[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":10},["ShallowReactive",2],{"viewer-data-260322F482CA-385":3},{"id":4,"number":5,"name":6,"content":7,"isLocked":8,"price":9,"hasRead":8},385,37,"Chapter 37: The Milky Stain on Her Lip","\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">They arrived home well after dark. Fortunately, they had the foresight to grab dinner on the way.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">After exchanging goodnights, Arianna retreated to her room. Once she stepped out of the shower, she slipped into a pair of silk pajamas. The material was exquisite—cool to the touch, soft, and clearly high-end. Driven by a sudden surge of curiosity, Arianna pulled out her phone and searched for the brand.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The lights in her walk-in closet were bright and dazzling. She lay face-down on the chaise, phone held aloft, staring stiffly at the string of numbers on the screen. After counting the zeros, she froze. Her mind went blank, and an eerie silence filled the room.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Only after a long while did she gingerly slide her finger down the page, scrolling further. She recognized the label on the seasonal collection’s best-selling dress. She lifted her head, casting her eyes toward the rows of clothes hanging in her closet, only to realize the entire rack was identical to the collection on her screen.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Had Maxwell King really moved the entire inventory into their home? Dresses, tees, jeans, loungewear, pajamas... the list went on.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She scrolled to the bottom of the brand’s profile: *Lonya, a French luxury house founded in 1865 by the world-renowned designer Samuel Jerry. For over a century, the brand has remained committed to merging high fashion with feminine freedom—cool, sophisticated, and impeccably designed.*\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The brand’s signature *Liberté* collection was synonymous with elevated style, the go-to choice for the modern career woman.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Reading that final paragraph, Arianna suddenly understood why Maxwell had chosen this brand. A strange, indescribable warmth swelled in her chest, filling her up entirely.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">***\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The night deepened, thick and heavy.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">It was nearly eleven, and Arianna lay in bed, thoughts drifting aimlessly. She tossed and turned, unable to find sleep. She tried counting sheep, counting dumplings, even solving math problems in her head—nothing worked. Ten minutes later, she surrendered. She shoved her feet into her slippers and headed downstairs to warm up a glass of milk. Milk was supposed to help with sleep, right?\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">On her way back upstairs, she noticed a sliver of light spilling from beneath the frame of Maxwell’s door. He was still awake? The lights had been off just a moment ago.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She stood at the door, hesitating for a few seconds before giving a soft, tentative knock.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Come in.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">His voice came from within, low, pleasant, and laced with the drowsiness of the late hour. Arianna pressed the handle and pushed the door open.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Maxwell looked up the moment she entered. He hadn’t gone to bed; he was leaning against the headboard, reading a book, dressed in black silk pajamas. His long, slender fingers pressed against the edge of the page, faint veins visible beneath the skin of his forearm as he prepared to turn it.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">He was wearing gold-rimmed glasses—he didn’t have a strong prescription, so the lenses were thin. It was the first time Arianna had seen him in them. Stray locks of hair fell over his dark, arched brows, softening the sharp, angular lines of his face and giving him an air of effortless indifference.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The glasses stripped away his usual edge, revealing a scholarly, restrained, and almost ascetic quality—like a high-mountain flower untouchable by the mundane world.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Arianna stood rooted to the spot. She was completely stunned.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">It wasn't until Maxwell spoke, his voice brimming with a suppressed smile, that she snapped out of it. \"What is it?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She pulled herself together, though her expression was flushed with embarrassment. She held out the glass of milk. \"I went downstairs to warm some up. I brought you one.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Thank you.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Maxwell looked genuinely touched. He fought hard to keep the corners of his mouth from curling upward as he took the glass with a practiced air of nonchalance. His gaze drifted to her empty hands. \"Where's yours?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Downstairs,\" Arianna replied. \"I'll go get it in a bit.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Maxwell threw back the covers and slid into his slippers. Under Arianna’s confused gaze, he said gently, \"I'll go get it. You wait here.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">With that, he stepped out of the room. Arianna stood in the middle of the room, not knowing quite what to do, so she took the chance to look around. The bedroom was decorated in shades of grey, looking rather somber—a stark contrast to her own cozy nook. The room was spotless, clean, and organized. To the right, a private bathroom and closet were tucked away, though they seemed smaller than her own.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Perhaps because he had just showered, the air was scented with balsam fir and oakmoss. Arianna took a breath, then reconsidered. It didn’t smell like body wash; it was more like a bespoke men’s cologne. The top notes were cold, conveying a distinct, impenetrable distance. The heart notes were subtle and sweet, like being caught in a drizzling rainstorm in the countryside while eating a warm, chewy taro mochi—a hint of sweetness cutting through the frost.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Her mood brightened noticeably.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She was still trying to pin down the base notes when Maxwell returned. Seeing her standing there, motionless, he walked toward her, his tone laced with mock confusion. \"Did I bury a landmine in here?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Arianna blinked. \"Huh?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Then why aren't you sitting?\" He gestured with his chin toward the leather sofa against the wall. \"Are there nails in the cushions? Can’t you sit?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Arianna: \"...\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She finally caught the sarcasm in his voice. She stammered out an excuse, \"I just thought... since the bedroom is such a private space...\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Mrs. King,\" Maxwell called her softly, \"this entire villa is your home. That includes my room—it’s your territory, too. Everything in this house is yours to use.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Understood,\" she murmured, resigned.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Maxwell held his glass of milk, and Arianna instinctively picked up the one he’d left on the table, settling onto the sofa. She didn't notice the look of long-suffering grievance on Maxwell's face as she took a sip. It was silky, rich, and perfectly sweetened, a lingering trace of sugar left on her tongue.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Mrs. King?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Arianna turned, looking at him. \"What?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Maxwell’s expression was complex. His eyes locked onto the glass in her hand. \"If I recall correctly, wasn't that glass of milk supposed to be for me?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Why are you drinking it yourself?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Arianna froze for a few seconds. She stared at him, her almond-shaped eyes wide with shock, her pupils dark and luminous. A small dab of milk had stained her soft, pink lip.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Maxwell stared at that white droplet, his gaze darkening and turning inscrutable.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Then, as if she realized it was there, she subconsciously licked her lip, her soft tongue sweeping the stray milk into her mouth.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Maxwell: \"...\"\u003C/p>",false,0,1774272906544]