Maxwell King was in the middle of a meeting when his phone buzzed.

The moment the ringtone cut through the silence, the entire conference room fell deathly quiet. Maxwell glanced at the screen, signaled for the subordinate to continue their report, and stood up, stepping into the stairwell to take the call.

He had a vague intuition about what she was going to say.

Because of that, his heart hammered against his ribs with every step he took. His muscles were coiled tight, and a faint sheen of sweat slicked his palms where he gripped the phone. After all, the difference between a pleasant surprise and a devastating shock hinged entirely on this moment.

He pressed the answer button with agonizing caution. "Hello? Arianna?"

"That thing you mentioned last time... is it still on the table?"

Maxwell’s breath hitched. He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Yes. It’s always been on the table."

Her voice came through the line—soft, yet laced with a startling resolve. "Maxwell, let’s get married."

His heart skipped a beat, then another, frantic and rhythmically broken. The air around him seemed to freeze, her words echoing in a constant, 360-degree loop inside his head. It took him a long, drawn-out moment to find his voice again. "Yes. I’m ready."

He was so shaken he could barely string a coherent sentence together. "Where are you? I’m coming to get you."

Arianna sounded a bit stunned. "Right now?"

"Yes. We can head to the registry office today. Is that alright?"

Arianna went blank. She hadn't expected to move this quickly. It felt as if Maxwell hadn't wanted to waste a single second, impatient to seal their fate. But, having already made up her mind, there was nothing left to hesitate about.

"That’s fine."

The moment the words left her lips, Maxwell pivoted and marched back toward his office. Under the bewildered gaze of his assistant, he snatched his car keys off the desk and strode out, barking at the person on the other end of the line, "Do you have your household registration papers with you?"

"I do," Arianna replied. "I’ve been carrying them, just in case."

"Stay put. I’m on my way."

"Okay."

Arianna, usually the obedient, quiet one, felt like she was doing something truly rebellious for the first time. From the moment she dialed his number to the moment she grabbed her bag and headed downstairs, her hands wouldn't stop trembling.

It wasn't fear. It was a cocktail of adrenaline, nerves, and raw anticipation. She had to force herself to draw several deep breaths just to keep her heart from leaping right out of her chest.

Twenty minutes later, Maxwell’s car pulled up to the curb.

They hadn't discussed it over the phone, but by some strange, silent synchronicity, they were both wearing white button-down shirts. Arianna had paired hers with a knee-length skirt; Maxwell wore his with charcoal trousers. It looked like a carefully curated couple’s outfit.

Maxwell eyed her shirt and offered a slow smile. "I thought you might not have time to change, so I picked something up for you."

Arianna looked back at the passenger seat. A white shopping bag sat there—a brand she didn't recognize, marked only by elegant English lettering. A neatly packaged blouse peeked out from the top.

"When did you even have time for that?" she asked, stunned.

"On the way here. It was on my route."

Just as she was about to ask if it was returnable, he cut in. "You can't take it back. Their policy is final sale. Consider it a gift. Is that alright?"

Arianna: "...Thank you."

"Ari," Maxwell murmured, using her childhood nickname.

Arianna blinked, coming back to earth a second too late. "Hm? What is it?"

"We’re going to be husband and wife," Maxwell said, his eyes focused on the road, his tone maddeningly calm. "Husband and wife don't need to be so polite with each other."

Arianna: "..."

The phrasing felt disturbingly familiar. Last night, at the amusement park, when she’d accidentally bumped into his chest and he’d carefully tended to her forehead, he’d said something very similar: *“Arianna, we’re friends. Friends don't need to be so polite.”*

In the span of just a few hours, the tectonic plates of their relationship were shifting. From friends to spouses—the speed of it all made her wonder if she had finally lost her mind.

But then, she looked over at him.

Maxwell was tall, his long legs taking up an intrusive amount of space in the narrow confines of the car. Sunlight bled through the window, catching his profile, carving his features into sharp, deep shadows. She could see the faint trace of veins along his forearms, lending a raw, dangerous edge to his composure. His pale knuckles gripped the steering wheel, a stark, forbidden contrast of black and white.

For an aesthetic-obsessed soul like Arianna, this was a win by any metric.

As for his character, she’d had a year in college to learn exactly who he was: steady, calm, a true gentleman. He was poised, reserved, and held women in high regard—he never engaged in those petty, degrading jokes so common in his circles.

And as for his wealth, since taking the helm of King Enterprises, he had become the new darling of the business world, worth billions. Even a "young master" like Cameron Hughes didn't amount to a percent of what Maxwell was, let alone what he offered.

This marriage, no matter how she looked at it, was entirely to her advantage.

That thought prompted a sudden realization. "Maxwell."

"Yes?"

"Don't we need a prenuptial agreement?"

"No," Maxwell replied, effortlessly spinning the wheel to take a right turn. "Who told you that?"

"I looked it up online," Arianna said, pulling her phone from her bag, her expression serious. "I even downloaded a template. You should take a look and see if it works for you."

Maxwell chuckled, waving it off. "We really don't need that."

"Why?"

He looked completely sincere. "Money is just an external object. It’s not worth mentioning."

Arianna: "..."

She couldn't help but be amused, a soft smile tugging at her lips, but she remained stubborn. "The wealth gap between us is massive. If we were to divorce, I’d end up walking away with half of your assets. That’s not fair to you."

"Fairness has nothing to do with it," Maxwell said. "Marriage isn't a business transaction. We’re in this for the long haul."

"But—"

Before she could finish, Maxwell interrupted, his voice gentle. "If we ever reach the point of divorce, it’ll be because I failed. If that happens, you’re entitled to that half. It’s the compensation you deserve for my shortcomings."

Arianna opened her mouth to argue, but the car slid to a stop in front of the civil registry office. Maxwell didn't give her a chance to speak.

"Besides," he added, his tone teasing, "Miss Stone, we aren't even married yet. Isn't it a bit early to be discussing the divorce settlement?"

"..."

Arianna wisely shut her mouth.

A moment passed before she whispered, "Fine. I get it."

She looked ethereal in her white shirt—her skin glowed, a stark, blinding porcelain. The collar sat slightly open, revealing the delicate, elegant line of her collarbones. Her dark skirt hit just above the knee, showcasing legs that were straight and flawlessly smooth.

As she looked down to unbuckle her seatbelt, a stray lock of hair slipped over her ear, catching the gold of the afternoon sun. Her nose was slender, her profile serene.

Maxwell watched her in silence.

Only when the *click* of the buckle echoed and she turned to look at him did he finally draw his gaze away. He thought to himself: to marry the woman he had spent years dreaming of—he had absolutely struck gold.

***

As Arianna reached to open the door, Maxwell stopped her. "Ari, wait."

He used her nickname with such natural ease, as if he were back in college calling her Arianna. It was ironic that she was the one still feeling a bit unaccustomed to it.

She paused, turning back. "What is it?"

"Did you bring the registry papers?"

"I did."

"ID card?"

Arianna stared at him, bewildered. "Brought that, too."

Maxwell smiled, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register. "One last question. Are you sure? Are you going to regret this?"

"Maxwell," Arianna chuckled. "That’s clearly two questions."

"Then... will you regret it?"

Arianna didn't know why he was so fixated on that particular outcome, but she answered both anyway.

"I’m sure. And I won't regret it."