Chapter 277: The Other One

Dorian sat in his study, one leg crossed over the other, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. A low laugh escaped him, growing louder until it echoed through the room.

"So, this is what you wanted, Katerina." He shook his head with a smile that never reached his eyes. "Even in this life... you chose him."

"I almost believed you."

He leaned back, replaying every smile she had given him over the past weeks. Every gentle word, every lingering glance, every touch had been nothing more than another move on her chessboard. She had almost convinced him she had finally accepted her place beside him.

Almost.

A scoff escaped him.

"You were clever enough to fool everyone else." His smile slowly widened. "But you forgot who you were playing against."

He had accounted for this long ago. He had suspected her request to visit her father from the beginning. A dying father was a convenient excuse. She wasn’t testing his compassion. She was testing the limits of his control.

And that was why he was not going to let her escape. If she ever attempted to escape, he had wanted to make sure there would never be a second attempt.

That was why the jet had never truly been an escape.

Long before she boarded it, he had arranged for a failure so subtle no ordinary inspection would ever detect it. It would reveal itself only after takeoff, when there would be no turning back. If she had his permission, he would have corrected it.

But now...

She was dead.

He felt no grief over it. People died. Empires fell. History moved on. One stubborn woman meant nothing to him. What lingered instead was the humiliation of having been deceived.

His fingers curled around the armrest.

"Those Prestons..." he murmured. "They should have taught you obedience instead of courage."

"If they wanted to raise a woman bold enough to challenge me..." His smile disappeared. "They can share her fate."

A knock interrupted the silence.

The study door opened, and his assistant hurried inside before immediately dropping to one knee.

"Sire," he said, his voice trembling. "I’ve obtained the security footage from the private terminal. I... I believe you should see it."

Dorian extended his hand without looking at him.

The assistant quickly placed the tablet into it with both hands. His own hands were shaking. He had served Dorian long enough to know that bad news was often a death sentence.

Dorian glanced at the frozen frame on the screen.

His smile vanished.

He slowly uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. Pinching the display, he zoomed out until the entire frame came into view.

His eyes narrowed.

"Fitzgerald Rathbourne was with her?"

The assistant swallowed.

"Y-Yes, Sire."

Silence settled over the study.

Then Dorian looked up. "Why," he asked quietly, "was I not informed?"

The assistant lowered his head even further. "Sire, I only just—"

The tablet flew across the room.

It slammed into the wall and shattered into dozens of pieces, the sound echoing through the study. Neither man moved as fragments of glass slid across the polished floor.

Dorian’s jaw tightened. This had become far more complicated than he had anticipated.

Why Fitzgerald?

Out of every man in the world, why had she chosen a Rathbourne? She could have hidden behind anyone else. Instead, she had dragged one of the most powerful families in the country into this.

"And now..." he muttered. He turned sharply toward his assistant. "Make certain every recording from the jet hangar has been erased."

His voice remained calm.

"I want every second of footage reviewed. If anyone can trace our people to that aircraft..."

He looked the assistant straight in the eye.

"...erase it. Now."

The assistant bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the floor before rushing from the room.

Dorian began pacing in slow, measured steps, his mind abandoning anger for calculation. Catherine had returned only yesterday. Earlier today, he had slipped his own men among the mechanics servicing her family’s jet. If even one camera had captured them, William Rathbourne would eventually find it.

He stopped in front of the window.

There was only one way to bury the truth beneath something far bigger.

A slow smirk spread across his face.

He dialed Jonathan Vale.

"Prepare a press conference for tomorrow."

"Sir?" Jonathan replied, confused.

"We’re announcing that we’ve developed the cure for Alzheimer’s."

There was a stunned silence.

"But, Sir... we haven’t even completed the animal trials. The results are still inconsistent—"

"I don’t care." Dorian’s voice was as cold as ice. "I will not allow any mistakes."

He ended the call before Jonathan could speak again.

When he looked up, his assistant had already returned, waiting silently by the door. "Book me a meeting with William Rathbourne tomorrow morning."

The assistant hesitated for only a fraction of a second.

"Yes, Sire."

He bowed deeply before leaving once more, already wondering how he was supposed to secure an audience with the head of the Rathbourne family on such short notice.

Left alone again, Dorian looked out through the darkened windows.

If Catherine’s death threatened to become a scandal... He would simply give the entire nation something far bigger to talk about.

-----

The Rathbourne office looked more like the drawing room of an old aristocratic manor than the headquarters of one of the world’s largest conglomerates. Dark oak panels lined the walls, portraits of long-dead ancestors watched over the room, and towering windows filled it with muted morning light.

William Rathbourne sat behind his desk, dressed entirely in black.

Across from him, Helena sat in matching mourning clothes. Her hands rested neatly on her lap, her expression composed despite the grief lingering in her eyes.

"I heard the news," Dorian said as he took his seat. "My condolences."

William gave a single nod. "Condolences for your fiancée as well," he said.

Dorian acknowledged it with the slightest inclination of his head.

Silence settled between them. Neither seemed inclined to revisit the circumstances surrounding the previous night.

Helena quietly lifted a handkerchief, catching a tear before it could escape. She drew in a slow breath and lowered her hand again, refusing to let herself break.

Dorian expected nothing less.

People like them did not allow grief to stop business. It was precisely because they could bury their emotions beneath responsibility that the Rathbournes had built an empire spanning continents.

"This is an unfortunate time," Dorian continued. "I won’t keep you long."

He lowered his eyes for a moment, feigning sorrow.

"Fitzgerald and I had been discussing this project for months." A pause. "I only wish he were here to see it."

He slid a leather folder across the polished desk. "I’d like Polaris Incorporated to join us."

William opened the file without a word. His eyes moved steadily across the pages.

"A cure for Alzheimer’s," he said after a moment. "The last report I received placed it firmly in the research phase."

"We’ve progressed much faster than expected." Dorian folded his hands together. "The animal trials have exceeded every projection. I’ll be announcing the breakthrough this afternoon. No one outside this room knows yet."

William continued reading.

"You approached us first."

"Our logistics, manufacturing capacity, and international supply chains," Dorian continued smoothly, "combined with Polaris’ global distribution network... we’d be able to bring treatment to the market years ahead of anyone else."

He leaned back.

"It would be the largest pharmaceutical partnership in recent history."

William finally closed the folder.

"What level of investment are you seeking," he asked evenly, "in addition to logistics and manufacturing?"

Dorian allowed himself the smallest smile. Exactly as expected.

Before he could answer... The office doors burst open.

"Sir, you can’t go in—"

William’s assistant stumbled after the young man who had shoved past him. Timothy Rathbourne stormed into the office, clutching a tablet in one hand.

"Father, I found—"

The words died in his throat. His eyes locked onto Dorian.

For one heartbeat, the room fell completely silent.

Then Timothy crossed the distance in two strides and threw a punch. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Dorian shifted aside just in time. The punch sliced through empty air.

"Timothy."

William’s voice was calm. Firm.

Timothy froze, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale from exhaustion and grief.

"Be respectful to our guest."

Timothy slowly turned toward his father, disbelief written across his face.

"Guest?"

His voice cracked.

"He’s the one who killed Fitzgerald."

He held up the tablet with trembling hands.

"I have proof."

Helena’s head snapped toward her younger son.

William’s gaze finally lifted from Dorian and settled on Timothy.

For the first time since the meeting began...

The room felt truly dangerous.

William accepted the tablet from Timothy and studied every page with the same composure he had shown while reviewing the Alzheimer’s proposal moments earlier.

He neither frowned nor spoke. When he finished, he returned the tablet to Timothy before folding his hands neatly on the desk.

His gaze rested on Dorian.

"I trust," he said evenly, "that there is an explanation for what my son has just alleged."