Chapter 278: Business Over Family

Dorian merely let out a low chuckle.

He lowered his eyes to his hand, studying it as though Timothy’s accusation were little more than an inconvenience.

"My grandfather used to warn me about women like her," he said quietly. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "It’s unfortunate I didn’t listen."

He lifted his gaze to William.

"Her former fiancé was Maximilian Whitmore. Now..." His eyes drifted briefly toward Helena before returning to William. "It would seem your son has joined him."

Helena shot to her feet. "How dare you—"

Dorian raised a hand ever so slightly. "It was an unfortunate mistake," he said calmly. "I set a trap for the fox."

A cold smile spread across his face. "For reasons still unknown to me... a bear walked into it instead."

"You filthy animal!"

Timothy lunged across the office, his fist cocked back.

"You murdered Maximilian. You murdered your own grandfather. And now you’ve murdered my brother!"

Dorian didn’t even flinch. "Your brother chose unfortunate company."

"Don’t you dare!"

Dorian stepped aside with effortless ease, letting Timothy’s punch cut through empty air.

"Your brother should have never met someone like Catherine," he said coolly. "She has a habit of bringing death to the men around her."

Timothy’s eyes burned with fury as he turned to his father. "Say something!"

William sat in silence for several moments, his fingers resting on the proposal Dorian had brought. Finally, he looked at Timothy.

"Your brother should not have been there."

The room fell silent.

Helena stared at her husband as though she no longer recognized the man she had spent decades beside. "William..."

"He knew Miss Preston was another man’s fiancée," William continued evenly. "He inserted himself into a matter that had nothing to do with the Rathbourne family."

Timothy looked at him in disbelief.

"Father..."

"I warned him," William said. "Repeatedly."

His voice remained calm, almost detached.

"He chose thrill over judgment."

"He chose to save someone’s life!" Timothy shouted.

"And he died doing it. You let him."

William’s eyes stared down at Timothy. Timothy’s hands shook. His father was blaming him for Fitzgerald’s death when his murderer was right in front of him.

Heh!

William finally picked up the proposal once more, turning another page as if the conversation had become secondary. "The outcome cannot be changed."

Timothy’s breathing grew ragged.

"So that’s it?" he asked, his voice shaking. "He’s sitting in your office admitting he murdered my brother, and you’re talking about business?"

William closed the file. "No." He looked directly at Dorian. "He is admitting he intended to murder someone else."

A long silence settled over the room. Then William rested a hand on the proposal. "The Alzheimer’s cure."

His gaze never left Dorian.

"Assuming your claims are genuine... how much investment are you seeking?"

Timothy felt as though the floor had disappeared beneath his feet. His brother had been dead for less than a day. The man responsible was standing in front of them.

And his father...

His father was negotiating.

His mother...

His mother was sitting with her head bowed, like a porcelain doll who had no emotions, as always.

Even Dorian’s eyes narrowed for the briefest moment.

Then, slowly...

He smiled.

"First," he said, leaning back in his chair, "I’ll need a small favor regarding the Prestons."

His smile widened.

"In exchange for my voting shares, of course."

He would destroy everything she had built.

Just as he had done once before.

Timothy let out a hollow laugh.

"Who’s the psychopath here?" he asked, shaking his head. "I know my brother wouldn’t be sitting across a table negotiating with my murderer."

Silence settled over the office.

---

Then... Another laugh echoed through a room.

Miles away, inside the air-conditioned lounge of a private airstrip, sunlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the runway.

Beyond the glass stood a sleek private jet, its white fuselage gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. On its tail was the crest of Laurel Creek Ranch—a crowned C entwined with an elegant L, both framed by a wreath of laurel leaves.

Outside, a gust of wind swept across the tarmac, sending dust swirling around the aircraft’s landing gear.

A man stood before the window, one hand tucked into his pocket, a phone held loosely in the other.

The live feed from William Rathbourne’s office continued playing across the screen.

"So that’s his grand plan..." he said, laughing softly. "Now BioQuant is tied with the Rathbourne family."

Only then did he turn.

Fitzgerald Rathbourne.

Standing a few steps behind him was Catherine.

She watched the same livestream in silence, her gaze fixed on Dorian’s smiling face. A faint bruise still darkened her neck where his fingers had been, but her eyes held none of the fear they had only hours ago.

Only resolve.

"He really believes we’re dead," Fitzgerald murmured.

Catherine’s lips curved into the faintest smile.

"Good," she whispered. "Our plan worked."

When they had arrived at the hangar, she had been only a few steps away from boarding. Then Dorian’s words came back to her.

"You won’t have to leave anywhere any longer."

She had stopped.

Something about the way he had said it had felt... wrong.

Fitzgerald had already climbed aboard, expecting her to follow. Instead, Catherine had turned around and called over the mechanics.

"I want the aircraft inspected again."

The crew exchanged puzzled looks.

"But, Miss Preston... it was already inspected this morning."

"By whom?"

"Another maintenance team. They said they were sent by your brother, William."

The moment she heard those words, every instinct inside her screamed.

"Check it again."

No one argued.

An hour later, the mechanic emerged from beneath the aircraft, his face drained of color.

Fitzgerald merely let out a quiet chuckle.

Catherine couldn’t. Her knees had nearly given out beneath her. She had almost boarded that jet. She had almost died.

She had immediately reached for her phone to report the attempted murder.

Fitzgerald had stopped her. "Don’t."

She looked at him.

"Let him believe you died."

It took only a moment for her to understand.

With the Rathbourne family’s influence, arranging a false emergency report wouldn’t be difficult. A fabricated alert, a disappearing aircraft on radar, a midair explosion reported to the authorities...

The world would believe Catherine Preston’s jet had gone down.

And Dorian... Would lower his guard.

So, they had disappeared.

Now, alongside the evidence stolen from Dorian’s study, Catherine possessed proof that someone had sabotaged her aircraft with the intention of killing her.

The trap had become his own.

Fitzgerald settled into one of the lounge chairs, crossing one leg over the other as he continued watching the live feed from his father’s office.

Catherine remained standing behind him.

From the phone came Timothy’s furious voice.

"Ghouls! Even animals wouldn’t be this detached!"

William attempted to silence him, but Timothy refused to stop. His grief had long overwhelmed whatever discipline his father expected of him.

Eventually...

"Leave."

William’s voice echoed through the speaker.

"I’ll be ashamed to carry your name!" Timothy shouted before the office door slammed shut.

Fitzgerald barely reacted.

"What’s he trying to accomplish?" he said with a quiet sigh. "He always knew Father puts business before family. He’s only risking his inheritance."

Catherine’s chest tightened.

The moment she had landed safely, she had called her father first. Together, they agreed the Prestons would pretend to be too devastated to retaliate immediately. They wanted Dorian comfortable, confident and careless.

She had assumed Fitzgerald had reached a similar understanding with his family.

Now she realized... He hadn’t. He had simply expected this.

Her eyes drifted to the man sitting before her.

This was the family that had raised him.

A father he trusted so little that he had secretly hidden cameras and listening devices inside his office just to verify his words.

What kind of childhood taught a son that his own father couldn’t be believed?

She remembered another little boy instead.

Cassian.

The child who had fallen asleep against her chest because he hated sleeping alone. The little hands that constantly reached for her. The boy she had barely allowed to crawl across the floor before scooping him back into her arms.

She had dreamed that, in this lifetime, he would grow up surrounded by love.

Instead...

He had grown up learning suspicion before trust.

Only Timothy, it seemed, loved him without calculation.

On the phone, Timothy’s muffled shouting still echoed from somewhere beyond the office doors.

Fitzgerald gave another weary sigh. "He’s still yelling." His voice was almost amused. "That won’t change anything."

Catherine walked around the chair. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around him.

A warm... Tight... Motherly embrace, just as she used to when he was two years old and refused to sleep unless he was curled against her.

Fitzgerald froze.

"He loves you, Cassian," she whispered, gently stroking his back. "Your brother is grieving you in the only way he knows how. He’s feeling helpless... because he loves you."

His hand slowly lowered from the phone.

The voices from William’s office continued in the background. Lawyers were already being summoned. Contracts were already being drafted.

Business had moved on.

But Catherine no longer cared. She held him tighter.

The Rathbournes will fall with Dorian.

What fools to hitch a ride on a horse heading for a cliff.

You should have loved my son better.

Her embrace tightened once more.

Then...

She felt something warm soaking through her shirt.

Fitzgerald wasn’t speaking anymore.

He was crying.

Silently.

Like a little boy who had finally found someone safe enough to grieve in.