"Arianna, I know Maxwell better than you do. Trust me, you two aren't going to end well."

Arianna Stone couldn't fathom when Cameron Hughes had become this shameless. Diana James was still waiting for her inside the shop, and she had no patience for his circular, self-important drivel. She shot a quick message to Diana, sidestepped Cameron, and made a beeline for the noodle bar.

Cameron, seemingly determined to perform an amateur exorcism on her common sense, trailed right behind her, his voice a persistent, grating drone.

"You guys just aren't a match."

Arianna let out a cold, sharp laugh, not even turning her head. "Works for me."

"He’s just playing with you."

"Fine. I’m enjoying it."

"I’m serious, Arianna."

"So am I," she replied, cutting him dead.

Cameron didn't have an answer for that.

Inside the shop, Diana looked up as the pair walked in, her brow furrowed. "Arianna? Who’s this?" She knew Arianna had started seeing someone, but she’d never actually laid eyes on the man.

"Ignore him," Arianna said, sliding into the booth next to Diana. "We’re heading back to the office as soon as we eat."

Diana could practically taste the tension in the air. She kept her head down, shoveling noodles into her mouth at a frantic pace. Every bite was survival. If things spiraled, she needed the energy to rip into him on Arianna’s behalf.

But as the meal dragged on, the confrontation Diana feared never actually materialized. Cameron kept up his sermonizing, punctuating his spiel with phrases like "just a fling," "doesn't matter," "class differences," and "start over."

He wouldn't shut up.

Finally, Arianna put an end to the noise. She looked up, her gaze steady and terrifyingly calm. "Cameron, keep a shred of dignity. Don’t make me lose respect for you."

It was a clean, clinical strike.

Cameron looked as if he’d been throttled, his face draining to a pasty white. His lips parted, but all he could muster was a hollow, pathetic threat: "Arianna, you’re going to regret this."

Diana, head still buried in her bowl, rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. *Regret nothing. You’re the one who’s trash.*

***

Across the street, inside a sleek sedan, Maxwell King stared out the window, his face a mask of stone.

He watched the three of them through the bistro glass. Arianna was tucked into the corner booth, her expression unreadable from this distance. Cameron sat opposite her, his mouth working constantly, his gestures frantic and over-the-top.

The car was parked at the curb, an island of silence in the city noise. Maxwell’s eyes were fixed on the scene, his pupils dark and dense, like ink pooling in water.

The driver and Cole Parker, his executive assistant, were staring straight ahead, barely daring to breathe. The atmosphere in the car was thick, cloying, and suffocating.

Just ten minutes ago, Maxwell had personally picked up lunch and coffee, even snapping a photo with a rare, amused glint in his eye to send to his wife. Cole had been watching him all morning—Maxwell had been in a stellar mood, the kind that made the entire office run smoother.

Now, Cole didn't dare glance in the rearview mirror to see what that expression had warped into. The driver shifted, desperate to ask where they were heading next, but Cole grabbed him by the collar, signaling a silent, brutal warning: *Don't speak. The less you know, the longer you live.*

A long time passed—long enough that Cole started wondering if they were going to spend the rest of their lives parked on this curb.

Then, a voice cut through the silence. It was calm, devoid of any inflection.

"Let’s go."

Maxwell leaned back, his shadow consuming his features. "Back to the office."

***

During the lunch break, Arianna pulled out her phone to set an alarm and noticed a notification from Maxwell.

It was a photo: an exquisite lunch spread and a gourmet coffee, the backdrop a rich, dark walnut table. In the lower-right corner, a glimpse of a wrist appeared—sharp, well-defined knuckles, clean, slender fingers, a crisp white shirt cuff resting neatly against his skin.

The entire aesthetic was cool, aloof, and expensive.

Arianna: [Eating lunch?]

Back in the car, the silence was still brittle. Then, a sharp *ding* echoed through the cabin. Cole suppressed a desperate urge to turn around.

Maxwell lifted his lids, staring at her message, a ripple of something indecipherable crossing his features.

Arianna followed up with another message: [Just finished. Heading back to the office now.]

Maxwell looked down, carefully tapping out a reply: [Mm, I’m eating now.]

Arianna glanced at the photo again, curious: [Funny, we have that exact same coffee shop downstairs. Even the layout is identical.]

Maxwell: [Probably a franchise. They keep the branding consistent.]

Arianna: [Makes sense.]

As she sent the text, Arianna walked down the corridor and happened to glance out the window. The sun was punishing, the sycamore leaves outside drooping in the heat. As the light hit her arm through the glass, she felt a distinct, prickly burn. It was getting blistering out there.

Arianna: [Are you still at the shop?]

Maxwell didn't answer directly: [Why?]

Arianna: [If you aren't swamped, maybe stay inside for a bit. Or grab an umbrella. It’s brutal out there today.]

Maxwell stared at the screen. A moment later, the corner of his mouth ticked upward, his eyes softening into something infinitely gentle.

Maxwell: [Alright, I will. You keep out of the sun, too.]

In the front seat, the driver and Cole exchanged a look of pure bewilderment.

*So, the boss is that easy to handle.*

*He’s a shapeshifter.*