Maxwell King rose from the sofa, standing right behind her, his hand still clamped firmly around her wrist.

He had no intention of letting go.

Arianna Stone stood frozen, acutely aware of how the scent of fir and oak wrapped around her, quiet and suffocating. It felt like being trapped in an ancient rainforest, drenched by an invisible, misty downpour.

Everything was silent.

Arianna’s heart hammered against her ribs. She didn't dare look back; they remained in that awkward, tethered position. The hem of her pajamas snagged against his long legs. She reached out with her free hand to flick the fabric away, but it was futile. The silk stubbornly clung to his trousers, rubbing against the soft material.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she asked, voice trembling with uncertainty, "What are you doing?"

"Mrs. King," his voice drifted from behind her, slow and languid. "Look at me."

Hesitating, Arianna turned around, her stomach in knots.

Maxwell leaned in, his dark eyes brimming with a playful intensity. He raised a hand, his warm fingertips gently grazing the corner of her soft upper lip.

It was so sudden that Arianna couldn't even react. She just stared at him, caught in his proximity. Because he was leaning over her from behind, it looked as if he had her entirely trapped in his embrace.

Her mind went blank.

The skin where he had touched her began to throb with a dull heat. She pressed her lips together, paralyzed by indecision. She couldn't meet his gaze, so her eyes darted away—and landed on his hand as he pulled it back.

His long, pale fingertip was stained with a smudge of white. It was the milk she had accidentally gotten on her lip moments ago.

He reached for a napkin on the table and wiped his finger with slow, deliberate precision. The white smear soaked into the tissue, leaving a damp spot. Watching his refined, calculated movements, Arianna felt images of a far more intimate nature flash through her mind.

She coughed softly, breaking the tension. "I'm going back to my room."

"Get some sleep. Goodnight."

With that, she practically bolted.

Maxwell watched her hurried exit and couldn't help but chuckle. The sensation of her skin seemed to linger on his fingertip. She was impossibly soft—like transparent, chilled jelly, like a candy waiting to be savored. Once you get a taste of that sweetness, you don't just walk away.

Maxwell lowered his gaze, his long lashes veiling the heat in his eyes. He rubbed his fingertips together, then turned and finished the glass of milk she had brought him in one gulp.

***

After being hired full-time, the workload grew steadily. Arianna and the rest of the team spent the entire morning buried in reports. By lunch, they had finally finished compiling the material for the new product line.

As she clocked out, Arianna practically clung to Diana James, acting like a needy koala. They squeezed into a packed elevator, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Diana reached out and ruffled the messy hair resting against her shoulder. "Tough gig working for Nancy Warren, huh? I bet you don't even get a second to slack off."

Nancy was the group lead—a woman who lived for deadlines and rarely cracked a smile.

Arianna nodded. "You have no idea."

Once they stepped out, they navigated the crowd toward the food court. A new noodle spot had opened, and they decided to check if it lived up to the hype. Diana kept glancing at her periodically as they walked.

Arianna touched her own face, flustered. "What? Is there something on my face?"

"No."

"Then why are you staring at me?"

"You've been glowing lately," Diana said, leaning in to whisper. "You just look... you know?"

"Know what?"

Diana winked. "Like you’re finally getting some action. That post-coital glow, girl."

Arianna: "..."

As they stepped out of the office building, Arianna ran into an acquaintance: Cameron Hughes.

His eyes lit up the moment he saw her. He stepped forward to block her path. "Arianna, I need to talk to you."

Arianna didn't even blink, sidestepping him. "I don't want to hear it."

"Arianna!"

She ignored him, picking up her pace. Diana looked back, bewildered. "What the hell is going on?"

Cameron scrambled for a reason, raising his voice. "Don't you want to hear about Maxwell King? This is about you two!"

The figure ahead slowed down. After exchanging a few words with Diana—who moved on ahead—Arianna turned back and walked right up to him.

Cameron felt a sting of resentment. "So that’s it? Only Maxwell’s name gets you to listen to me now? What about us?"

He had played the "misunderstood victim" card too many times. Arianna felt absolutely nothing. She stared at him, bored. "You said you had something to say?"

"If not, I'm leaving. My friend is waiting."

She turned to go without a shred of hesitation. Cameron lunged to block her again. "I do! I have something to say. Just don't go."

Arianna stopped, eyeing him with cold caution.

Stung by her indifference, Cameron spoke through gritted teeth. "Are you with Maxwell King?"

She was already married to him, but she simply nodded.

Before this, Cameron had clung to a sliver of hope—that maybe Alexis Morgan had been mistaken, that the girl she saw hadn't been Arianna. He’d rushed over without even stopping for lunch, fueled by that pathetic hope. Seeing her nod crushed him. His mind went blank, and he blurted out, "Are you insane? How can you be with him?!"

Arianna looked up, unfazed. "Why can't I be with him?"

She said in a clinical tone, "Cameron, we're done. Stay out of my business."

The words sounded familiar. Cameron couldn't place where he'd heard them before.

"You can't be with him," he persisted, blocking her path. "He’s not going to treasure you."

Arianna stared at him, as if he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

Cameron caught himself, feeling a sudden surge of guilt. "I didn't mean I don't treasure you! It was all a misunderstanding, Arianna..."

"I said," Arianna frowned, cutting him off, "whatever happens with me and Maxwell has nothing to do with you."

Her eyes were clear, but they were devoid of any lingering emotion.

"I don't mean anything by it, Arianna. I'm just worried about you. I don't want you to get hurt." Cameron tried to reason with her, his tone earnest. "Maxwell is just playing with you. He doesn't have a shred of sincerity; he's only doing this to get back at me."

"Get back at you for what?" Arianna asked.

Cameron went silent. After a beat, he carried on as if he hadn't heard her. "Anyway, the two of you won't last. You know his background. Do you really think his family would accept you? I know you're capable, but your family background..."

He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. "Don't be delusional, Arianna. This circle is not for people like us. Maxwell is just having some fun; he’s never going to marry you. Come back to me, let’s start over, okay?"

No one understood Cameron better than Arianna. It was always the same routine: start by acting pathetic to win sympathy, then try to "educate" her with gaslighting logic, and finally, present himself as the only person in the world who would ever want her.

He had played this game so well that she had fallen for it for two years. Now that she was out, looking back at these tricks, she found them both pathetic and tragic. What was truly pathetic was that his repertoire was this limited.

Arianna only regretted that she wasn't wearing the diamond ring Maxwell had given her. It was in her walk-in closet—a rock the size of a pigeon's egg, clearly worth a fortune. She was afraid of losing it, so she never wore it out. She wished she had it on her, or maybe even their marriage license, so she could slap it right into Cameron’s face and make him see reality.

She wanted him to see that not everyone in this world was as trashy as he was.

***

Inside the car, Maxwell leaned back in the passenger seat, eyes closed. His lean, muscular arm rested across his brow, his face handsome and calm. He appeared to be asleep.

Seconds later, he opened his eyes and asked his assistant, "Are we passing by Myria soon?"

Cole Parker quickly checked the GPS. "Yes, we'll pass by the side entrance of the Myria office. Is there something you need?"

"Mm." Maxwell’s lips curled, his voice low and amused. "I'm going to see Arianna. You lot wait downstairs."

Maxwell looked uncharacteristically cheerful. Cole and the driver exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated panic.

Cole dared to ask, "Arianna is..."

The rest of the sentence died under Maxwell’s chilling glare.

He smiled faintly. "You should call her Mrs. King."

The driver helpfully prompted Cole: "Mrs. King is Ms. Stone, she works at Myria."

Maxwell offered a nod of approval. "Ms. Stone is fine, too."

Anything but *Arianna*.

Cole finally caught on, smiling awkwardly. "Mrs. King... Ms. Stone. I've got it."

He’d almost forgotten the man was married. And honestly... it was going to take some getting used to. Was "Arianna" a nickname he’d given her himself? The things these newlyweds did for "intimacy" were exhausting.