06. Cold Castle He Gave

Ariadne returned to New York, stepping back into the gilded cage she now called home: Maximilian’s penthouse. She was exhausted, but her weariness offered no comfort, only a grim reminder of the trap she'd walked back into—a prison lined with luxury, where she felt chained by Maximilian's iron will.

“Leave us,” Maximilian commanded, his voice low and final. His men filed out, leaving the two of them alone in the vast, opulent space. The grandeur of the penthouse felt like it was pressing down on Ariadne, each polished surface and lavish detail suffocating her. She met Maximilian’s gaze, her own filled with fury and disdain, while his looked pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow, yet his hands trembled only slightly as he attempted to reach for her.

"Don't touch me." She jerked back sharply, her voice cold and laced with venom.

Maximilian’s jaw clenched. Ignoring her protest, he grabbed her roughly, forcing her onto the couch with a grip that left no room for defiance. Ariadne's breathing turned harsh, her resentment radiating off her in waves.

She watched him with burning eyes as he knelt, reaching for the hem of her dress. The gown—once pristine, now frayed and streaked with dirt—hung heavily around her, a symbol of the broken promises and shattered illusions that bound her to him.

Maximilian grasped Ariadne’s foot, drawing it out to reveal her bare, dirt-streaked, and scuffed soles—a result of her desperate escape, her shoes left behind in the chaos of the wedding building. Ignoring her sharp glare, he stood and made his way to the kitchen. Ariadne watched him, unmoved by the faint limp in his stride as he walked with forced composure.

Moments later, he returned with a large bowl of water and a cloth. Kneeling in front of her, he reached for her foot again despite her angry protests, his grip firm as he guided it into the water. Ariadne's brow furrowed as the sting of her abrasion met the cool water, the pain a harsh reminder of her recent long escape that went in vain.

After a prolonged silence, Maximilian finally broke it, his voice calm yet edged with warning. “I’d advise you to stay here and live well. I don’t intend to make your life a living hell—so behave yourself.”

A bitter laugh escaped Ariadne, sharp and hollow. “Don’t intend to make my life hell? Sir, a place without freedom is a hell without breath for me.” She paused, her voice dripping with defiance. “And live well? I refuse. I won’t ‘live well’ with someone who values my life in dollars and cents.”

Maximilian let out a heavy sigh, his breathing strained. “I’m not buying anything from you—your body, your face, or your life. I don’t want any of that. I just need you to stay here,” he said, his tone weary yet unwavering as he continued washing her feet, carefully wiping away the dirt with the cloth.

Ariadne's eyes flashed with fury, and she snapped at him. “I really don’t understand what you’re doing with me. You act like this but refuse to admit it. Stop with the nonsense and pretending to be nice, you bastard!”

In response, Maximilian’s hand tightened around her foot, making her gasp as pain flared in her raw, abraded skin. His face darkened, but he held his composure, his voice calm yet simmering with restrained anger. His piercing gaze locked onto her, freezing her in place.

“You know, I’m tired of hearing your voice,” he said coldly. “I wasted time and effort to bring you back safely, and you still disrespect me with your assumptions.”

Ariadne wanted to retaliate, to hurl her frustration back at him, but the intensity in his eyes and the sharp edge in his voice silenced her, like a warning she dared not ignore.

Maximilian reached into his gray coat pocket, producing a small object that made Ariadne’s heart stop—the wedding ring she’d given away to a bus driver in exchange for a ticket to Penn Station. Her eyes widened, silently questioning how he’d managed to retrieve it. But Maximilian offered no explanation.

Without a word, he seized her left hand, pushing the ring roughly onto her finger with such force that she winced in pain. Holding her hand up, he looked at her coldly. “If you knew what I actually did for you, you’d thank me for binding you with this ring.”

With that, Maximilian turned and left the penthouse, his footsteps echoing through the silence as he disappeared. Ariadne watched him go, her chest heavy with hatred and her eyes stinging with tears.

She glanced down at the ring now back on her finger. Anger flared within her, and she tried to yank it off, but it wouldn’t budge. Panic and frustration welled up as she pulled harder, but the ring only seemed to tighten, as if cursed.

“Damn it, what’s going on? Why won’t it come off?” she muttered, her voice trembling with rage, sorrow, and desperation. Her futile struggle left her in tears, overcome by a crushing sense of devastation and disappointment, trapped once more in the bonds she couldn’t break.

***

Maximilian didn’t go far; instead, he returned to his mansion, though he should have been at the penthouse, living with his wife, Ariadne. He moved quickly through the dimly lit corridors, the shadows casting an eerie stillness, like an abandoned castle. The cold of the night seeped into his bones, and every step sent sharp pains through his aching body. He gritted his teeth, determined to reach his room before his strength failed him.

Once inside, Maximilian went straight to the drawer beside his large bed, retrieving a bottle of pills. He fumbled with the cap, his impatience evident as he quickly swallowed a capsule and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, waiting for the relief to kick in.

The quiet was broken as his bedroom door swung open, and Alfred hurried in, his face etched with panic. Despite his age, Alfred moved swiftly toward Maximilian, his voice full of worry. “Sir!”

Maximilian barely opened his eyes but lifted a hand, a silent signal for Alfred to stop. The gesture reassured Alfred, who halted, watching in concerned silence as Maximilian lay back, exhausted yet resolute.

Alfred steadied himself, regaining his composure and standing tall, though a flicker of worry lingered in his eyes. “It’s good to see you back, sir, but you don’t look well. Shall I call for Miss Sloane?” he asked, his voice gentle yet concerned.

Maximilian shook his head, his voice low and weary. “I’m fine, Alfred. Just a little tired.”

Alfred attempted a reassuring smile. “I hope your bride learns to behave better, so she doesn’t trouble you like this in the future. Shall I… teach her?”

Maximilian’s expression hardened. “Save your energy for something more useful. No one can change her but herself.”

Alfred hesitated. “Then what if—”

“No!” Maximilian cut him off sharply, as if he anticipated the suggestion. His voice trembled slightly, but his tone held firm authority. “No one is to say anything to her.”

Alfred, feeling the weight of Maximilian’s resolve, lowered his head respectfully. “Forgive my impudence, sir,” he murmured, chastened by his own suggestion.

After a moment of silence, Maximilian asked, “What about Sir Harper? Did you inform him that Ariadne was found?”

“Yes, sir,” Alfred replied.

Maximilian closed his eyes and let himself relax, feeling the pain gradually ease and his breathing come more steadily. But Alfred’s worried gaze lingered, his anxiety unhidden as he spoke again.

“My lord, are you truly alright to wait a little longer?” The question made Maximilian’s eyes flicker open. Alfred continued, “You’ve suffered so much… don’t you want to end your misery soon? If you give the order tonight, we’ll do everything swiftly to ease your pain.”

Maximilian gave a soft, humorless laugh, a trace of guilt lacing his voice. “You want me to kill him quickly?” he asked, causing Alfred to falter. “There’s no difference in speeding it up or waiting. I’m just doing my duty—to stay alive and protect what my father left me.”

With effort, Maximilian moved to lie down on the bed, and Alfred was quick to assist, guiding him gently. “You need a lot of rest, sir,” Alfred murmured. “You’ve taken much time off to search for Miss Harper—”

“Milton,” Maximilian interrupted firmly. “Her name is Ariadne Milton.” He looked at Alfred, a faint smile on his lips. “You should start calling her Madame Milton, Alfred—even if you’re used to addressing someone else.”

Alfred managed a slight smile in return, though it held a hint of regret. “You’re right.”

Maximilian closed his eyes, his voice softening. “I’ll sleep here tonight. Tell them to keep Ariadne safe. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

Alfred adjusted Maximilian’s blanket with care, like a devoted servant tending to his young master. “Yes, sir,” he replied, his loyalty unwavering.