Shackled To The Enemy King-Chapter 118: Happy Father, Happy Family

"Bitty Bean..." James held Catherine’s hand.

His voice wasn’t weak. It wasn’t tired either. It sounded almost normal, like the same steady voice that had called her that nickname her entire life.

"Where’s that young man?" he asked.

Catherine blinked. "What young man?"

Was he asking about Maximilian?

James squeezed her fingers lightly. "I had a dream during surgery... and it upset me."

Catherine’s heart immediately began pounding.

A dream... about Maximilian?

"What kind of dream?" she asked carefully.

James frowned slightly, as if trying to piece it together.

"I was standing there," he said slowly. "Champagne in my hand... ready to give a toast at your wedding."

Catherine froze.

"And," James continued gravely, "I realized I didn’t know the groom’s name."

"Daddy!" Catherine burst out, releasing the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Her shoulders slumped. "You called me in here for that?"

She stood up, pouting in full force. "I thought something serious happened!"

Behind her, Miranda chuckled and quietly slipped out of the room.

"You don’t understand the gravity of the situation, Bitty Bean," James said, shaking his head. "I was the father of the bride. Everyone was staring at me."

He paused dramatically. "And I didn’t know my own son-in-law’s name."

Catherine crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

James ignored her.

"And the worst part?" he continued. "I wasn’t even drunk."

That earned a laugh from William and Bobby near the door.

"That thought followed me through the entire surgery," James said, smiling faintly, "I needed to wake up and ask that young man his name."

Catherine stared at him. "You fought through anesthesia for that?"

James nodded solemnly. "Yes."

Catherine groaned and covered her face. "Who’s even marrying him?" she muttered. "Daddy, I’m twenty-one." She pointed toward the door dramatically. "I refuse to marry before Alexander. Why does he get a pass?"

Right on cue, Maximilian stepped into the room. Miranda followed behind him, looking far too pleased with herself.

"You heard your sister, Alex," she said sweetly, glancing at Alexander. "When are you getting married?"

Alexander immediately raised both hands. "Leave me out of this."

He turned and walked right back out of the room like a man surrendering on a battlefield.

Miranda burst into laughter.

The others followed.

Catherine turned and glared at Maximilian, who had the audacity to laugh along with them.

Traitor.

Still smiling, Maximilian stepped toward James’ bedside.

"You haven’t introduced yourself," Catherine said pointedly.

"Oh."

Maximilian straightened immediately.

"My apologies." He leaned forward politely. "I’m Maximilian Whitmore, sir. It’s an honor to meet you."

Catherine nearly rolled her eyes. That charming smile again. How was it so effortless for him?

"Maximilian Whitmore..." James repeated thoughtfully, patting his hand.

"I must admit," James said, squinting at him, "I expected something more... Roman."

Maximilian blinked. "Roman?"

"Yes," James said. "Marcus. Julius. Something like that."

The room chuckled.

"Our Catherine always had a thing for royal families," James added, winking. "When she was little, nothing could hold her attention."

He pointed at her.

"But a royal wedding? That girl sat through the entire broadcast without even asking for snacks."

"That was once, Daddy," Catherine protested. "He’s actually a direct descendant of our twenty-seventh president," she added before she could stop herself.

James blinked. Then he nodded. "See? Close enough."

The room burst into laughter again.

Catherine immediately regretted opening her mouth.

James squeezed Maximilian’s hand again. "Maximilian... Max..."

"How are you feeling, sir?" Maximilian asked gently.

"Me?" James chuckled.

He looked around the room.

"My children get along." He pointed toward the hallway. "I’ve got a busload of grandkids and a minivan full of great-grandkids."

He smiled warmly. "I’m the most blessed man in the world."

Maximilian nodded respectfully. "Indeed, sir."

There was something deeply sincere in his tone. Because after brushing against death, a man’s priorities became very clear. And James Preston was clearly a rich man in the only way that truly mattered.

"Eleven grandkids is not a busload, Daddy," Catherine corrected.

"You can fix that," James replied instantly.

He gave her a meaningful look. "Once I walk you down the aisle."

Catherine sighed. She had walked right into that one.

"How come you never ask Alexander anything?" she protested. "He’s thirty-four!"

She pointed dramatically at the door again. "He could have had at least five kids by now!"

Right at that moment, Alexander reappeared in the doorway... and immediately turned around and left again.

The room exploded with laughter.

Catherine folded her arms.

Is this what middle-child aura feels like? she wondered. Just invisible until someone needs to tease you?

"I may have to walk Alexander down the aisle too," James added thoughtfully.

The room went silent for half a second. Then everyone burst into uncontrollable laughter. Sophia rushed out into the hallway and dragged Alexander back inside to tell him.

The moment he heard it, Alexander’s face went completely pale.

Catherine lost it. She laughed so hard that tears formed in her eyes.

So that was it. Her father had just casually decided Alexander might be gay.

And now the entire room was roaring with laughter while Alexander looked like a man reconsidering all his life choices.

-----

It was ten in the morning when Dorian received the summons.

He had just rolled into the office building, ready to begin the day’s work, when the message arrived. Without hesitation, he turned around and changed direction.

Toward the Blackwood estate.

The mansion stood on the outskirts of Meridon, sprawling across acres of manicured land. Trimmed hedges lined the winding drive. Marble fountains glittered under the morning sun. Flower beds burst with color, and the lawns stretched endlessly, cut so evenly they looked almost painted.

Peacocks wandered freely across the grass outside Edward Blackwood’s private wing. Exotic pigeons strutted nearby, and rare ornamental chickens pecked lazily in the shade.

To any outsider, it looked peaceful.

Dorian knew better.

As he stepped out of the car, he rolled his shoulders once. He knew exactly what he was walking into.

Yesterday, he had abandoned all his work to search for Catherine. He had chased her across cities, ignored his responsibilities, and finally caused a scene at the hospital.

His grandfather would not overlook that.

The mansion’s interior was as grand as ever—marble floors polished to a mirror shine, towering glass chandeliers dripping with light, painted ceilings, and intricately carved wood lining the walls.

But none of it softened the tension that filled the air.