Shackled To The Enemy King-Chapter 100: His Quiet Obsession

Catherine closed the album, her finger lingering on the baby photo pasted on the cover. Chubby cheeks. Defiant little grin. Eyes already too sharp for a child.

Her heart softened.

He had lost so much in this life. And she knew...she knew, she was one of the few things that made him genuinely happy for now.

Could she really walk away from that?

Her hand drifted to the bracelet. The metal felt warm now against her skin, almost alive.

It’s a pity, she thought quietly. If I didn’t remember my past...

Maximilian would have been perfect. Steady. Responsible. Devoted.

If only...

A loud crash shattered her thoughts.

"Mom! You will not believe what happened in Paris—"

Catherine blinked as a whirlwind of energy burst into the room.

Maximilian’s sister. Bright. Loud. Effortlessly alive.

"I’m Amelia!" the girl announced, thrusting out her hand before Catherine could even stand. She was practically bouncing in place, half-talking to her mother about Europe, half-staring at Catherine with open curiosity.

"Catherine," she replied, taking her hand.

Amelia gasped dramatically. "You’re so young! I thought Max would end up with someone his age—not someone this young!"

"Amelia," Eileen warned softly, but it was useless.

Words spilled out of her like fireworks.

"I named her after Amelia Earhart," Eileen added with a fond sigh. "She’s always had a free spirit."

That explained a lot.

Catherine laughed despite herself. Maybe if she hadn’t carried memories of war and loss and death into this life, she might have been like this too—reckless, spoiled, unburdened.

She glanced toward the kitchen.

Maximilian was plating dishes with quiet efficiency, sleeves rolled up, movements precise. There was something intimate about it, something steady and domestic.

For a split second, instinct pulled her to her feet. She almost went to help him.

Almost.

But she forced herself to stay seated. She wasn’t his girlfriend. She didn’t have that place in his life. She didn’t want that place in his life. Really.

Amelia soon drifted off to check on baby Charlotte. Catherine’s chest tightened. She had only known the baby a few days, yet parting with her had already felt heavier than expected.

But... Babies belonged with their mothers. That was what was best.

Still... She followed quietly.

Amelia stood near the crib, stiff.

"Oh—hi, Charlotte," she said awkwardly, as if addressing someone else’s child. When the baby flinched and let out a small sound, Amelia instinctively stepped back, afraid to touch, afraid to hold... Detached.

Catherine watched, something settling heavily inside her.

In the past, noblewomen had often left babies to wet nurses and governesses. Distance had been normal.

But this wasn’t the past. And this girl... no, this woman, who was possibly a couple years older than her...

"I kind of wish I could leave her with Max a little longer," Amelia admitted, brushing her hair back nervously.

Catherine didn’t even hesitate.

"Why not?" she asked immediately, almost as if she had been waiting for those words.

Amelia blinked at her.

And Catherine realized her heart had already made a quiet decision long before her mind caught up.

"You will? Are you serious?" Amelia grabbed Catherine’s hands dramatically. "Thank you!" she beamed. Then, as if she had handled her biggest fear, she relaxed.

"You’re Max’s first girlfriend, you know."

"I don’t think that’s true," Catherine replied lightly.

"Oh, it is. Well—almost." Amelia tilted her head. "He had one when he was fourteen. But after Dad..." Her voice dipped briefly before she recovered. "He broke up with her."

She turned toward the kitchen. "Hey, Max! Back then, you were always searching for someone, right? What was her name?"

Maximilian stiffened.

Catherine saw it instantly... that subtle tension in his shoulders, the warning look he shot his sister. But Amelia was unstoppable.

"I even wanted to name the baby after her," Amelia continued cheerfully. "But he refused! It was something like... Ka... Cha..." She poked his arm. "Tell me!"

Catherine smiled at first. Then the smile faded.

Her memories had returned after her mother’s death. Maximilian lost his father at sixteen.

Her pulse quickened.

Could it be...

"Was it Charlotte?" Catherine asked casually, though her heart was no longer calm.

Amelia shook her head. "No way. He despises that name."

Despises?

Catherine’s brows lifted slightly.

Amelia had named her baby Charlotte... and left the child with a brother who supposedly hated the name?

More importantly...

Why would Maximilian despise Charlotte?

Amelia had already rushed toward their mother. "Mom! Remember? Max used to sit at the computer for hours looking for someone... what was her name?"

"Amelia—" Maximilian warned, reaching to pull her back, but she slipped free and appealed to Eileen instead.

Eileen hesitated.

"Katerina," she said softly.

The room seemed to tilt.

Catherine’s breath caught.

Katerina.

Me.

Eileen looked at the shock at Catherine’s face. Maybe she had revealed too much. Maximilian had told her once, calmly and firmly, that he would only ever bring one woman to this house. The woman he intended to marry. That was why Eileen had panicked when she first talked to Catherine.

She already knew.

Katerina... Catherine... It was the same name, almost.

Catherine’s gaze moved slowly to Maximilian. He wasn’t looking at her. His jaw was tight. Controlled.

"Let’s eat," Eileen interjected gently, silencing Amelia for the moment. But it was too late.

Catherine swallowed. So... he had been searching for her, after his father died, and after his memories returned.

The questions crowded in, relentless.

When had he found her? How long had he known? How long had he been watching?

The bracelet on her wrist felt suddenly heavier.

And across the table, Maximilian finally looked up.

Not guilty.

Not ashamed.

Just... exposed.

He lowered his gaze first.

The knife in his hand moved with deliberate precision, slicing through a cherry tomato as if it required his full concentration.

He had found her when she was nine. He was eighteen.

She had been on the cover of a magazine—Young Geniuses of the Year. There had been a photograph of her, smaller than she was now, but unmistakable. Calm eyes. Composed posture. An article praising her mastery of Latin, her advanced knowledge of medicinal plants, and her ability to complete a high school curriculum when kids her age struggled in primary school.

The moment he saw her... He knew.

Katerina. She was named Catherine this time, but he knew it was her.

He had stared at that page for hours, hands shaking. He hadn’t needed proof. He felt it in his bones.

He had found her again.

And... she was too young for him. He had to wait.

From that day on, every decision he made shifted, subtly and carefully, toward her.

The university he chose. The research fields in which he specialized, the networks he built... Even the city he settled in.

He told himself fate would bring her to him eventually. But he did not leave it to fate. He paved the road himself. Slowly. Patiently. Methodically.

And now...

His eyes lifted briefly.

Catherine sat across from him, staring at her plate with mild distress, clearly calculating how to survive dinner without meat.

He almost smiled.

She looked so unaware.

So distant from the storm she had unknowingly been the center of for nearly a decade. His fingers tightened slightly around the knife.

She would never know.

Never know how many times he almost reached out too soon. Never know how many times he chose restraint over possession. Never know how carefully he had planned their first "chance" encounter...

It hadn’t gone the way he intended... but it had worked differently.

If she discovered it, she might see it as obsession, manipulation, and control.

So he kept his face calm. His eyes landed on the bracelet glimmering on her hand. He averted his eyes immediately.

He had found her once.

He would not lose her again.