Shackled To The Enemy King-Chapter 69: Body Vs Heart Vs Mind

Catherine swallowed, her pulse betraying her again, and this time not with heat, but with something far more dangerous.

Conflict.

Her thoughts drifted, unwillingly, back to Dorian.

She hadn’t expected that version of him. Younger than her memories allowed. Less rigid. Less carved from war. He had danced with her, something he had despised in their previous life, and there had been an ease to him tonight that unsettled her more than anything. He’d been... flirty. Human. Almost gentle.

It was wrong. Entirely disheveling. That was not how she remembered him.

And yet...

The moment she learned he was the Blackwood heir, she had crossed him off without hesitation.

Last life, the imbalance between them had been undeniable. He’d held power in his hands while she survived day by day in his court that didn’t accept her, crowned, titled, and yet always careful. Always watching. Always paying a price she never named aloud.

This life would be no different.

If she accepted him now because he owned a Big Pharma empire, because his name carried weight, then his grandfather, the man who hadn’t even looked at her and probably considered her a worthless worm, would never see her as anything more than an inconvenience. A stain. A woman to be corrected.

History would repeat itself.

She wouldn’t allow that.

Not when she had a family who loved her fiercely. Not when she had wealth, autonomy, and a life that didn’t require her to bow.

And still...

Those eyes.

The quiet way he’d asked her to say his name, as though it meant something sacred. As though it was a door he had waited lifetimes for her to open.

The past clung to her too tightly.

Catherine sat up and turned her back to Maximilian, rubbing her arms as though she could scrub away the shame crawling beneath her skin.

Her body was yearning for Maximilian’s warmth, was leaning into his touch without hesitation... and yet her heart yanked her to the husband of her previous life, tangled in memories she despised herself for not burying.

One man had killed her children.

The other had never learned how to care for her heart.

Neither had given her peace.

And in this life, she wanted neither.

Her gaze dropped to the bracelet at her wrist, its cold gleam mocking her.

What do you want from me? she asked silently. Why am I trapped again?

Her body and heart were at odds with each other and her mind was pulling her in another direction. She was confused to the maximum.

"Why won’t you tell me what happened that day?" she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

If she lingered on herself any longer, she might unravel, and Catherine was not in a state to allow herself that weakness.

Maximilian watched her closely. The rigid line of her shoulders. The way she sat just a fraction too straight. That pain rising in his heart...

He felt the moment between them slip away, as warmth leaving a room too quickly aired.

It was over.

And yet... she was clearly drawn to him. That truth settled in his chest with unsettling certainty. Which meant the distance between them would shorten again. Inevitably. The bracelet would make sure of it. And soon, she would have to lean in.

And when she did, what kind of kiss would it be?

"Will you trust me if I tell you?" he asked quietly.

He wouldn’t have minded telling her the truth. He’d been overjoyed the day he found her again, his heart racing and breath stolen... only for her to greet him with a knife in her hand and hatred in her eyes. She despised him. Had from the very first moment of this life.

Would she even believe the truth if he gave it to her?

Catherine turned to look at him. "You won’t know unless you tell me."

Her tone was calm, almost clinical. As if trust were a hypothesis that required data. If it were the truth, then logically, she should accept it. Shouldn’t she?

Maximilian held her gaze for a long second.

Then he looked away.

He straightened, smoothing his tie, fixing his hair, and putting himself back together piece by careful piece.

"There was an intruder," he said. "Someone without identification. Sebastian is handling it."

Her heart jolted.

"You might be in danger. That’s why I brought you here. This is my usual guest room. You’ll be safe here. I’ll get you a change of clothes."

She exhaled slowly.

Why was he avoiding her question? Did he lie? Or was he afraid of the truth?

But then his words settled.

"What?" Catherine shot to her feet. "An intruder? Bernice—was it Bernice?"

"Bernice?" Maximilian frowned. "Bernice who?"

She glared at him, fury flaring hot and fast. "Don’t pretend you don’t know, Your Highness."

She slid her shoes back on, movements brisk, controlled, as if she could lace her composure back into place along with them. Squaring her shoulders, she faced him again.

"Take me to Bash. Now. I need to find Bernice."

Maximilian didn’t answer.

He just stared.

Catherine inhaled sharply. "Please?" she added, the word scraped raw from her throat.

Still nothing.

Her patience snapped. "Are you telling me you don’t remember Bernice, my lady-in-waiting?"

Maximilian pressed his lips together.

Of course, he remembered.

He remembered her far too clearly.

That night, after Katerina’s mother died, after he signed that deathly warrant of his love, he had gone to Katerina’s chambers again, just a man drowning in guilt, desperate to explain, to grieve, to sit beside her and share the weight of that loss.

And instead, he had met Lady Bernice.

She stood in his path like a drawn blade, eyes cold, unyielding.

"Her Highness has finally fallen asleep," Bernice had said, stepping closer, claiming the space he had no right to enter. "After crying the entire day."

She did not bow. Did not lower her gaze.

"You know very well you don’t deserve to see her."

From her sleeve, she produced the bracelet.

For a heartbeat, she weighed it in her palm, then thrust it toward him, stopping just short of his face.

"You should have this back. Her Highness doesn’t want it anymore."

The metal struck his chest with a dull sound and fell to the floor between them.

He hadn’t spoken.

He couldn’t.

He hadn’t known Katerina’s mother would die. The woman who had once treated him like a son. Who had been his mother too, in every way that mattered.

And she had died because of him.

The guilt had been suffocating.

He picked up the bracelet and left.

"Hello?"

Catherine waved a hand in front of his face now, sharp and impatient.

Maximilian flinched back into the present, sucking in a breath. His eyes burned.

He had gone back later that night. Sat beside Katerina while she cried even in her sleep. He hadn’t dared wake her. Had only left the bracelet behind... silent proof that his promise still stood.

He should have stayed.

Should have let her scream at him. Strike him. Cry with him.

If he had... she would never have become someone else’s wife.

"I’m not leaving you, Catherine," he said suddenly. "No matter what."

She exhaled hard, irritation slicing through the air. Why did he always answer questions she hadn’t asked?

"Are you taking me to Sebastian or not?" she demanded.

Maximilian nodded.

He turned and walked ahead. Catherine followed, heels clicking sharply against the marble.

Halfway down the corridor, he stopped.

"Do you realize," he said quietly, "that all your loyal supporters are here this time?"

Catherine frowned. Bernice. Sebastian. Faces she trusted... had always trusted.

"Are you saying the fight isn’t over?" she asked.

He nodded once.

"Against who?"

Maximilian leaned forward, his voice dropping low enough to chill her spine.