Chapter 295: Reunion And Fear

Maximilian was using the laptop.

Catherine had taught him how to watch live streams, but what he was doing now didn’t look like watching a stream at all. His fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced ease, his attention fixed on whatever was displayed on the screen, and there was a familiar concentration in his expression that made her heart skip.

He looked like Professor Maximilian.

Her Professor Maximilian Whitmore.

For a moment, everything else in the room disappeared. The reporters were still calling her name and throwing questions at her, waiting for answers, but Catherine could barely hear them. Her eyes remained fixed on Maximilian as she tried to understand what she was seeing.

Sebastian noticed her distraction and smoothly stepped in, taking over the microphone with Bernice beside him.

"Our immediate focus will remain on Alzheimer’s detection research and, ultimately, developing an effective treatment for patients identified in the earliest stages of the disease," he said. "As for Dr. Preston’s initiative, we’re already putting the necessary arrangements in place. We’ll be working with intellectual-property lawyers and legal organizations to help researchers who cannot afford to defend their work themselves. We’ll give out the details soon."

The reporters turned their attention toward Sebastian, giving Catherine the opening she needed. She stepped down from the platform and slowly made her way toward the back of the hall, still watching Maximilian whenever she could.

Her phone rang.

Jonathan.

She answered immediately. "What happened?"

"He’s done it, Cathy," Jonathan said, and there was barely concealed excitement in his voice. "He sold part of his holdings. BioQuant’s stock is falling faster now. It’s becoming unsustainable. If this continues, they may have to declare bankruptcy."

Catherine stopped in her tracks.

Her eyes widened as she searched the room for Maximilian.

She had deliberately stayed away from his investments. Selling his shares without his explicit decision would have been a serious violation of his rights, and she would never have taken that choice away from him simply because she believed she knew what he wanted. She had left that weapon untouched.

Which meant...

Her breath caught.

He did it.

Maximilian had done it himself.

Her Maximilian was back.

She looked toward the rear of the hall, and there he was, standing near the back door with his laptop tucked beneath his arm. He caught her staring at him and smiled.

It was such a familiar smile that Catherine’s heart seemed to stop.

Catherine rushed after him, but by the time she reached the corridor, his tall figure had disappeared. She looked left, then right, her heart pounding as she tried to spot him among the people moving through the building.

Then a hand suddenly reached out from an open doorway and caught her by the wrist.

Catherine gasped as she was pulled inside. Her back met a familiar chest, solid and warm, and before she could even react, that familiar scent surrounded her.

She knew him.

She turned quickly.

Maximilian.

For a moment, she could only stare at him. Her eyes immediately filled with tears, and her lips trembled into a smile that she couldn’t contain.

"You..." Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard and stepped closer. "You remember, don’t you?"

Maximilian’s lips curved.

"Remember what?"

Catherine’s eyes widened.

She stared at him as though she couldn’t believe he was doing this to her.

"Everything."

"Everything?" His expression remained perfectly innocent. "Like...?"

"Maximilian!" Catherine stamped her foot, half laughing and half crying.

He finally chuckled, unable to keep the teasing expression any longer.

Catherine reached up and cupped his face between both hands, her fingers trembling against his cheeks. She searched his eyes desperately, as though she needed to hear the answer from him before she could allow herself to believe it.

"Tell me the last thing you remember, Maximilian," she whispered. "Before you put yourself between death and me..."

Her voice faltered at the memory.

Maximilian’s teasing faded immediately.

He had wanted to make her squirm for another moment, but the tenderness in her eyes stopped him. She wasn’t merely curious. She had been waiting for this answer with her whole heart.

"You said my name," he said softly. "For the first time."

Catherine’s breath caught.

Before he could say anything more, she rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him.

Maximilian caught her instinctively, one hand settling around her waist as she wrapped her arms around him. The kiss was filled with everything she hadn’t been able to say—the relief, the joy, the years of loving him across two lives, and the overwhelming certainty that the man standing in front of her was finally himself again.

When she finally pulled away, tears were still running down her cheeks.

She buried her face against his chest and held him tightly, as though she needed to make sure he was truly there.

Maximilian wrapped both arms around her and held her close. He could feel how hard her heart was beating against him, could feel the way her fingers tightened in his jacket as if she were afraid that if she let go, she might wake up and discover it had all been a dream.

He knew Catherine would have loved him even if he never remembered. He knew she would have stood beside him regardless.

But the strength of that embrace told him something she might never have admitted aloud.

She had wanted him to remember. She had wanted her Maximilian back.

He lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. "You did it, Catherine," he murmured. "You brought him down."

Catherine lifted her tearful face.

"And you saw it."

There was such happiness in her voice that Maximilian almost smiled.

Of everything that had happened that day—the collapsing stock, the exposed research, Dorian’s humiliation, the reporters, the victory—she seemed happiest that he had been there to see her win.

"I did," he said softly.

She smiled through her tears, then rested her forehead against his chest for a moment.

"It isn’t finished yet."

Maximilian nodded.

"I know."

There were still pieces to put into place. A few final moves remained, and he already knew what he needed to do.

He brushed his thumb gently beneath her eye, wiping away the last tear.

"Then let’s finish it."

-----

Dorian tried to slip out quietly through the back entrance, hoping to avoid the cameras waiting outside the main hall.

It didn’t matter.

The moment he stepped through the doors, reporters swarmed him. Cameras were thrust into his face from every direction, microphones following him as security tried to carve a path through the crowd.

"Mr. Blackwood, did BioQuant falsify its research?"

"Did you know the clinical data was flawed?"

"Were you responsible for suppressing Dr. Preston’s research?"

"Did you know Catherine Preston was alive?"

Dorian gritted his teeth and kept walking.

"Move," he snapped at his security detail.

They tried.

Then a plastic cup flew through the air and splattered across his suit.

Cold milkshake dripped down his lapel.

Dorian stopped dead.

"Get this crowd under control!"

Before security could react, a half-eaten sandwich struck his shoulder and slid down his jacket.

"Monster!"

"Fraud!"

"Is this the only research you falsified?"

"Did you try to kill your fiancée?"

Dorian’s face burned with humiliation. He wiped the milkshake from his cheek, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

He needed to get out.

Now.

His security finally forced open a narrow path, and Dorian pushed forward, keeping his head lowered as cameras continued flashing around him.

Then something caught his eye.

A tattoo.

He froze for half a second.

Another man stood several feet away, wearing a similar mark.

Then another.

Dorian’s stomach tightened.

Those weren’t journalists. He had seen men like them before.

Gang members.

His gaze darted through the crowd. More of them were scattered among the reporters, deliberately positioned around the exit.

"Damn that brother of hers," Dorian muttered beneath his breath.

Robert "Bobby" Preston.

Of course.

He should have known that man wouldn’t be satisfied with destroying him in courtrooms and boardrooms.

Dorian took a step backward.

One of the men moved with him. Another shifted to block the space behind him.

His security detail noticed the movement too late.

Dorian’s gaze dropped.

A man near the edge of the crowd was holding a box cutter. The blade caught the light. His blood ran cold.

Blades.

There would be others.

And these weren’t amateurs. If Bobby had sent them, they would know exactly where to strike, how deep to cut, and how quickly to disappear into the chaos before anyone understood what had happened.

Dorian’s breathing became shallow.

The crowd seemed to close around him.

For the first time that day, the cameras and accusations didn’t matter. Neither did BioQuant, the falling stock, or the billions he might lose.

He could lose everything and rebuild.

But if these men reached him, there would be nothing left to rebuild.

His heart hammered against his ribs.

Is this how I’m going to die?

Fear seized him so violently that for a moment he could barely breathe.

And somewhere beneath the fury, beneath the disbelief and humiliation, Dorian realized something he had not felt in years.

He was afraid.