Shackled To The Enemy King-Chapter 113: The Glue Of The Family

"There was significant blockage," the doctor continued. "He had double-vessel disease — two major blockages. The most dangerous one was in the LAD, and we addressed that first."

Sophia sucked in a breath.

William’s jaw tightened.

"But..." the doctor continued, and that word felt like air after drowning, "the surgery was successful."

For a second... No one moved.

As if their bodies didn’t trust what they had heard.

"He is stable," the doctor clarified. "He’s not out of danger entirely. The next twenty-four hours are critical. But he made it through."

The corridor exhaled as one.

Miranda covered her mouth. Victoria began crying openly. Jon bowed his head. Alexander closed his eyes, hugging the little boy.

Catherine didn’t cry. Not at first. Her knees weakened instead. The tension that had held her upright for hours snapped.

Maximilian felt it before he saw it. His hand left hers only to slide to her waist, steadying her as she swayed.

She leaned into him fully this time. Her forehead pressed briefly against his shoulder, and her breath trembled against his chest.

He wrapped an arm around her. "You hear that?" he murmured quietly near her temple. "He’s strong."

She nodded against him.

Relief came like a wave, dizzying and overwhelming.

Across from them, the Preston family gathered into an unspoken huddle, tears and soft laughter of disbelief. Gratitude whispered under breath.

And in the middle of it... Catherine realized something.

She was still holding Maximilian. Clinging, almost. She didn’t let go. Not yet.

They wheeled James Preston out.

Machines followed him, soft beeping and oxygen mask in place, IV lines taped neatly along his arm. He looked smaller somehow, still under anesthesia, unmoving.

Catherine walked alongside the bed as far as the ICU doors allowed.

Her throat tightened.

Daddy...

The staff, patient until now, gently intervened. "Please don’t crowd. Only one or two at a time. Short visit."

Reality resumed its rules.

The younger children grew restless. One began whining softly. The parents exchanged looks — practical, reluctant.

One by one, the families peeled away. They made promises, requested updates and exchanged hugs as they left.

Catherine turned to her brothers. "You should all go. They said he won’t wake until early morning."

"We’ll stay," William said immediately.

"No," she shook her head. "Go home. Rest. You need sleep. You’re getting old, too."

Alexander frowned. "Not me. I’ll stay. You go."

She lifted her chin, stubborn and unmovable. "I’m not leaving."

Jon studied her face for a long moment.

They knew that look.

It was the same look she had worn when she chose her own university against advice.

Eventually, one by one, they relented, but not without lingering glances and quiet instructions to call.

Alexander gave a lingering glance at Maximilian before he left.

In the end, Catherine won. Everyone left. Everyone, except Maximilian.

They settled in the waiting area outside the ICU. The hallway was quieter now. Dimmer with night shift lights.

Catherine curled into the chair, drawing her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. Her foot rested on the seat. She looked smaller like that. Younger.

Maximilian sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched.

She stared at the ICU doors for a long while.

Then, without looking at him, she leaned her head against his shoulder, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He didn’t move. Didn’t comment.

She knew. Even if the bracelet had never bound them together... He would be here. He would stay. For her.

For the first time since the surgery began, her breathing slowed. The tension in her spine softened. Her eyes fluttered closed.

And somewhere between exhaustion and relief... She fell asleep.

Maximilian looked down at her.

Her lashes rested against her cheeks. Her mouth slightly parted in sleep. One hand loosened from around her knees and slid down, brushing against his thigh unconsciously.

His lips curved faintly.

She didn’t have to say it. She never had to. Even in their previous lifetime, before she ever confessed, before pride and politics tore them apart, he had known.

She loved him.

The problem had never been her feelings. It had been the timing, the circumstances... and his mistakes.

He looked ahead, jaw tightening. He couldn’t afford mistakes this time.

He would not survive losing her again.

Carefully, he turned his head, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

"Hmm."

Her brows furrowed slightly.

"Keep your lips and hands to yourself, professor," she mumbled sleepily.

His mouth twitched.

But she didn’t lean away. Instead, her head settled more firmly against him, as if she had claimed the space.

He watched her for a moment longer. Then, unable to stop himself... he pressed another kiss to her forehead.

This time, she didn’t protest, didn’t move, and didn’t say a word. Her breathing remained even. And her hand, in sleep, slowly curled into the fabric of his shirt.

He saw Nurse Dorothy returning from her rounds.

Her steps were slower now. The kind of slow that comes from decades on hospital floors and a shift that refuses to end.

"Sixteen-hour shift today, ma’am?" Maximilian asked quietly.

She snorted.

"Twenty-four."

She lowered herself into the chair beside him with a tired sigh. Then she leaned slightly, peering at Catherine, who was still asleep against his shoulder.

Dorothy’s lips curved. And then she straightened abruptly.

"If I let Mary’s precious daughter sleep like this in a hallway chair," she muttered, "she’ll haunt me in my dreams."

Before Maximilian could respond, she stood and pushed open the ICU door.

"Bring her in," she instructed.

Maximilian didn’t hesitate. He slid one arm behind Catherine’s back and the other beneath her knees. She stirred faintly, instinctively curling closer as he lifted her.

She fit against him too easily.

Inside the ICU room, he placed her carefully into the recliner near James’s bed. Dorothy covered her with a blanket, tucking it around her shoulders with a familiarity that spoke of years.

Catherine murmured something unintelligible but didn’t wake.

Maximilian glanced once at James, still unconscious, machines blinking steadily, then quietly stepped out and closed the door behind him.

He turned to Dorothy.

"You knew her mother?"

Dorothy’s expression shifted.

"We were friends," she said softly. "Small town. Grew up together. Mary was... sunshine. Loud laugh. Bigger heart." She exhaled. "Bless her soul. Taken too soon."

Maximilian remained silent.

"Jimmy was devastated," she continued. "Still is. He hides it better now. If not for Cathy..."

Her voice trailed.

"She has a great family," Maximilian said. He meant it.

Dorothy looked at him knowingly. "They came together after Mary’s death," she said. "Cathy is the glue."

Maximilian frowned slightly. "They seem very close."

Dorothy gave a tired chuckle. "Not always."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Before Cathy was born?" Dorothy leaned back against the wall. "Mary was worried sick. Jon had already started branching off on his own. William and Bobby? At each other’s throats over inheritance shares. Pride. Ego. Money."

Maximilian blinked.

He had not seen even a shadow of that tonight.

"Really?"

"Oh yes," Dorothy nodded. "It was ugly."

She grew quiet for a moment.

"Mary got pregnant at forty-eight," she said softly. "And she was already not well. Doctors advised termination. Said it was too risky. Geriatric pregnancy. Grandchildren already running around."

Maximilian’s jaw tightened.

"But Mary..." Dorothy smiled faintly. "She refused. Said that the baby was meant to come. Said she could feel it."

He felt something shift inside his chest. She had almost not survived...

His hands went cold.

"She carried Cathy while getting sicker," Dorothy continued. "And the boys... seeing their mother suffer like that... watching her risk everything to bring their sister into the world..."

Her eyes grew distant.

"It changed them."

Maximilian pictured the three powerful and prideful grown men, reduced to frightened sons.

"And when Cathy was born," Dorothy whispered, "She was a tiny thing... fighting to breathe. She survived against all odds..."

She shook her head.

"That was it. The family that was splintering snapped back together."

Maximilian looked toward the ICU door.

"They’ll do anything for her," Dorothy said quietly.

He believed it.

He had seen the way they moved tonight; the way they formed around her without being told, and the way even their teasing was protective.

And suddenly, he understood something deeper.