Shackled To The Enemy King

The line connected, and Maximilian set the phone on speaker with unhurried ease.

Just like that, the air shifted, yet the earlier tension didn’t vanish. It lingered, coiling beneath the surface, threaded now with something sharper, something almost playful in its danger.

"Cathy?" Jonathan’s voice came through, but there was no warmth in it—only a clipped edge, impatience bleeding through the syllables.

Catherine’s brows drew together slightly. That tone... she did not take kindly to it.

But before she could respond, Maximilian spoke, his voice calm, measured. "Who is this?"

A brief silence followed, as though the question itself had unsettled the other end.

Then, Jonatha spoke. "I’m her boss. From Helios Biotek."

Maximilian’s gaze flicked to Catherine for the briefest moment before returning to the phone. "Didn’t she quit?" he asked, almost conversationally. "Why are you calling her now?"

Silence again.

Longer this time.

"Who are you?" Jonathan demanded at last.

Maximilian didn’t hesitate. "I’m her boyfriend," he said smoothly. "And you’re calling at a rather inconvenient time."

Catherine pressed her lips together, barely containing her laughter as she leaned closer, her breath brushing his ear. "Oh, he’s shocked," she whispered, amused. She didn’t stop there; she let her lips rest on his cheek.

On the other end, Jonathan faltered. "You’re her... what?"

"Cathy... is that you?" he asked, the sharpness in his voice cracking just enough to reveal something more uncertain beneath.

Catherine rolled her eyes, leaning back slightly. "I do not have time for this."

"Cathy! Answer me!" Jonathan snapped.

Maximilian’s expression cooled. "Mind how you speak," he said quietly, but there was a firmness to it that left no room for argument.

Jonathan exhaled sharply. "Where is Cathy? I need to talk to her. I’m willing to meet her in person, but her address..." He hesitated. "It doesn’t make sense. It’s just her name and the name of a town."

Maximilian glanced at Catherine, one brow lifting slightly. "He doesn’t have your Meridon apartment address?"

"Is she there?" Jonathan cut in, frustration mounting. "Her apartment is empty. I was told she returned to her hometown."

There was something else in his voice now, something unsettled, something that didn’t quite sit right even with himself. He was thinking how Ashley was right about Catherine. She had returned to her hometown and she already had a boyfriend. She probably would marry him and settle there. But he didn’t understand this odd feeling in his chest.

"I need her address," he pressed. "I have to meet her."

Catherine let out a soft laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, her shoulders shaking slightly. "That is my address," she said, her tone light with mockery. "What more do you want?"

"Oh, so you are there!" Jonathan snapped. "What are you playing at, Preston?"

Catherine’s eyes gleamed faintly. "For a researcher, you seem rather dull, Dr. Vale," she replied, her voice smooth, edged with something sharper beneath. "Just do what I say. Like always."

The reminder landed exactly where it needed to.

A quiet assertion of control. Of history. Whenever he got stuck, it was she who gave him ideas. And it should have hit him hard, he grunted.

"Search it properly," she continued, tilting her head slightly. "Around here, my address is closer to a landmark than a residence. You’ll understand once you look."

Beside her, Maximilian watched her... really watched her this time.

The way she spoke. The confidence. The quiet authority wrapped in softness.

And beneath it... the faint echo of the tension they had just shared. It hadn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it had only sharpened.

Without warning, he leaned in, his lips brushing against her neck once more.

Catherine stiffened, a soft breath catching in her throat. "I’m on a call..." she whispered, her voice barely steady.

Maximilian pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, something dark and teasing flickering in his gaze—unapologetic, deliberate.

And then he didn’t stop.

His lips returned to her skin, slower this time, lingering in a way that made her pulse stumble. His hand pressed more firmly at her waist, anchoring her against him as though he had no intention of letting her slip away, not even for a conversation that was quickly losing his interest.

Catherine’s fingers twitched toward the phone, instinctively reaching to end the call before this spiraled any further... but his hand caught hers mid-motion, his fingers sliding between hers, interlocking them with quiet insistence.

Her breath hitched.

The world narrowed again to his touch, his warmth, the steady, unrelenting way he seemed intent on undoing her composure piece by piece.

She tilted her head back before she could stop herself, giving him space, her thoughts scattering as his lips traced higher, slower... each touch deliberate enough to make her forget what she had been saying, what she had been doing, who was still listening.

On the other end, Jonathan’s voice cut through again, sharper now... almost disbelieving.

"You’re... a Preston from the Laurel Creek Ranches?" he asked. A pause. "You’re a billionaire heiress?"

The words hung in the air.

But Catherine barely heard them.

Because in that moment, the only thing she could feel... was the way Maximilian’s grip tightened just slightly, as though the answer didn’t matter at all... and the way her own pulse betrayed her, racing against a touch she wasn’t even trying to resist anymore.

"Cathy?"

Jonathan’s voice grated against her nerves this time, sharp enough to break through the haze that had begun to settle over her senses.

"Yes, I am," she replied coolly. "So what? Did you think I was in research for the money?"

Her tone carried that familiar light, almost careless edge, but her fingers betrayed her, slipping into Maximilian’s hair, threading through the strands as though she needed something to hold onto. Something grounding.

And then, without overthinking it, she leaned in and kissed him.

There was a quiet certainty in the kiss now, a softness that deepened into something warmer as she lingered just a second longer than necessary, as if to remind both him, and perhaps herself, where she stood.

"Why did you lie to us for this long?" Jonathan demanded, his voice cutting through again, harsher now.

Catherine pulled back just enough to speak, her lips still close to Maximilian’s, her breath uneven in a way she refused to acknowledge. "I never lied," she said, her voice steady. "When I said my father owns a ranch, you all chose to imagine something small. I didn’t correct you. That’s not deception—that’s assumption."

Her gaze flickered toward Maximilian, and for a moment, the conversation seemed to drift out of focus again.

Because he hadn’t moved away.

If anything, he had drawn closer.

His fingers closed gently around her hand, guiding it, to hold it, his touch deliberate, grounding. His gaze lingered on her face, then lowered, as though he was memorizing the way she spoke, the way she carried herself.

The way she belonged here. With him.

"You b*tch!"

The word landed like a crack through glass.

Catherine’s expression cooled instantly, the warmth draining from her eyes as irritation sharpened into something colder. Her fingers stilled where they rested against Maximilian.

She reached for the phone, but Maximilian was faster.

His arm slid around her waist, pulling her firmly against him, with a quiet, unmistakable authority that left no space for argument. Catherine stilled, her breath catching, not from the movement, but from the sudden shift in him.

She looked up.

And for a moment, she didn’t see the man who had been teasing her seconds ago.

Something else stood in his place. Calm. Controlled.

Dangerously still.

"Say that again," he said.

His voice wasn’t raised. It didn’t need to be.

There were no harsh words, no anger spilling over, but the weight behind it settled into the silence that followed, heavy and absolute.

Even through the phone, it was enough.

Enough to make the air feel tighter.

Enough to make it clear, that this was not a man who tolerated disrespect.