Alexander glared at her. "He rescued you last night," he repeated.
Catherine let out a slow breath.
So. I failed.
What is Maximilian planning this time, she wondered grimly, pretending to be my rescuer?
"Why was he beside me?" Catherine asked, suspicion edging her tone. "Too busy to care for your sister?"
Alexander sighed. "He came to check on you. I stepped out for a moment to talk to the doctor."
Catherine turned her face away. Was that convincing? Not really. But one thing was clear.
Her usually skeptical brother, who refused to let any man near her, had trusted that man enough to leave him alone in her room while she was unconscious.
That was… concerning.
"His hand needed seven stitches," Alexander added, as if reading her mind.
She didn't know, yet, that Maximilian had every right to press charges, and that Alexander was quietly working to prevent that.
"I should've aimed for his neck," Catherine muttered.
Alexander heard her. He chose silence.
"What's his name?" she asked at last.
"Maximilian," Alexander replied. "Maximilian Whitmore."
A wry laugh slipped from her lips. Even the name matched.
If he remembers too…
She pushed the thought away. She didn't want her family anywhere near that man. She had experience dealing with that monster.
And if she had to face him again in this life… she would. On her own terms.
But before that…
"Is our family on the verge of bankruptcy?" she asked.
The question slipped out sharper than she intended. There had been no reason, no good reason, for her father to send her on a date with that man. Unless…
Alexander sighed, rubbing his forehead. She didn't need to explain why she was asking.
"Jeremiah Calhoun is Dad's friend," he said. "The Calhoun family is going under, and…" He paused, then added quietly, "You know Dad."
She did.
Their father valued loyalty and family above all else. He must have thought that marrying his precious daughter into an old friend's family would secure her future, while saving his friend at the same time. He had done the same years ago with their eldest brother, arranging a marriage to help another family survive.
That one had worked out.
He must have believed this would too.
She didn't blame her father.
Too bad the son was a worthless piece of shit.
Catherine drew in a sharp breath, clenching her fists to keep her temper in check. She wouldn't have minded if their family had been the one on the brink. It was an old story. A familiar burden. Even in her past life, she had carried it.
But this…
"I have four brothers," she said through her teeth.
The anger only swelled the more she tried to contain it. When her past-life memories had returned, her greatest relief had been this: four older brothers. Four older brothers who treasured her. No matter what happened, the weight of the family would never fall on her shoulders.
That had been her solace.
And yet…
"You were all so busy," she shouted, her voice breaking as it rose, "you left me alone with that monster!"
How could they have let this happen?
Alexander closed his eyes and took a slow breath. He had been waiting for this… and he deserved it.
He wouldn't blame her. She was right.
He had failed her as an older brother.
One investigation. That was all it took. One look into Hilbert Calhoun's past, and the truth had been ugly and unmistakable. Catherine hadn't been the first woman. Not even close.
And yet, he had let her walk into that situation alone. He knew what their father's plans were, and he didn't do a basic check on the man she was going on a date with.
All she had done was obey their father.
And he had not protected her.
Alexander stood and pulled her into his arms. Even as Catherine struggled and shoved at his chest, he held her fast, pressing her against him as if letting go were no longer an option.
Alexander was thirteen the first time he held her.
A premature baby, born when their mother was forty-eight. The odds had never been in her favor. The doctors had said she wouldn't survive. Their father, stubborn and desperate, named her after famous queens: the conqueror Catherine the Great, and Queen Elizabeth the First, willing strength into her fragile lungs through history itself.
Their mother had been sick, her body barely enduring the pregnancy, but she had wanted only one thing: for the baby to live. And their father was by the side of his wife, the woman he had loved for almost four decades, helping through her recovery.
And Alexander, still a boy himself, was the first to hold the baby.
She was a little bigger than his palm. A scrap of warmth. A bean.
Too small for the wires draped over her, skin stretched thin and translucent, as if the world might tear her apart with a careless touch. Helpless. Tiny.
And in that moment, he had made a vow.
He would protect his baby sister for the rest of his life.
She had survived. Against every prediction.
And now, at thirty-four, he had broken that vow for the first time.
"It must have been scary being alone," he said softly, absorbing the blows that landed against his chest.
Catherine had always been too composed for her age, too controlled. If she was hitting him now, it meant the fear had finally cracked through. Trauma didn't scream politely.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there, Cathy Bean. I'm sorry I left you alone," he murmured, tightening his hold. "I'll make them pay."
Vengeance. It was the least he could offer her, and the only thing that eased the guilt clawing at his ribs.
He had seen the footage. He knew the truth.
If Maximilian Whitmore hadn't intervened… Alexander didn't know if he would be holding his sister at all.
Whoever he punished, it wouldn't be quiet. It wouldn't be subtle. It would be a message... one loud enough for every well-dressed predator in their circles to hear.
Catherine Elizabeth Preston is not prey.
She has a brother.
And he will burn the world for her.
Catherine's fists loosened. She wiped her tears against his chest, breathing him in. Yes, it had been terrifying. Yes, it had broken something in her.
But vengeance?
That, she understood.
Alexander eased back and handed her a glass of water. She drank obediently.
"I'll arrange the best doctor for you to talk to," he said.
Catherine immediately inhaled wrong and erupted into coughing. Alexander rubbed her back, scolding her under his breath.
"Talk to?" she croaked.
She had been a queen once. Walked battlefields slick with blood. Seen things people from this century would flinch away from and couldn't even imagine. She had managed to survive those conditions. And this…
A doctor?
To talk?
Absolutely not.
"Yeah," she said hoarsely, waving a hand in surrender. "Sure. Fine."
She absolutely would not survive talking about herself to another person. Never. Not in this life or the last. But Alexander would not let this go, and fighting him now would only prolong her suffering.
She would deal with that problem when she came to it. Preferably much, much later.
Meanwhile, outside, Duncan Wesley waited.
Unfortunate, overworked, but undeniably talented, Duncan had the unique honor of being the personal assistant to Alexander Hunter Preston. Or, as the political circles of Capitol Hill knew him, Hunter Alex.
He was not a man the public recognized. His face never appeared in newspapers. There were no interviews, no glossy profiles, no carefully curated scandals. And yet, anyone who held power, or hoped to keep it, knew his name.
They knew it the way one knows the sound of a storm before it arrives.
Hunter Alex was the attorney whispered about in private offices and sealed rooms. The one called when laws needed to bend without breaking. The one who never raised his voice, never made threats, and never lost. If he stood on the opposing side, careers ended quietly, fortunes collapsed neatly, and reputations died without ever making the evening news.
And inside that hospital room, that same man sat beside his sister's bed, speaking softly, holding her like she was made of glass.
Duncan waited, because he knew better than to interrupt.
When Alexander Hunter Preston emerged, someone's world was going to burn. Quite possibly several worlds. Very likely, this floor of the hospital.