Catherine stood by the door with her bags neatly lined beside her, waiting for the car to arrive. Maximilian was still inside, going over the final checks—locks, security, everything that came with leaving for a long trip.

She had asked him earlier if they should visit his family before leaving.

In her world, it was the men who sought permission. Women met their in-laws only after the proposal, because the proposal itself was meant to be a surprise.

Well... theirs wouldn’t be much of a surprise.

She had even tried to coax him into showing her the ring—just a glimpse—but he had refused. She had searched too, half-playful, half-serious, but wherever he had hidden it, she hadn’t found a trace.

This man...

He could be incredibly secretive when he wanted to be.

And yet—

A small smile curved on her lips.

He tells me everything.

The door clicked open, and Maximilian stepped out. Catherine looked up at him immediately, her smile widening. "Shall we?" she asked.

She had insisted on carrying her own luggage—three large suitcases, which she considered perfectly reasonable—but he had ignored her protests and taken hold of all of them himself, along with his own small case.

She eyed it suspiciously. "We’re going somewhere that snows, right? How did you fit everything into that?"

He said nothing.

"Do you even pack a change of underwear?" she added, tilting her head.

Maximilian closed his eyes briefly, pressing his lips together in quiet annoyance. "My underwear don’t take three suitcases, Catherine."

She almost laughed.

"Cathy! Stop!"

The voice cut through the moment.

Catherine’s smile dropped as she turned. "Of course," she muttered under her breath. "How did he even know I was here?"

Jonathan Vale approached them, slightly out of breath, his usual composure replaced by urgency.

Maximilian stepped closer to her without a word, his presence steady, protective.

"Can we talk?" Jonathan asked.

Catherine waved him off and moved toward the car. "I’ve already said everything I needed to."

"Cathy, please..." His voice softened, slipping into something almost pleading. "BioQuant—"

"Not interested," she cut in cleanly, opening the car door.

"Katerina, it would do you well to listen to me."

The voice that followed wasn’t Jonathan’s.

Catherine froze.

Jonathan held up his phone, the call on speaker.

Dorian.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the door.

For a moment, her heart began to pound—not out of fear, but something sharper. Recognition. Tension.

Before she could respond, Maximilian stepped forward and took the phone from Jonathan’s hand.

"She’s with me, Dorian," he said, his voice calm but edged with finality. "Do what you can."

He ended the call without waiting for a reply and tossed the phone back to Jonathan.

Catherine remained still for a second longer, her thoughts unsettled, before she slipped into the car.

Maximilian closed the door for her and walked around to the other side.

Outside, Jonathan watched, a slow smirk forming on his lips as the car pulled away. Inside, Maximilian’s hand closed in on Catherine’s hand.

Catherine looked at Maximilian and let out a deep breath. He turned to look at her. There wasn’t an ounce of fear or doubt on his face.

And she trusted him.

-----

Meanwhile, in a dimly lit warehouse that smelled faintly of metal and chemicals, Charlotte sat bound to a chair. Rough ropes cut into her wrists, and a cloth gag stifled her voice, reducing her cries to broken whimpers.

In front of her, suspended over a vat of acid, a man hung upside down. Chains were wrapped tightly around his ankles, holding him in place as his body swayed ever so slightly.

Crawley.

What remained of his composure had long since shattered. His clothes were torn, his skin marked and broken in too many places, the result of repeated strikes from a cruel whip studded with iron balls and fine needles. Each movement sent a tremor through him, each breath uneven, fragile.

Seated beside Charlotte, as though this were nothing more than an evening performance, Dorian Blackwood adjusted himself comfortably in his chair. Dressed in his signature pinstripe suit, he crossed one leg over the other, his polished exterior a stark contrast to the brutality unfolding before him.

His grip tightened around his phone.

"Damn you, Maximilian!" he roared, his voice echoing sharply through the cavernous space. Without hesitation, he hurled the phone forward. It struck Crawley’s body with a dull impact.

Crawley cried out a raw, broken sound that seemed to tear itself from his chest.

Charlotte flinched violently, her muffled cries rising as tears streamed down her face. The sight was too much—too cruel, too sudden.

The whip came down again.

Crawley screamed.

"No—!" Charlotte tried to scream through the gag, her body trembling uncontrollably.

"Stop it!" Dorian snapped, turning toward her with visible irritation. "Your noise is insufferable." His gaze hardened, cold and deliberate. "Should I take your voice away entirely? Perhaps then I might enjoy some peace."

Charlotte’s eyes widened in terror. She shook her head frantically, trying to quiet herself, though fear made it impossible to fully suppress the sounds escaping her.

Dorian exhaled slowly, regaining his composure, as if her fear itself had restored his balance. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

"You had the audacity to demand anything from me," he continued, his tone dropping into something colder, more measured, "when your lover was responsible for my son’s death."

His gaze shifted past her.

Around them, a small crew stood frozen—camera operators, lighting assistants—each of them pale, trembling, but obedient. No one dared to speak.

"Make sure every detail is captured," Dorian instructed, his voice smooth once more, as though directing a film rather than orchestrating suffering. "Frame it well. I want her to see this properly."

A faint smile touched his lips, devoid of warmth.

"I want my queen to understand just how much I care."

Charlotte’s head shook weakly, her thoughts spiraling. She had believed she could endure this, that she could play along, survive long enough to find a way out.

But this... This was not a game she understood.

Why... why was she being forced to watch this?

Why him?

Her vision blurred with tears as another cry tore through the air, and the horrifying truth settled in...

She wasn’t being kept alive to escape.

She was being made to witness.

-----

Catherine stepped into the private jet with a bright, unrestrained smile. With Maximilian beside her, there was a quiet certainty settling in her chest—everything would be fine. Their luggage had already been loaded, every detail arranged with precision.

As the jet lifted into the sky, the world below began to shrink, and soon, they rose above the clouds.

What greeted them there stole her breath.

The sky was painted in hues of gold and rose, the setting sun stretching endlessly across a sea of soft white clouds. Though Meridon had been wrapped in snowfall for days, up here the air felt calm, almost untouched—like a world suspended between time and silence.

Catherine leaned her head against Maximilian’s shoulder, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

"It’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed a sunset like this," she murmured.

Maximilian intertwined his fingers with hers, his grip warm and grounding. "You always preferred sunsets over sunrises," he said softly.

She smiled at that, a quiet acknowledgment of how well he knew her.

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s presence, watching the sky slowly dim.

A short while later, the crew arrived with their meal. Elegant plates were set before them, the presentation as refined as the view outside. Maximilian paused when he saw his dish—filet de bœuf en croûte, perfectly prepared.

He glanced at Catherine, surprise flickering in his eyes.

She simply winked at him.

She had made sure of it.

If he could think of everything for her, the least she could do was remember the small things that made him happy.

Maximilian’s gaze softened as he picked up his cutlery, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them.

They ate slowly, savoring both the food and the quiet comfort of the moment. A glass of wine followed, then another, and their conversation drifted from one light topic to another—nothing urgent, nothing heavy, yet somehow it felt like everything that mattered was contained in that space.

Time seemed to slow just for them.

Catherine leaned back into her seat, exhaling softly, the lingering warmth of the wine and the calm of the journey settling into her body.

Without a word, Maximilian reached for her leg and began to gently massage it, his touch careful, attentive.

"My cramps aren’t that bad," she said, glancing at him.

He didn’t stop.

His expression remained quiet, focused, as though this small act meant more to him than any words he could say.

And somehow... she didn’t ask him to stop again.

After a while, the quiet ease of the moment drew them away from the lounge.

The bedroom was softly lit, the low amber glow brushing against polished wood and pale sheets, creating a space that felt warm. Outside, the sky had deepened into a dark, endless stretch, the last traces of sunset long gone.

Catherine stepped in first, her fingers trailing lightly over the edge of the bed before she turned back to him.

There was no urgency between them. No tension that needed to be broken.

Just closeness.

Maximilian followed, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he reached out, gently pulling her toward him. She came easily, as though she had already decided she belonged there, in the quiet space he made for her.

They lay down together, the softness of the bed sinking around them.

Catherine shifted closer, resting against him, her head finding its place against his chest as if it had always known the way. His arm came around her without hesitation, holding her there—firm, but careful.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear, the warmth of his hand resting against her back, the slow rise and fall of their breaths... it was enough.

Everything else—the tension, the decisions, the weight of the world they were moving through—felt distant.

Here, there was only this.

Catherine let out a soft breath, her fingers curling slightly into his shirt as she settled deeper into his embrace.

Maximilian lowered his head just enough to rest it lightly against hers, his hold tightening just a fraction, as though reassuring himself she was really there.

Safe.

With him.

In that quiet, shared warmth, sleep came gently.

And far away, in a place filled with harsh lights and cruelty, where fear echoed against steel and silence carried no comfort at all... this softness did not exist.

But here, wrapped in each other, they created something untouched by it.