Shackled To The Enemy King-Chapter 31: Her Name

Maximilian’s fingers trembled in pain, his jaw was clenched so hard it looked painful. Still, he didn’t move away.

"Have you lost your mind?" he demanded, voice low and dangerous, vibrating straight through her. "You think I’d stand here and watch you mutilate yourself?"

His face was inches from hers. His warm breath brushed her lips unevenly. His eyes were dark, burning, searching her as if she were the only thing anchoring him to this world.

"I won’t stand here and watch you hurt yourself," he said fiercely, each word carved with restraint. "Not over me."

His words sounded like care... like a promise.

Catherine shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge. She could see it now... how pale he looked, the tension on his shoulders and muscles, and the pain radiating off him even as he held her there like a shield.

"Don’t you want this too?" she shouted, voice cracking. "Don’t you want to be free of the pain?"

For a split second, something raw flickered across his eyes. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Then he laughed...low, breathless, almost bitter.

"Of course, I do," he said hoarsely. "I want it so badly I can taste it. Do you think I want to be with you when you’re willing to go this far to get away from me?" His forehead dropped to hers, not touching, but close enough that the heat between them felt dangerous, close enough for the tip of his hair to brush her forehead. "But not like this. Not by watching you bleed."

His grip softened just a fraction, enough to feel the tremor in his hands.

"You think freedom is worth your body?" he continued, voice cracking despite his effort to keep it steady. "You think I’d survive knowing I was the reason you did that to yourself?"

Her chest rose sharply. "You don’t get to decide that."

Her hands began to shake now, not out of fear, not out of anger... but something else. Why did he sound as if he cared for her? What was his endgame?

"No," he agreed quietly. "But I get to stop it."

His thumb brushed her waist... an accidental, devastating touch... and he froze, breath catching as if he’d crossed a line he hadn’t meant to.

"If pain is the price," he said quietly, eyes locking onto hers with frightening steadiness, "then I’ll pay it. Every time. But I won’t let you destroy yourself just to escape me."

Catherine stared at him.

Really stared.

At the stiffness in his shoulders. At the deliberate calm in his voice, as if every word had been wrestled into submission. At the faint twitch of his lips that was so slight it might have been nothing, except she knew better. He was holding something back. Something that hurt far more than the invisible blade twisting in his chest.

She couldn’t tell if it was pain.

Or care.

For one reckless, idiotic moment... she almost believed him.

Then she grabbed his collar and shoved.

"Save your concern for your wife, Professor," she snapped, pushing again. "Don’t waste it on me."

He didn’t move.

Not even an inch, as if stepping back would mean letting her break herself.

He stood there, tall, immovable, and infuriatingly solid, like a mountain that had personally decided she was not getting past it today.

"Wife?" he echoed, breath hitching as he rubbed his chest. His brows drew together, eyes shifting as something clicked into place. He opened his mouth, closed it again, clearly derailed.

"Charlotte..." He gestured weakly toward the bedroom.

"Charlotte?" Catherine repeated, lips curling. "Your wife?"

Of course. Even in this life. Of course, he had married the woman he loved.

Her heart burned.

"N-Niece," Maximilian managed, clutching his chest harder.

Catherine squinted. Niece? And the baby was named Charlotte?

Before she could demand answers, he scoffed softly and leaned forward, forehead nearly brushing her shoulder, breath warm against her neck.

She shoved him back instantly.

No. Absolutely not. Her lower abdomen pulsed traitorously at the contact, and she hated herself for it.

He straightened, color returning to his face, eyes sharpening with something dangerously alert.

"You thought I was married?" he asked, incredulous. "I confessed to you—today—and you—You thought I had a wife and a baby?"

Catherine nodded stiffly. In hindsight, the temporary bassinet clashing violently with the decor should have been a clue.

"I’m honestly impressed I haven’t killed you yet," she said coolly. "The bracelet saved your life, Professor."

"Goodness gracious," he muttered, then looked at her properly, eyes filled with a rare, almost boyish exasperation. "You really don’t have an ounce of goodwill toward me, do you?"

She shrugged. Silence was kinder than honesty.

He exhaled deeply as the pain twisting his heart finally loosened. "I’m not married. Never was." He met her gaze, calm to the point of audacity.

"Now that that’s cleared up..." he said, clearly not serious... and yet entirely serious. "Will you be my wife?"

Catherine rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw the back of her skull.

Easy for him to say.

He caught it instantly and pivoted, smoothly and strategically.

"I have a way," he said, gesturing to the bracelet. "Better than cutting off your hand. Still painful."

"Pain doesn’t scare me."

"Dislocating your thumb," he said evenly. "It might work."

"Let’s try."

No hesitation. No fear. Just iron resolve.

Something eased in his chest, something he didn’t welcome.

"I’ll do it," he said quietly. "Give me your hand."

She did.

He paused. Studied her clenched jaw, her fierce bravery. Too much woman. Brilliant. Terrifying.

"Close your eyes," he murmured... too soft, too intimate.

She did.

The air tightened.

She could hear his breath, feel the heat of his hand around hers. She braced herself. She knew he could do it. She’d died by his hands once already. Dislocating a finger would be nothing for him.

She waited.

And waited.

"Katerina..."

Her name—that name—rolled from his lips low and intimate, roughened with something ancient and aching. Like a vow whispered in the dark. Like a man calling his beloved across lifetimes.

She faltered. Her heart pounded.

Then... before she could open her eyes...

Pain came.

Not on her hand. Right on her nose.

She yelped.

That bastard had bitten her.

Hard.