Chapter 169: His Reply
Maximilian straightened slightly, as though settling into the weight of the moment rather than shrinking from it.
He had expected this question.
Any father worth his place would ask it.
Because at the heart of it, beneath age and time and propriety, there was something far more dangerous to consider—the simple, undeniable truth that a man was capable of violence. And all it took was a moment. A lapse. A loss of control. That was all it would take to harm someone who trusted him.
But men like James Preston understood something deeper than that.
There were different kinds of violence.
There was the kind born from weakness—when a man lost control, lashed out, and called it instinct. That kind was unforgivable. That kind destroyed homes, broke trust, and left behind damage that could never truly be undone.
And then... There was the other kind. The kind that came from control. From restraint. From knowing exactly what one was capable of... and choosing, every single day, to keep it leashed.
Until the moment it was needed.
"If the same situation presents itself, Mr. Preston," Maximilian said, his voice steady, unwavering, "and Catherine is about to get hurt... I will do it again."
There was no hesitation.
No apology.
"I don’t care who it is or what their intent is," he continued, his gaze locked with James’s. "No one touches Catherine and walks free....even if it costs me everything."
Silence followed.
But it wasn’t empty.
James felt it—the certainty in those words. Not recklessness. Not blind aggression.
Control.
A man who knew exactly what he was capable of... and exactly when he would use it.
A slow smile formed on James’s face, and before he realized it, he gave a small, approving nod.
If Maximilian had hesitated, if he had tried to soften it, justify it, or claim regret... this conversation would have gone very differently.
But he hadn’t.
And that mattered.
Because the man in front of him wasn’t one who lashed out for the sake of it. He wasn’t driven by impulse or ego.
He was the kind who held the line and crossed it only when it truly needed to be crossed.
Dangerous.
Yes.
But not in the way that destroyed.
In the way that protected.
And his daughter... his stubborn, precious daughter, would need nothing less.
"And," Maximilian continued, his tone easing just enough to soften the edges without losing its sincerity, "I understand that nine years can seem like a lot. And that we haven’t known each other for very long."
He didn’t try to argue it, nor did he attempt to brush it aside with easy reassurances. He let the truth sit between them, unguarded.
"But neither Catherine nor I feel that it is," he said, his voice steady. "She’s a smart woman. And... I believe you would agree—it doesn’t always take years to truly understand someone."
James said nothing.
He simply watched.
Listened.
Measured.
His sons had already made their approval known in subtle, satisfied ways, and James could see why. There was something about this man—something composed, deliberate, and grounded. But that wasn’t enough. Not for Catherine. Not for the daughter he had raised, protected, and, in many ways, struggled to understand.
This was the man he was being asked to entrust her to.
He wanted more than confidence.
He wanted certainty.
Maximilian, for his part, did not rush to fill the silence. He understood it for what it was; not rejection, but scrutiny. This was not a conversation to be hurried through or won with clever words. And he knew better than to speak of things James could neither see nor believe—past lives, missed chances, the weight of memories that did not belong to this world.
So he spoke from something simpler.
Something truer.
"I’ve always wanted to marry," he said at last, quieter now, though no less resolute. "I’ve prepared for that future for a long time... while leaving one place empty."
He paused, just briefly, as if giving that admission the space it deserved.
"The person I would spend it with."
His gaze softened, not with uncertainty, but with something far more intimate—recognition.
"That place stayed empty for years," he continued. "And when I met Catherine..." A faint breath escaped him, almost like a confession he hadn’t meant to say aloud. "We fit."
There was no grand flourish to it. No attempt to dress it up into something poetic.
Just truth.
"It felt like we had known each other before," he added, quieter now. "Not perfectly. Not without flaws. But... undeniably."
Because perfection had never been the point.
What mattered was that they chose each other. That they were willing to bend, to grow, to shape themselves not in opposition, but in harmony—until what they built together became something whole.
"There’s room for both of us to grow," he said. "But our foundation is the same. We understand each other. We work well together. And..." a small, unguarded smile touched his lips, "neither of us wants to spend time apart."
The silence that followed was deeper this time.
Heavier.
James held his gaze, not searching for eloquence, but for something far more difficult to fake—truth that did not waver under scrutiny.
And then... He laughed.
It came suddenly, warm and full, cutting cleanly through the tension that had filled the room.
"Come here," he said, his voice lighter now, carrying something almost fond beneath it.
Maximilian blinked, just slightly caught off guard, before rising and stepping closer.
James reached out and pulled him into an embrace—awkward, constrained by the hospital bed, but firm all the same. His hand came up to pat Maximilian’s back, steady and approving.
"You have my blessing, son," he said. Simple, clear, and earned.
When he pulled back, there was no hesitation left in James’s expression, no lingering doubt clouding his judgment. What remained was something steadier, something far more difficult to earn—trust, given not lightly, but given nonetheless.
"Take care of her," he said, his voice softer now, yet carrying a weight that settled deep. "And don’t make me regret this."
Maximilian met his gaze without wavering, something resolute and unshakable settling into his features. "I won’t, sir."
And for the first time... James believed it completely.
Silence lingered between them, but it was no longer tense. It had softened, shifted into something almost reflective, as though the gravity of what had just passed allowed space for something more personal to rise to the surface.
"After Mary passed away," James began, his voice quieter now, threaded with something old and worn, "Catherine changed."
He let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting slightly, as though he were no longer looking at Maximilian, but at something far behind him.
"Out of nowhere... it felt like I lost my wife and my daughter’s childish innocence on the same day," he continued. "She stopped being a child. Just like that."
There was no bitterness in his tone.
Only regret.