A sudden wave of raw, masculine scent crashed over her.

Arianna pressed her back against the wall, finding herself effortlessly caged within his reach, with nowhere to run. Maxwell pinned her in that narrow space, his dark eyes locked onto hers, burning with a deep, inscrutable intensity that Arianna couldn't quite decipher.

She met his gaze, seeing her own reflection mirrored back in those dark depths.

Before he got too close, Maxwell stopped, maintaining a perfectly respectful distance. He lowered his gaze, observing her with a slow, deliberate focus.

Before Arianna could find her voice, he spoke, his tone lightening. "Alright, I'm done teasing you."

Arianna blinked, caught completely off guard.

"I was just joking." Seeing her dazed expression, Maxwell’s lips quirked into a faint smile. He reached out to ruffle her soft hair, his voice dropping to a smooth, gentle register. "This bedroom is yours."

"Then where are you sleeping?" Arianna asked, the question slipping out before she could catch it.

Maxwell raised an eyebrow with a languid, casual charm and gestured toward the room next door. "In the guest room right next to yours. If you need anything at all tonight, just call for me."

What could she possibly need in the middle of the night? Surely, nothing would happen.

Arianna’s mind raced with panicked, disjointed thoughts. "I can't take this. This is your house—you should be in the master bedroom."

"Arianna," Maxwell said, his expression hardening into sudden, earnest gravity. "I told you, this isn't just my house anymore. It’s your home, too."

"You are the lady of this house. You can sleep in any room you choose, and you can do whatever you want."

Maxwell had noticed it. Arianna was a woman who could remain calm and collected in the face of indifference, cold shoulderings, or even subtle malice. But the moment someone showed her genuine kindness, she was like a child who had never been given a treat—panicked, disoriented, and completely at a loss.

She even possessed a subtle, defensive resistance to it. A resistance to that "treat" of unknown origin.

Arianna felt a swell of warmth at his words, yet her instinctual guard remained up. "But..."

Before she could finish her protest, Maxwell cut her off. "I’ve been sleeping in that guest room for years. I’m used to it. You don't expect me to be the one who feels slighted and kicks myself out of my own master bedroom just because you moved in, do you?"

Arianna gave a soft, quiet rebuttal, "Then I can sleep in one of the other rooms."

Maxwell’s logic short-circuited; he completely glossed over the obvious loophole in her suggestion. He considered it with exaggerated seriousness. "The other rooms won't work. No beds, haven't been cleaned in forever—they're not fit for guests."

"Really?" Arianna looked confused, gesturing toward another door down the hall. "But when I came up earlier, I saw..."

She hadn't finished the sentence when Maxwell interrupted her again.

"Besides—"

He leaned in, his eyelashes dipping low as he bore into her eyes. His tall frame loomed over her, effectively enveloping her in his shadow.

A faint, playful smile played on his lips, his expression one of roguish indulgence. "Arianna, it’s one thing that we can’t share a room, but now you’re telling me I can’t even stay in the next room over to be closer to my own wife?"

His voice dropped, sounding particularly aggrieved. "Mrs. King, can’t you try being a little more lenient with me?"

Lenient?

Arianna was completely stunned. Was he implying she was some kind of heartless tyrant? "How am I being—"

"Living so far apart, we’ll eventually grow distant," Maxwell argued.

How could it possibly be "far"? They were in the same villa. Even if she picked the room at the very end of the hall, it wouldn't take more than thirty seconds to reach him. Arianna couldn't wrap her head around his logic.

But looking at Maxwell now—his dark eyes seemed to shimmer with a misty, wounded look, like he was genuinely wronged.

Arianna finally caved, forcing herself to accept his "reasonable" request. "Fine, I’ll take the master bedroom. Thank you."

The moment the words left her lips, the wounded look vanished from Maxwell’s face instantly. He straightened his posture, the gloominess wiped away as if it had never existed. His eyes danced with amusement, and he returned to his usual, effortless, and composed self.

"I should be the one thanking you. Thank you for letting me be a little closer to you."

Arianna: "..."

Only then did it hit her: she’d been played.

"Maxwell!"

She had been toyed with twice in the span of a few minutes. Arianna felt a flash of irritation—mostly at herself for being so dim-witted, falling for his act so easily and letting him dictate her every emotion.

But as she took in the details of the room, her annoyance began to fade.

It was clear that long before she arrived, Maxwell had painstakingly prepared this space. The bedsheets, the linens, the curtains—everything was done in soft, warm tones, a stark departure from his preferred stark black-and-white aesthetic. The walk-in closet was carpeted with plush, soft rugs patterned with playful little animals.

Rows of clothing hung in the cabinets—dresses, tees, shorts, and skirts, all neatly categorized, all the latest season from her favorite brands. On the European-style cream vanity sat a collection of cosmetics.

Arianna recognized the brand. It was the one she used most frequently. How could he have possibly known?

Perhaps it was just a coincidence?

In any case, he had transformed this entire space into a cozy, welcoming retreat.

Seeing her linger on the vanity with a look of lingering confusion, Maxwell hesitated before deciding to be honest. "I happened to scroll past your social media feed one day. I clicked on it, so I saw that you used those products."

Arianna’s eyes widened in realization. "Oh, no wonder..."

"Yeah," Maxwell swept his gaze around the room. "Everything was bought on short notice. There are bound to be things I missed. If you need anything else, just tell me."

Truthfully, he had been more than thorough. Even the bathroom vanity was stocked with her preferred face wash and body lotion.

"There's nothing else," Arianna looked up at him, her sincerity evident. "Thank you."

Maxwell had been planning to head out. At her words, he paused, turning back to face her with an expression that was half-helpless and half-amused. "Arianna."

He paused, then deliberately chose a different title. "Mrs. King, we’re married. Please, stop being so polite with me."

He placed a heavy emphasis on the name "Mrs. King," as if he were trying to remind her of something specific.

Arianna’s heart hammered against her ribs. A burning, crimson heat crept up her neck and settled into her earlobes. She murmured a quiet, "I understand."

"Goodnight, Arianna."

She truly didn't know how he managed to say her name with such effortless intimacy. "Goodnight, Maxwell."