The second Gemma hit the delete key, she let out a long, shuddering breath. "Oh, that feels good! Wait, let me grab a pen and paper. I need to document this monumental occasion."

Arianna couldn't help but chuckle. "...Is it really that dramatic?"

"Of course it is," Gemma retorted, perfectly serious. "My best friend has been reborn. How is that not a monumental day?"

Arianna curled her lips, giving a soft, noncommittal hum. Reborn might be an overstatement. But it was, at the very least, a fresh start. She had finally forced herself to accept the harsh reality: Cameron Hughes had never loved her.

Some time ago, Gemma had added Alexis Morgan on WhatsApp. Alexis’s feed was restricted to a three-day view, but for some reason, she’d opened up her settings one night. That was how Arianna finally saw the truth: during the two years they were supposedly dating, Alexis and Cameron had never stopped being close. Every time Cameron claimed he was "busy" or stuck in some "boys' meeting," he was actually with her.

In every photo, they were draped over each other, arms slung around shoulders, pulling goofy faces at the camera. He was always standing right next to her, letting her stand on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck, often leaning down just to make it easier for her to reach him.

***

That afternoon, Arianna was lounging on the sofa, binging a show, when a thought hit her. She didn't actually have Maxwell King's contact info.

She’d been so distracted when they parted ways that she’d forgotten to ask. How were they supposed to coordinate for the banquet tomorrow? Telepathy? Plus, Maxwell’s assistant was supposed to drop off her dress later that afternoon.

Arianna considered the logistics. Maxwell didn't have her number, but he knew her apartment complex. Should she wait by the security gate? But she didn't know what his assistant looked like.

As her show auto-played into the next episode, she was still stuck in a loop of indecision. Just then, her phone pinged. A single smiley face.

Arianna clicked into the chat and found a completely blank profile. No name, no notes—just a username: "xy".

The profile picture was of a guy in a white T-shirt from behind, standing by the ocean at dawn. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, a golden semi-circle against a deep, somber blue sea. The color palette was moody and dark, undeniably artistic, yet it carried an overwhelming sense of isolation.

Ever since she started her career, her contact list had exploded, and she made a habit of attaching notes to everyone. But this? Looking at the cryptic name and the lonely silhouette, she couldn't recall ever adding this person.

Had she forgotten to label him, or was it something else?

She sent back two question marks, cautious.

"Sorry, I think I forgot to add a label. Who is this?"

Before she could even finish her next thought, a message popped up: "Are you free right now?"

Arianna was baffled, hovering over another question mark, but a second message followed: "If you're free, I’ll have my assistant bring the dress over."

Arianna stared at the screen, her mind blanking for a full two seconds.

xy—Maxwell King.

Looking closely at the profile picture, the guy's posture was identical to Maxwell’s. It was him. But when had they added each other? Why had she never noticed?

"I'm free. I’ve been home all day," she replied. Curiosity getting the better of her, she added, "When did we add each other on here? I was just trying to figure out how to reach you."

Maxwell: "I think it was our junior year."

Really? She had absolutely no recollection of that.

Maxwell continued typing, his tone growing strangely certain: "One afternoon, you mentioned wanting to try that new spicy hotpot place on the back street. It was packed, so you paid for us, and when I transferred the money back, I added you."

***

Around three in the afternoon, the assistant, Cole Parker, arrived with the clothes. Arianna thanked him, then retreated to her bedroom with two boxes that looked expensive enough to buy a small car.

Inside was a French-style white slip dress with a delicate strand of pearls along the neckline. The fabric felt like a dream—heavy, high-quality, with flattering, wavy pleats that draped down the waist and hips. It was a mermaid cut that clung to her curves, radiating a mix of effortless sophistication and raw, elegant sex appeal. The other box contained a pair of heels with an invisible bow design.

Exquisite.

As she was trying on the heels, a message from Maxwell popped up.

Maxwell: "Does it fit? Do you like it? If not, we can exchange it for something else."

Arianna could practically hear the doting tone in his words. She looked in the mirror; the dress fit like a second skin, as if it had been tailored to her exact measurements—not a fraction too loose or too tight.

"I love it. This one is perfect, thank you."

A black Bentley idled outside her building. Maxwell sat in the back, a faint smile touching his lips. "You're welcome."

Arianna: "How much were the dress and shoes? I’ll transfer the money to you."

Maxwell knew her too well. He’d expected this. Whether it was money or favors, she kept rigid boundaries with anyone she wasn't close to. Even back when she was with Cameron, if he bought her a gift, she would immediately buy him something of equal or greater value in return. She loved giving to others, but she was terrified of receiving—terrified of the debt, terrified of not being able to pay it back. That’s why she kept everything strictly balanced.

Maxwell calmly deployed his pre-planned lie: "I got them from a friend’s boutique. He gave me a fifty percent discount. It was five hundred, so it was quite cheap. No need to pay me back."

Arianna looked down at the dress. Five hundred? For something that felt like this much quality?

Arianna: "Really? Is it that cheap?"

Maxwell felt a twinge of guilt, terrified she might ask where the store was and go shopping there herself.

He deliberated: "My friend is a good guy. He actually wanted to give it to me for free, but I insisted on paying. I suspect he gave me a massive discount."

Arianna: "That must be it. The quality is incredible."

Maxwell sighed in relief. He’d nailed it.

Arianna: "And the shoes? How much for those?"

Maxwell paused. He hadn’t mentioned the shoes. He scrolled up the chat history. Sure enough, he’d forgotten.

"Also from the same friend. Two hundred. I think he’s giving me 'friend prices' on everything."

Arianna: "That makes sense. These look like they cost a lot more."

Seconds later, a transfer notification hit his phone.

Cole Parker, sitting perfectly upright in the driver’s seat, turned around. "Mr. King, when are we heading back to the office?"

Maxwell was still smiling, his thumb hovering over the screen as he watched the windows of Arianna’s building. "Wait a while longer. There's no rush."

Cole: "..."

He thought to himself: *You're not in a rush, but the executives back at headquarters are probably ready to jump off a ledge.*

As Cole mentally complained about his boss, he heard Maxwell ask, "You delivered the clothes to her door, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you go inside?"

Cole blinked, confused. "No. I stood at the threshold, handed them to Ms. Stone, and came right back down."

Maxwell leaned back against the leather seat and said quietly, "Good."

*Good?* What was good about that? Cole spent the next twenty minutes trying to analyze it. By the time they reached the office, he finally realized: Maxwell hadn't set foot in her apartment yet—how could he, the assistant, beat his boss to it? That would be entirely out of line.