Arianna Stone froze.

She hadn't expected him to bring up their marriage certificate for a discussion like this, and every word he spoke struck a chord deep in her heart, resonating with a clarity that left her stunned. A wave of warmth surged within her, and her eyes stung with the sudden, hot threat of tears.

Lowering her head to hide her reaction, she whispered, "I just didn't want to be a bother."

"We are husband and wife, Arianna," Maxwell King said, his voice dropping to a tender, grounding register. "Please, don't be afraid to burden me."

"It's not practical for you to rely on buses and subways for your commute. If the driver dropped you off at your office first every morning before bringing me in, would you be comfortable with that?"

"I..."

Arianna hesitated, her gaze lifting to meet his. Maxwell’s eyes were deep and steady, like a calm, fathomless ocean reflecting the stars and moonlight, shimmering with hidden depth.

As she looked up, Maxwell caught her gaze, trapping it. A soft, weary smile tugged at his lips—the look of a man who found her stubbornness both frustrating and endearing.

"You're not comfortable with it, are you?" His voice remained gentle. "You're worried about what your coworkers will think if they see you stepping out of a luxury car. You're afraid of the gossip and the unnecessary drama that comes with it."

He had articulated exactly what she was worried about. Arianna opened her mouth to offer a diplomatic excuse, but Maxwell cut her off.

"If you aren't comfortable, you can tell me. Never feel like you have to accept a gesture just because it's well-intentioned. You have the right to refuse anything, no matter who it's coming from."

He stepped closer, his posture relaxed but his focus intense. "Besides, we are married. From now on, we handle things together. We don't act unilaterally or let one person call all the shots. I’ll say it again: don't be afraid to rely on me."

"As your husband, I want to be needed by you. That is my purpose."

In short, if she didn't need him, what was the point of their marriage? Was it really better to struggle through life alone?

Arianna was left speechless. Maxwell’s expression was earnest, his gaze honest and searing. She felt cornered, with no choice but to meet his eyes. Suppressing the frantic thumping of her heart, she managed a quiet, "Thank you."

Maxwell’s lips curled upward, and he reached out, ruffling her hair. The moment his palm touched her, he froze. It was a reflex—natural, unthinking—as if he had been longing to do exactly that for a long time.

His fingers sank into her dark hair, the soft strands gliding against his palm like a feather brushing against his skin. All his uncertainty vanished in that instant. Arianna was his wife. She was his only partner in this life.

A strange, electric tingle raced through Arianna’s body. She trembled, her lashes fluttering, but she didn't pull away. She stood there, perfectly still.

A moment later, he withdrew his hand with effortless grace, his eyes soft and his smile relaxed, as if he had let go of some heavy burden.

"Arianna, do you have a driver’s license?"

"I do." She had earned it during her senior year of college, though she hadn't touched a steering wheel since.

"I’ve considered two options. One, we trade for a more modest car, and the driver takes you to work before moving on to me. The second option might be a bit more tiring for you: you drive yourself to and from work."

"If you’re ever too tired to drive, just call me, and I’ll come get you. Which do you prefer?"

Arianna lifted two pale, slender fingers, gauging his reaction before whispering, "Can I choose the second one?"

Maxwell smiled, leaning in slightly. "Why wouldn't you be able to?"

"If I didn't pick the first one... are you going to be upset?"

"Not at all."

He had already anticipated her choice. In fact, he knew with ninety-nine percent certainty she would choose the second one. They weren't familiar enough yet for her to feel comfortable sitting in the same car every day; for her, that would be an immense pressure. In this marriage, Maxwell had no intention of causing her even the slightest bit of distress.

He knew exactly what she was holding back. "Arianna, we have a lifetime ahead of us. There’s no rush. We’ll take it slow."

***

The villa's second floor was designed in a ring, overlooking the living room below. From the balcony, one could admire the intricate, crystalline patterns of the massive chandelier, complemented by modern art murals on the walls.

Maxwell led her through the house, showing her the private home theater, the tea room, and the terrace. Finally, they arrived at the master bedroom.

He carried her suitcase inside, setting it against the wall. "How is this room?"

It followed the same sleek, modern aesthetic. There was a king-sized bed, a writing desk by the window, and a walk-in closet that was staggering in size, along with an en-suite bathroom. Even with Arianna’s lack of experience with luxury, she could tell this was the primary suite. The floor was covered in plush, white carpet, the bed was made with soft, rose-toned linens, and a bear-shaped nightlight sat on the nightstand.

"Are we both sleeping here?" Arianna asked.

Maxwell looked at her, his brows arched in genuine confusion. "Well? Is there anywhere else?"

Arianna was silent.

She bit her lower lip, refusing to give up. "I'm sleeping in this room too?"

"That’s right."

Arianna felt as if reality had jumped the tracks. Ever since they signed the marriage license, everything felt out of her control, spiraling in directions she hadn't anticipated. Moving in together was one thing—the absolute limit of her comfort zone—but sharing a bed? That was entirely too fast.

She wondered if she had gotten in way over her head.

Maxwell turned back to her, looking entirely innocent. "What’s wrong?"

Arianna tried to be subtle. "We only registered the marriage yesterday."

The implication was clear: getting married yesterday and sleeping in the same bed tonight was moving at breakneck speed. They weren't a normal couple; they couldn't follow a standard timeline.

Unfortunately, Maxwell didn't pick up on the hint at all. "I know. What of it?"

Arianna was speechless. She gave up on trying to reason with him. Standing at the entrance of the walk-in closet, she sighed, accepting her fate. "Fine, whatever."

*It’s going to happen sooner or later, anyway,* she told herself.

Maxwell was busy adjusting the lighting. He pulled a few more nightlights from the drawer, plugging them in until the room glowed with a warm, romantic ambiance. As he walked past Arianna, he stopped, his hand tucked casually into his pocket. He leaned down, tilting his head to look at her, and asked in a low, measured tone, "Are you truly 'fine' with it, or just pretending?"