Spencer Miller stared at her, utterly bewildered. He had been fed so much drama tonight that he felt like he was floating through a fever dream. He blinked hard, trying to confirm if this woman was actually standing in front of him or if she was just a glitch in his perception.

"Excuse me, are you..."

The woman on the sofa seemed to snap out of a trance. She locked eyes with Spencer for a heartbeat before scrambling to her feet, scanning the room in a panic. "Oh... I think I walked into the wrong suite."

The lounge was dim, and it was easy to get turned around. Spencer nodded, keeping his cool. "No worries. You can head out."

She let out a small, breathless sound, clearly surprised by his blunt dismissal. Her cheeks flushed a deep, intoxicated crimson as she rubbed her face. "So sorry, Mr. Miller. I’ve had a bit too much to drink. I took a wrong turn."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "You know who I am?"

"Not personally," she hinted, batting her lashes. "But the CEO of Com-Tech is my father. I hear him mention you quite often."

The puzzle pieces snapped into place. Spencer glanced over at Maxwell King. Maxwell hadn't moved; he simply lowered his eyes, methodically shaking the dice cup to reveal the points, as if the entire scene unfolding around him were nothing more than background noise.

Spencer wasted no time calling for the floor manager to usher the woman out. Once the mess was cleared, he turned to Maxwell, his expression anxious. "You aren't actually going to tell your sister about tonight, are you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Spencer clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, man. We’ve been best friends since we were kids."

Maxwell didn't even look up. "And Vivienne and I share the same mother. Do you really like your odds?"

Spencer sighed, defeated. "Fine. Just... if you tell her, tell the truth. Don't add any extra flavor to it. This isn't something to joke about."

Maxwell let out a soft, dry laugh, offering no commitment. The ambiguity made Spencer’s skin crawl. Desperate to get back into his friend’s good graces, Spencer wracked his brain for a solution.

"Hey, I have an idea. Want to hear it?"

"Go on."

"Find a friend. A female friend—oh, right, you don't have any of those. Just use your sister. Don't show her face, just an arm or the hem of a dress, and take a photo of you two having dinner. Post it on your private story—set it so *only* she can see it."

Spencer leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. "The goal is to make her jealous. Take a few from different angles. It works like a charm."

Maxwell slammed the dice cup onto the table and lifted it. Three sixes.

Spencer cursed under his breath. "Damn it."

Maxwell swirled the drink in his glass, his voice devoid of warmth. "Unnecessary. I don't want her to be jealous."

"But she made *you* jealous," Spencer countered.

"She didn't do it on purpose." A faint, uncharacteristic tenderness crept into Maxwell’s cold eyes. "I love her. I’m happy to be the one who feels the sting of jealousy, but I don't want her to have a single moment of unhappiness."

Spencer fell silent. He was absolutely floored. It was pathetic, really. It was exactly the kind of unrequited, self-sacrificial nonsense that made people get walked all over.

***

After hanging up with Rosemary, Arianna sat on the sofa, scrolling through her phone out of pure boredom. Maxwell had sent a text half an hour ago, warning her he might be home late and telling her not to wait up.

She tapped through short videos, swiping aimlessly. She wasn't waiting for him. The living room was just... spacious. That was the only reason she was sitting here. Arianna told herself this as she continued to scroll, perfectly content.

Just before ten o'clock, the doorbell finally chimed. Through the digital peephole, Arianna saw Maxwell standing at the threshold, accompanied by another man.

She hurried to open the door.

Maxwell stood there with his eyes lazily half-closed, looking quiet and restrained. One hand rested casually on the other man's shoulder. As the door swung open, he lifted his head with sluggish, heavy movements. His eyes were unfocused; he looked completely wasted.

The man beside him wore a sleek, casual outfit. He had slender, upturned eyes, a sharp jawline, and a thin-lipped, roguish smirk that screamed "playboy." That was Arianna’s immediate impression of Spencer Miller.

Spencer grunted under Maxwell’s weight, flashing Arianna a friendly grin. "Hey, sis-in-law! I’m Spencer, a friend of Maxwell’s."

The title hit her like a physical blow, leaving her stunned for several seconds. When she had been with Cameron Hughes, his younger friends would call him 'bro' and refer to her only by her first name. They had looked down on her from the start, certain that their relationship was nothing more than a fleeting distraction—which, in the end, it was.

Just minutes ago, seeing a stranger at the door had made her heart tighten. She had been terrified that Maxwell’s friends would be just like Cameron’s—arrogant, elitist, and condescending. She had braced herself for the worst.

But with one casual 'sis-in-law,' Spencer had dismantled every ounce of her anxiety. Perhaps there was some truth to the old saying: birds of a feather flock together.

Even so, Maxwell suddenly gave Spencer’s shoulder a sharp, warning swat. "Keep your voice down. You’re scaring her."

Spencer: "..."

Spencer executed a ninety-degree bow, lowering his voice to a frantic whisper. "Sorry, sis-in-law! I’m so sorry. I didn't keep a close enough eye on him. He’s had way too much to drink. You might have to deal with him tonight—sorry for the trouble."

"It's fine, really," Arianna said, stepping aside. "Come on in."

Once they were inside, Arianna moved to help support Maxwell. The moment her fingers brushed his arm, his hand shot out, clamping around her wrist. He pulled her hand into his grip, his fingers interlacing with hers.

Arianna’s heart skipped a beat. She looked up at him. Maxwell, still leaning heavily on Spencer, grazed her soft fingertips with his thumb, whispering, "Don't worry about me. Let him handle it."

Spencer rolled his eyes, resigned to his fate, and dumped Maxwell onto the sofa. He got dragged down with him, landing in a heap of tangled limbs. He looked ready to snap. He started to pull himself up, but Maxwell yanked him back by the collar.

Spencer hissed, "What is your problem? Are you losing your mind?"

Maxwell tilted his head, his grip on Spencer’s shoulder tightening until his knuckles turned white. He leaned in, his voice a low, gravelly threat. "I’m drunk, not blind. Try looking at her one more time."

Spencer stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. He looked from the oblivious, sweet-faced Arianna to the predatory, wolfish Maxwell beside him. He was at a total loss for words.

Maxwell’s voice drifted over, icy and sharp. "Still looking?"

Spencer recoiled, reflexively pulling his gaze away. After a moment, he felt a flicker of embarrassment and retorted, "I was just looking! What, are you going to cut my eyes out?"

He said the words, but his head remained bowed, not daring to steal even a glance at Arianna.

Maxwell let out a thin, chilling laugh. "I told you, you can try it."

"AHHH!"

Arianna, who had been pouring a glass of water in the kitchen, dropped the glass and sprinted back to the living room.

Maxwell was sitting perfectly still on the sofa. Beside him, Spencer was grimacing, clutching his shoulder with a pained expression, glaring at Maxwell. "Damn it! You actually squeezed hard! You almost crushed my shoulder!"

Maxwell couldn't be bothered to explain himself. But seeing her frantic expression, he finally murmured, "Stop acting. I didn't even use any force."

His voice was calm, steady, and articulate. It sounded exactly like the Maxwell she knew when he was perfectly sober. Arianna frowned—was this really how a drunk person behaved? It didn't seem right. But his friend had said he was drunk, so it must be true.

Before leaving, Arianna handed a glass of water to Spencer. "Thanks for bringing him home. I'm sorry for the trouble. Have some water."

Spencer reached for the glass, but the movement tugged at his injured shoulder. He recoiled, shaking his head so violently he looked like a bobblehead. "No, no, no! It's fine, sis-in-law! You two drink it. I'm out of here!"

Without waiting for a response, he ducked his head and practically bolted toward the exit, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floorboards. He even made sure to close the door gently behind him.

Arianna watched him vanish, then turned back to Maxwell, hesitating. "Is your friend... a bit shy?"

"Yes," Maxwell said without missing a beat. "He has severe social anxiety. He’s like this around everyone."

He paused, looking at her with a gentle, calculated gaze. "Try not to talk to him next time. It’ll just make him feel uncomfortable."

Arianna’s eyes widened in realization. That explained it! It made perfect sense why he had been acting so frantic—he was just terrified of the social awkwardness.