Chapter 296: Facing The Truth

For the first time that day, fear seized Dorian.

They’re actually going to kill me.

He looked around wildly. Cameras were everywhere, reporters packed tightly around the entrance, their phones raised, their microphones thrust forward. Dozens of people were recording him from every angle.

And then Dorian understood.

They couldn’t kill him here.

Not with this many cameras watching.

His fear disappeared beneath calculation almost instantly. He seized the nearest reporter by the arm, making the man stumble toward him.

"You want an interview?"

The reporter blinked.

Dorian released him and turned toward the cameras, forcing his expression into something approaching composure. "Ask me your questions. Right here."

That was all it took.

Another reporter surged forward.

"Mr. Blackwood, did Catherine Preston really—"

"Ask me."

Three more cameras appeared. Then ten. The reporters smelled blood, and within seconds, a dozen microphones were being thrust toward him.

"Did you know Catherine was alive?"

"Did BioQuant falsify its research?"

"Did you have anything to do with the jet explosion?"

"Are you resigning?"

"Did you steal Dr. Preston’s research?"

The crowd pressed around Dorian, and the men with the blades began to retreat. They couldn’t reach him now. Not without exposing themselves to dozens of cameras.

Dorian kept moving, straight through the middle of the reporters, his security team struggling to clear a path.

He didn’t answer a single question.

He didn’t need to.

The cameras followed him all the way into the building.

The moment the doors closed behind him, Dorian’s mask cracked.

"Security!"

His security team came running.

"Get them out."

The reporters immediately protested.

"Mr. Blackwood, one more question!"

"What happened between you and Catherine Preston?"

"What do you think about the accusations of killing your grandfather?"

"Are those videos true, Mr. Blackwood? Did you really order the death of that woman?"

"Any comments about the stocks falling?"

Security forced the press back toward the entrance while Dorian walked toward the elevators.

Then he stopped.

The main elevators would be crowded with reporters, and there was no guarantee they wouldn’t follow him the moment security lost control of the lobby. He turned sharply and headed for the service corridor instead.

A janitor pushing a cart froze when she saw him. Dorian cleared his throat and waited for the elevator, straightening his coat as though the small gesture could restore some semblance of dignity.

The doors opened.

He stepped inside.

The janitor hesitated at the entrance, but one look at Dorian’s face made her think better of joining him. The doors slid shut, and the service elevator began its descent.

When they opened again, silence greeted him. There were no reporters, no cameras, and no men with knives.

Dorian crossed the parking garage alone. He pulled out his phone and stared at the screen for a moment.

His driver.

His assistants.

His executives.

He could call any of them.

He put the phone away.

For years, he had surrounded himself with people who would do anything for him because they feared him and bowed to his money. But someone had secretly recorded that conference room. Someone had taken the footage and handed it to Catherine’s family.

Was he not fearsome enough anymore?

The thought sent a cold unease through him.

For the first time, Dorian wasn’t sure which of the people around him were loyal and which were simply waiting for the right moment to betray him.

He walked out onto the street, raised a hand, and hailed an ordinary cab. When it stopped, he climbed into the back seat alone.

The cab smelled of stale upholstery and something Dorian couldn’t identify. He hated it immediately. Everything about the vehicle felt cheap and unfamiliar, and under different circumstances he would have stepped out without hesitation.

But when he looked back, the entire street was filled with news vans and people with cameras.

"Move."

Only when the doors shut did he finally allow his rage to surface. His hands were trembling. His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

"That little—"

He stopped himself.

Outside, the city continued moving as though nothing had happened. Dorian stared through the window, breathing hard.

Catherine was alive.

His company was collapsing.

The FBI would soon be looking into BioQuant.

And now her family had apparently decided they wanted him dead.

For years, Dorian had believed wealth made him untouchable. Money bought lawyers, politicians, security, influence. It made problems disappear.

But sitting alone in an ordinary cab, with no driver he trusted and no security detail around him, he felt something he had never truly understood before.

He was rich.

And suddenly, he was vulnerable.

For the first time, Dorian understood that losing BioQuant might be the least of his problems.

-----

Back in the hotel room...

Catherine hugged Maximilian tighter, burying her face against his chest. His familiar scent filled her lungs, and for a moment, everything else—the reporters, Dorian, BioQuant, the years of pain—seemed impossibly far away.

"God... I missed your scent so much," she murmured.

Maximilian smiled and gently ran his fingers through her hair. He had missed this too—the softness of it beneath his fingertips, the way she instinctively curled into him whenever she was overwhelmed.

"I heard you say that I don’t smell like myself anymore."

Catherine’s head snapped up.

"You did?"

She searched his face, her eyes widening. She had heard stories of people in comas hearing voices around them, but Maximilian had woken speaking Latin. She had never known how much of what happened around him had reached him.

"What was it like?" she asked softly. "Where were you?"

A faint, almost wistful smile touched his lips.

"Back in Elyndra," he said. "Living the life we never got to have last time."

His fingers brushed her cheek, and his expression softened.

"You were the Queen, and I was your consort. You attended banquets and balls while I dealt with the kingdom. We ruled together."

His smile grew warmer.

"Oh, Catherine... it felt so real."

She stared at him, barely breathing.

"We had two children," he continued. "A prince and a princess. They were always running through the palace corridors, driving everyone mad."

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"And you made me apple pie."

Catherine’s lips trembled into a smile, even as tears gathered in her eyes.

"Apple pie?"

"The best apple pie I’ve ever tasted."

She laughed softly through her tears.

But the smile slowly faded from Maximilian’s face. "Sometimes, though, I heard your voice."

Catherine went still.

"And then I was back on the battlefield."

His hand moved to his chest, his fingers pressing against his heart.

"I thought those memories were nightmares. But they weren’t, were they?"

Catherine’s throat tightened.

"The life I thought I had dreamed... was not a dream..." His voice dropped. "That was the truth—the battlefield. You. Dorian. Everything that happened to us."

His expression twisted with something deeper than grief.

"It wasn’t acceptable," he whispered. "Not then. Not ever. I wanted to stop you. But I couldn’t move."

Catherine lowered her gaze.

If he had heard her voice while he was unconscious...

Then he might have heard everything.

He might have heard her telling him that Dorian had started to slip into her bed.

Her stomach twisted.

She had gone to Dorian with a purpose. She had intended to deceive him, gain his trust, and destroy him from within. She had never wanted him. Not for a second.

But what did that matter when Maximilian had heard her say those things?

She had been engaged to Dorian. The entire world had believed she was his fiancée.

What had she done?

The guilt she had managed to bury beneath strategy and survival suddenly rose to the surface.

She couldn’t bring herself to meet Maximilian’s eyes.

Then his voice softened as he reached for the collar of her shirt.

"Catherine..."

She swallowed.

"Let me see you."

Her heart skipped.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to his.

Did he want to know?

Did he want to see whether she had actually slept with Dorian?

Her fingers curled nervously against her skirt.

And suddenly, the thought of having to tell Maximilian everything felt far more frightening than facing Dorian ever had.