapped her hand around his neck.

He took in a deep breath. "I looked you up. I knew you were presenting a paper at my university."

Her breath hitched, fingers curling lightly against his chest. "Were you there?" she whispered.

He leaned closer, one arm braced against the wall near her shoulder—close, but not quite touching. "I had classes."

Then he bent to her ear, his lips grazing her earlobe, voice a low murmur.

"How did I do?"

A shiver ran through her.

He knew she was testing him. And he was letting her.

Catherine didn’t step away. She couldn’t. His warmth, his scent, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingertips...

Slowly, almost cautiously, she let her hand move over him. Across the firm planes of his chest, over muscle that shouldn’t exist on someone who ate nothing but plants...

His hand caught hers instantly, pressing it flat against his chest before she touched his sensitive spot.

His chest rose sharply. Her pulse thundered beneath her skin.

"How does a vegan have this much muscle?" she blurted, breathless. "And... Is your whole family vegan?"

She tried to lift her head... and her lips brushed against his throat, right over the sharp edge of his Adam’s apple.

They were standing far too close.