Chapter 105

Chapter 105

The room fell silent again.

Richard stared at the closed door, a flash of murderous intent flickering in his eyes, sharp and real. If it weren't for Catherine standing beside him, he would never have let those two leave so easily.

Those bastards didn't deserve to be parents.

He turned to look at Catherine. She was still standing by the window, her slender figure exuding a rock-like resilience.

A complex emotion surged in Richard's heart.

He had once "played" the fool, understanding the taste of hiding one's sharpness and treading carefully. But he had made that choice as an adult, with the lingering influence of his family behind him.

And Catherine? She was only six, just six years old...

At an age when she should have been carefree and doted on by her parents, she had to face the cruelty of human nature alone, wearing a heavy mask for over a decade.

No parental love, only the mysterious disappearance of Aurora as her spiritual support. What kind of lonely and arduous childhood had she endured?

Thinking of this, Richard's heart felt as if it was gripped by an invisible hand, a fine, tender pain spreading through it.

He walked over to her, saying nothing, and pulled her into his arms.

Richard's embrace was firm and undeniable, his warm breath brushing against Catherine's ear, his steady promise falling like a rock: "I will uncover the truth about your mother's injustice. And I'll help you find your teacher, Aurora."

Catherine stiffened slightly in his arms, then gently pushed away a bit, looking up to meet his deep gaze.

There was no hint of jest in his eyes, only a mountain-like certainty. A warmth flickered in her heart, but it was quickly overshadowed by a stronger resolve.

She shook her head, her voice calm but firm: "Thank you, but I want to avenge my mother myself."

Richard's dark eyes narrowed slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just nodded, his fingers lingering on her cheek, "Alright. Whatever you need, just say the word."

He understood her pride and respected her choice. This patience and resilience were so similar to his own.

Catherine turned her face away, avoiding his warm touch, and walked to the window, gazing out at the dark night.

"Amara's incident is just the beginning."

Richard moved to her side, following her gaze. "Your plan?"

"Amara is foolish and greedy. This lesson won't scare her, but it will make Oliver suspicious of me." Catherine's voice was as calm as if she were discussing something unrelated to herself.

"He is naturally suspicious, especially when it comes to Clara and Amara. With Amara's setback, Clara will undoubtedly try to make up for it, perhaps even more urgently trying to get something from me, or... eliminate me as an obstacle."

A faint, cold smile curved her lips. "I want her to lose her composure. Clara has had smooth sailing for years, and her actions are bound to be less cautious than before. As long as she makes a move, she'll leave a flaw."

Richard watched her serene profile, so different from her gentle exterior, and felt a stir in his heart.

This was the real Catherine—calm, intelligent, and strategic.

"Do you need me to threaten Oliver?"

"Not yet," Catherine shook her head. "I have my own plans for Oliver. If you step in too soon, it'll just set off alarms." She paused, turning to face him. "I appreciate your goodwill. But our relationship..."

"If you appreciate it," Richard interrupted, stepping forward and trapping her between the window and himself. His voice was low with a hint of teasing. Shouldn't there be some tangible gratitude?"

Catherine frowned, warily looking at him. "What do you mean?"

Richard didn't answer. He just leaned in slightly, his warm breath on her face. Catherine instinctively stepped back, her back pressing against the cold glass. His eyes darkened, and before she could react, his hot lips were on hers.

The kiss was forceful and possessive, unlike the tentative ones before, filled with a sense of punishment. Catherine's mind went blank. She struggled to push him away, but he easily caught her wrists, pinning them behind her.

His presence enveloped her completely, the familiar yet foreign male scent making her heart race uncontrollably. Only when her lungs were nearly out of air did he pull back slightly, his forehead resting against hers, breathing heavily, his dark eyes locked on her flushed cheeks and moist lips.

"Richard!" Catherine was both angry and embarrassed, her cheeks flushed from lack of oxygen and shame. "You jerk! We agreed..."

"Agreed on what?" Richard chuckled, his thumb brushing her soft lips, his gaze intense. "A marriage of convenience? A charade?" He pulled a folded document from his suit pocket, unfolding it in front of her.

The red seal and two familiar names came into view—a marriage certificate. And not the previous legally binding but easily voidable agreement version, but a real, officially registered marriage certificate.

Catherine's pupils contracted, and she looked up at him, her voice trembling. "When did you..."

"The moment you agreed to marry me, I had it arranged." Richard's tone was matter-of-factly domineering. "So, Catherine, we are now legally married, the kind protected by law."

"You!" Catherine was so angry she couldn't speak, a chill rising from her heart. This man, so meticulous and strategic, had controlled the agreement from the start!

"We signed an agreement! To keep our distance, not interfere with each other!" She gritted her teeth, reminding him and herself.

"Agreement?" Richard raised an eyebrow, putting the marriage certificate back in his pocket, his movements unhurried. "Agreements can be amended. For instance, marital duties?"

Seeing Catherine's instantly cold gaze, he changed his tone, returning to his previous composure. "Alright, no more jokes. But for the sake of our cooperation, I think we need to spend more time together."

Catherine looked at him warily, unsure of his intentions.

At that moment, he habitually raised a hand to rub his head, his furrowed brow showing a hint of discomfort. Catherine noticed, and her anger inexplicably dissipated a bit.

She walked over, picking up a medicinal pillow from the sofa. "Your head hurts again? Lie down, I'll massage it for you."

Richard obediently lay down on the sofa, closing his eyes. Catherine placed the medicinal pillow under his neck, her fingers cool with ointment, pressing gently but firmly on his head.

Her movements were gentle, with a unique rhythm, and the scent of the medicine gradually filled the air.