Shackled To The Enemy King-Chapter 48: Warping Rules, Fracturing Logic

Catherine felt something off. The air behind her felt emptier.

Catherine slowed. Then stopped.

She turned.

Five meters.

Five precious meters of space lay between them.

Her lips curved into a bright, satisfied smile.

Maximilian halted instinctively, less because she had stopped, and more because of that smile.

The evening sun hung low, pale gold against the early winter sky. It caught in her hair, revealing hidden strands of red beneath the dark... like embers stirred awake by light. Her eyes reflected the glow, warm and golden, softened by the chill in the air. And her smile...

God.

He wanted to die watching that smile.

Not dramatically. Not painfully.

Just... right there. In that quiet moment. Preserved forever.

Then understanding struck him.

The reason for her happiness.

The distance.

The physical space she had so deliberately widened.

Something in his chest tightened. Just a little.

It stung, but not enough to erase the smile that followed. He smiled back, genuine, unguarded.

They had shared something earlier. A moment. She’d laughed without thinking about the past. She’d leaned close. Her heart must have moved toward him... at least a little.

An inch? No, that was too hopeful.

A centimeter, then.

...A millimeter.

A micron.

Yes. That sounded about right.

But even that was enough.

Little by little, she would come closer. And until then, he would stay right there... by her side, at whatever distance she allowed.

"I think we don’t have to kiss."

Her voice broke into his thoughts. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

Maximilian looked up sharply.

"You think so?"

Catherine had gone serious, brows drawn together as if she were unraveling a theorem. "Just think about it," she said. "This curse... it was created centuries ago. Back then, kissing wasn’t something lovers did casually. Kissing and intimacy were reserved for marriage."

She paced a step, thinking aloud. "Even hugging was considered immodest. Lovers didn’t... touch like they do now."

She stopped again, eyes distant.

"We were just talking," she said slowly. "That’s probably what lovers did back then. Spent time together. Spoke. That would be considered intimacy by the curse. And then the distance widened."

Maximilian’s hand rose unconsciously to his chest.

It felt... strange.

So from now on, when she spoke to him, when she stayed, and when she shared space... it meant she was actively trying to widen the distance?

Not enjoying him.

Not choosing him.

Why did his life feel like it was descending into hell one misunderstanding at a time?

He wanted that bracelet gone. Desperately. So he could court her properly. So he could step forward without calculation or restraint.

But for now...

He had no choice.

"I guess so," he said quietly, carefully masking the ache beneath his words.

Can this get any worse?

Catherine, however, was content.

As long as she focused on avoiding anything that resembled intimacy, anything lovers might do, she would be free of him. Free of the curse. Free of that dangerous closeness.

She had already forgotten the third thing the woman had mentioned.

Confront the truth.

Deliberately, Catherine widened the distance between them and savored it. The air felt lighter. The sky brighter. Only then did she notice the butterflies drifting lazily through the neighborhood, pale wings fluttering near the brownstones. Each house had neat steps leading upward, identical railings lined in quiet symmetry.

She had never understood the appeal of small homes crammed into the heart of a city: why live boxed in when acres of open land existed?

Yet today, the brownstones looked... beautiful.

They picked up the baby from daycare and began the walk home. They were only a few blocks from Maximilian’s place when the sensation returned.

The burn.

Familiar. Crawling. Unmistakable.

Catherine stopped short and turned.

He was four meters behind her.

Her breath caught.

She shouldn’t be feeling this. The distance was there. The rules were clear. She had figured the curse out.

The burn intensified anyway.

Her heart thudded wildly as Maximilian frowned and instinctively walked closer.

"No," she whispered.

Two meters.

The distance snapped back... sharp and final.

Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them.

"Catherine—" Maximilian began.

"Do. Not. Say. A. Word," she said, teeth clenched, voice trembling with restraint rather than weakness.

The rest of the walk passed in silence.

They reached home.

And for the first time since learning the rules of the curse, Catherine understood something far more terrifying than distance.

Whatever bound them was no longer obeying her logic.

"Should we have sex?" she asked.

She didn’t look at him.

The word itself left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Sex.

She had never truly understood its appeal. In her past life, it had been intriguing only in theory—something powerful enough that people betrayed vows, kingdoms, even gods for it. She had imagined it must be extraordinary.

Then she had married.

And beyond procreation, she had found nothing there. No revelation. No transcendence.

Something useful only in imagination. Nothing more.

Others called it sacred. Intimate. A bond.

If that was true, then so be it.

If the curse demanded her body as payment, she would give it once... just once... if it meant reclaiming her autonomy.

Maximilian reacted before he even realized what he was doing, gently covering the baby’s ears. The child was barely forty days old, far too young to understand anything, but instinct overrode reason.

He swallowed.

"Do you really want to?" he asked.

The pain in his chest flared sharply, unmistakable. The curse hurt, but this was different. This was her hurting. His heart hurt too.

Catherine lowered her gaze.

Her hands curled into fists so tight her knuckles paled.

She didn’t answer.

Because wanting had nothing to do with it.

-----

Meanwhile, William Preston, Catherine’s older brother, received a call just as he was about to go to bed.

The words on the other end landed like a gunshot.

"They’ve issued a temporary suspension of the Interstate Commerce License."

William was on his feet instantly.

Cold calculation kicked in even as dread flooded his veins. A suspension like that didn’t merely slow operations—it paralyzed them. Ninety percent of their product volume was locked in place. Contracts would auto-fail within hours. Export partners would cancel without hesitation. Any shipment already on trucks crossing state lines would be forced to turn back, missing delivery windows, leading to spoilage.

Millions in losses.

In a single day.

And tomorrow would be worse.

His hand tightened around the phone as he immediately dialed a familiar number. The senator’s private line. The one no one else had.

He had helped put that man in office.

The phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Then went to voicemail.

William exhaled sharply, fury coiling tight in his chest.

He tried again.

Nothing.

The silence was louder than any refusal.

"F*cking Calhoun," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. The senator was closer to Calhoun, and he had picked a side.

This wasn’t an accident.

He pulled this trigger not to aim at a company.

He was aiming at the Prestons.