When Maxwell returned to the table, the cake had already arrived.

Arianna stared at it, dazed. It wasn’t quite what she had imagined.

It was an eight-inch masterpiece, smothered in juicy, crimson strawberries. The sweet cream was piped into delicate flower petals, and nestled right in the center were two candles shaped like the numbers "2" and "3."

It was her twenty-third birthday.

A small chocolate plaque stood proudly on the edge: "Happy Birthday, Arianna."

Arianna froze. She had expected a small, complimentary slice as a post-dinner treat—not a full-scale, formal birthday cake.

"How did they even know..." she murmured.

The waiter stepped in with a warm, practiced smile. "The gentleman mentioned it was your birthday, Miss Stone, and insisted we swap your dessert for this." He bowed slightly. "Happy birthday, Miss Stone."

Arianna looked up, eyes wide with surprise, to find Maxwell watching her from across the table.

Just then, Maxwell stood up and murmured something to the waiter. The waiter nodded and walked over to the light switch, plunging the second floor into darkness.

One by one, the chandeliers flickered out. As the restaurant surrendered to the shadows, the familiar melody of a birthday song began to play. Maxwell’s voice, low and vibrant, joined the tune, leaning toward her ear. "Happy birthday, Arianna. Make a wish."

The candlelight danced in the gloom, caught by a stray breeze, flickering and jumping. The tiny, golden flames seemed to burn right through Arianna’s chest, licking at the frost-covered walls of her heart, melting the ice bit by bit.

She couldn't find the words to describe the feeling. Her pulse raced, fluttering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Through her blinking, the candle flames blurred into shimmering circles of light.

Maxwell watched her, her hands clasped, eyes closed in silent prayer. He couldn't tear his gaze away.

She was wearing that French-style evening gown, her collarbone elegant and porcelain-white, her dark hair cascading like a waterfall. She looked like a princess who had stepped straight out of a fairy tale. The warm candlelight played against her profile, softening the curve of her lashes and the delicate slope of her nose.

Maxwell’s gaze drifted lower.

Her lips were soft, smooth, and full.

***

Arianna made two wishes.

The first was for Rosemary Stone’s health—that she would live a long, full life.

The second was... if it were possible, that she and Maxwell would still be friends by her next birthday. That they wouldn't fall into the long stretches of silence they’d suffered before.

She hadn't felt this relaxed and genuinely happy in a long time.

As she blew out the candles, the waiter flicked the lights back on. Beneath the melodic, upbeat song, Maxwell looked at her, one brow arched, a faint, teasing smile tugging at his lips. "Have you decided on your birthday gift yet?"

"Huh?" Arianna gestured to the cake. "Doesn't this count?"

"Not a chance."

Arianna stared at him, bewildered.

"The cake was a raffle prize—it was yours to begin with," Maxwell said, his tone casual but firm. "I just asked the chef for a few candles and a plaque. That doesn't count as a gift." He leaned in. "What do you want? Name it."

Arianna had received plenty of gifts in her life—from Rosemary, from classmates, from friends. Even from Cameron.

But this was the first time someone had offered her a gift that felt like, *Whatever you ask for, I will give you.*

Maxwell’s intensity was strange. He seemed determined to get an answer out of her, as if he wouldn't let the night end until she claimed something from him.

"Take your time," Maxwell added. "It’s your birthday all day. My promise is valid until the clock strikes midnight."

"Wait," Arianna interrupted. "I’ve decided."

Maxwell looked up, eyes glinting with interest. "Oh? What is it?"

Arianna’s eyes sparkled, bright as the night sky, impossibly alluring. "Maxwell, just have a piece of birthday cake with me."

Maxwell paused, stunned. "That’s all you want?"

Arianna nodded. She stood up, grabbed the knife and fork, and cut a generous slice—the one with the most strawberries—and slid it over to him. She beamed at him. "Try it. Tell me if it’s any good."

Maxwell didn’t move, his gaze anchored to her face.

He suddenly understood the sentiment: *To love is to constantly feel like you haven't given enough.*

He wanted to hand her everything he owned, to lay the whole world at her feet, yet it still felt insufficient. Far from enough.

***

While Maxwell ate, he couldn't stop sneaking glances at her.

Arianna was eating slowly, eyes downcast. Her slender, pale fingers gripped the fork, cutting small, precise bites as if she were a programmed robot. Her expression was blank, the light in her eyes replaced by a quiet pensiveness.

She was clearly lost in her own head. Maxwell had to call her name twice before she finally looked up, blinking in confusion. "Did you call me? What is it?"

Maxwell chuckled, shaking his head. "I should be the one asking you that. What’s going on with you?"

"Me?" Arianna forced a light, airy laugh. "I’m fine. Just enjoying the cake. You—"

"Arianna," Maxwell said, his voice dropping an octave. "I’ve told you before—you’re a terrible liar."

He held her gaze. "We’re friends, right? You can tell me the truth."

Arianna sighed, struggling to find a place to start.

"What is it? Talk to me," Maxwell pressed gently.

Arianna hesitated, then took a breath and plunged in. "Maxwell, are you... do you need me to help you with something?"

The words left her mouth, and she immediately wanted to retract them.

He was the CEO of King Enterprises; she was just a struggling intern still waiting for her probation to end. In terms of money, connections, experience, and status, he outclassed her by miles. What could he possibly need from her? And even if he did, what could she possibly offer?

She braced herself for his laughter.

But when she looked up, Maxwell was watching her with absolute composure. There wasn't a hint of mockery in his expression. He just asked, "Why do you say that?"

"It’s just..." Arianna poked at her plate, hesitant. "A feeling."

"And?"

She lowered her lashes, tracing patterns in the frosting. "You've been... acting different toward me lately." She worried she sounded arrogant, so she quickly backtracked. "I mean, I’m probably just overthinking it! Please, don't mind me. It’s definitely just my imagination because you’re such a nice person—"

"It's not your imagination," Maxwell said, his voice low.

"Huh?"

"I’m acting differently because..." Maxwell’s mind raced. He gripped his fork, pretending to be calm as he looked at her. "I do actually need your help with something."

Arianna gasped, genuinely shocked.

"It might be a bit intrusive," Maxwell added, feigning hesitation. "I'm not sure if you’ll be offended."

"I won't be offended. Just say it." If it was within her power, she would be happy to help. He had helped her plenty back in college.

The air in the room felt suddenly thin. Maxwell felt as if he were holding a wire taut, waiting for it to snap. He avoided her gaze, his throat tightening until his voice came out raspy. "My family... they’ve been pressuring me to go on blind dates, so..."

Seeing how much he was struggling, Arianna kindly finished his sentence for him.

"So, you want me to set you up with someone?"

Maxwell: "..."

Maxwell: "............"