Maxwell King stood at the villa entrance, his frame tall and imposing.

A few loose strands of hair fell over his forehead, and his dark eyes were locked onto her. She couldn’t tell how long he’d been watching. The top two buttons of his white dress shirt were undone, baring his collarbones. It was the kind of crisp, formal attire that usually screamed "high-powered executive," yet it was completely undermined by the cartoon apron tied around his waist.

Maxwell was objectively handsome, with sharp, angular features that usually projected an aura of cold, untouchable discipline. But with that apron—which featured a goofy, buck-toothed bunny—all that restraint vanished, replaced by something strangely, disarmingly cute.

Arianna stood frozen, staring at him, her mind momentarily short-circuiting.

Maxwell waited for a long beat. When he realized she wasn't going to move, he let out a soft, amused sigh and walked toward her.

"What’s the matter?" Maxwell leaned down, his voice low and gentle. "Why the blank stare?"

Arianna looked down, her gaze landing squarely on the buck-toothed bunny on his apron. It was tilted to the side, as if grinning right at her. She swallowed hard and whispered, "N-nothing. I'm fine."

Maxwell had seen everything from the doorway. He chuckled, took her hand, and began to walk. "Are you not used to being called 'Mrs. King' yet?"

Arianna: "..."

*I knew it!* she thought, her face burning. *I knew I looked like a frantic, bug-eyed mess and he caught every second of it!*

She felt the crushing weight of public humiliation. Closing her eyes in silent despair, she murmured, "A little. It’s… it’s going to take some time."

"I told him to go back to calling you Ms. Stone if you prefer," Maxwell said. "But this morning, after you got out of the car, he asked me how he should address you. Since we’re married, I thought it was time he switched."

*That explains it.*

It made sense. He’d been "Ms. Stone" all morning, but by the afternoon, the driver had become unnervingly enthusiastic with the title "Mrs. King." But Maxwell wasn't wrong. They were married, and they had no plans to keep it a secret. Being addressed as a couple in front of staff was, well, perfectly normal.

Arianna weighed the thought for a moment. "No, keep it. It's fine."

Her ears were glowing scarlet, the color creeping up her porcelain cheeks. She kept her eyes down, lashes fluttering as she stared at the ground, a portrait of youthful shyness. Even though she’d mumbled the words and practically swallowed the key syllables, Maxwell caught her meaning perfectly.

[Keep it. Let him call me Mrs. King.]

His lips curved into a smirk. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Maxwell gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then paused, as if pondering something deeply. "Then… do you want me to help you get used to it?"

"How?" Arianna asked.

"Mrs. King," Maxwell’s voice was a low, velvet hum that seemed to vibrate right against her skin. "Watch your step."

Arianna: "..."

The sudden shift in address caught her so off-guard that she nearly tripped, missing three steps in a row. If Maxwell hadn’t caught her by the waist just in time, she would have face-planted.

"I’ll call you that more often," he said, his tone perfectly serious. "We'll get you desensitized in no time. How does that sound, Mrs. King?"

Arianna: "..."

She really didn't need him to be this efficient.

It was only then that she realized they hadn't walked toward the house at all. Looking around, she noticed they were heading in a completely different direction. "Wait, where are we going?"

"I’m taking Mrs. King to see my garage," Maxwell replied, perfectly deadpan.

Arianna: "..."

The garage was far larger than she’d imagined. The lights were dimmed, but in the gloom, over a dozen multi-million-dollar supercars sat like predatory beasts waiting in the dark, silent and imposing.

*Multi-million-dollar cars.*

Arianna thought of her department manager’s sedan; it wasn't even worth half the price of the tires on these machines. If she drove one of these to the office… she didn't even want to picture the fallout.

Just as she was spiraling, she heard Maxwell chuckle. He kept her hand locked in his as he led her deeper into the space, his voice echoing with a magnetic, melodic quality.

"Mrs. King," he said, taking his time, "I want you to know that these are all yours to drive whenever you like."

The car bodies were polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting their two blurred silhouettes. It was obvious how meticulously he maintained them. Each one looked like it had just rolled off the showroom floor, and the maintenance costs alone were enough to make her head spin.

Arianna quickly waved her hands. "No, really. I don't even like driving that much."

Maxwell seemed to read her mind. "Don't worry about the money."

"And certainly don't worry about the cars," he added, his voice smooth and deliberate. "It is their honor to be of service to Mrs. King."

Arianna: "..."

She snuck a glance at him. How could he say such things with such a straight face? He sounded like he was stating a basic, undeniable fact, laced with a hint of dry, sophisticated humor.

She scanned the room and noticed something odd. "Where’s the car you usually drive? It’s not here."

"It’s just up ahead."

As they rounded the corner, she saw his signature limited-edition Bentley parked in the shadows. Before she could comment, Maxwell pointed to a modest vehicle tucked right next to the Bentley. It was a simple, mid-range sedan, its lines unremarkable, its badge completely ordinary. Among the lineup of roaring luxury, it looked like a total misfit, almost comical.

Yet, Arianna was delighted. She walked over to it, her eyes lighting up.

Maxwell opened the door for her and gestured with his chin. "Go on, try it out."

Arianna slid into the driver's seat. She leaned back, gauged the visibility, and tested the steering wheel. It felt just like the cars she’d used at driving school. The only issue was the seat—it was set too far back. She started fumbling around the side of the seat, trying to find the manual adjustment lever.

She hadn’t driven much since getting her license, so her movements were clumsy.

While the door was still open, Maxwell leaned in. "Need help with the seat?"

His cold, crisp scent enveloped her instantly. He braced one hand against the back of the seat, the other reaching down to help her adjust the lever. Arianna froze, her hand still hovering in the air. Their arms brushed, and the jolt of contact felt like a live wire sparking through her skin.

Time seemed to grind to a halt.

She could hear her own heartbeat—a frantic, rhythmic thumping against her ribs, loud enough that he had to hear it too. But Maxwell acted as if nothing at all had happened. He remained hunched over, his position creating the distinct, heavy impression that he was pinning her against the seat.

They were so close that when he spoke, his warm breath brushed against her sensitive earlobe.

"Forward or back?"

"Is this better?"

"All set?"

Arianna was so flustered by his proximity that she couldn't get a word out. Her face was turning a vivid, frantic shade of red. Finally, Maxwell pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dancing with amusement.

He leaned in, whispering one final time against her ear, "Mrs. King?"

"Why are you so quiet?"