Arianna quickly turned her back.

Do not look. Do not see.

She muttered the words to herself like a mantra. Behind her, the sounds were frantic—wardrobe doors creaking open one after another, the metallic clatter of hangers colliding in the dark.

After a long moment, Arianna steeled herself. "Have you... still not found them?"

The rustling stopped.

"No," Maxwell’s voice replied, thick with the heavy haze of alcohol. "I’ve forgotten where I put them. Could you help me look?"

Arianna’s eye twitched. "Are you sure?"

"Mmh," Maxwell blinked, his gaze unfocused. "I can’t see very well. I’m sorry to trouble you."

Arianna let out a silent sigh of surrender and walked over to help him find his "clothes." His dressing room wasn't massive, just a few rows of sleek, minimalist cabinets and glass display cases filled with watches, cufflinks, and silk ties. Everything looked impossibly expensive.

The aisle was narrow. Standing here, she could clearly feel the heat radiating from him, his rhythmic breathing, and the phantom sensation of their sleeves brushing against each other, leaving a trail of electricity on her skin.

His clothes were all shades of charcoal, slate, and white—sharp, high-quality, and understated. She gave the room a quick sweep before reaching for a side cabinet.

Maxwell’s voice murmured right by her ear, lazy and lingering. "Not there. I already checked."

His warm breath ghosted over the nape of her neck. Arianna blinked rapidly and shifted her search elsewhere.

A tipsy Maxwell leaned heavily against the wardrobe door, eyelids drooping, watching her rummage through his things with the detached air of someone who wasn't currently facing the prospect of stepping out of the shower with nothing to wear.

After turning over the contents of three separate drawers, Arianna sighed. "Do you really not remember where you keep your... undergarments?"

"I forgot."

He looked down at her. His eyes were dark, bottomless, and shimmering with a liquid sheen. The intoxication had brought out a vibrant flush at the corners of his eyes, shattering the cold, disciplined exterior he usually wore. He looked dazed, as if he had no idea what he was doing.

His gaze was unnervingly soft, vulnerable even.

Arianna was suddenly reminded of a stray tabby she used to feed—the one that would rub against her ankles and look up with such pathetic, pleading eyes whenever another cat stole its food. Back then, Arianna would grumble about the cat’s lack of backbone, only to spend the next ten minutes peeling sausages into tiny pieces just for it, shielding the cat from the others.

Just like now, she couldn't handle his soft, helpless look.

"It’s fine," she muttered, resigning herself. "I’ll keep looking."

At the very least, she wouldn't let him walk out of here going commando.

After several minutes of digging, she finally found a stack of fresh, boxed underwear in the bottom drawer. She glanced briefly at the packaging—a model with washboard abs, barely dressed.

Before she could even register the man’s face, a large hand reached over her shoulder, slamming the box shut and shielding it from her view.

"Finally found them. Thank you."

Arianna turned to find him smiling down at her, his eyes still hazy and unfocused. The flush on his cheeks made him look dangerously soft, completely stripped of his usual sharp, arrogant edge.

"Don't mention it," she said.

She asked, genuinely worried, "Are you sure you can manage a shower right now?"

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" He spoke slowly, drawing out the words, his eyes locked onto hers. "It's not like I could ask you to help me with that."

Arianna thought: *You’re certainly quick to be considerate, aren't you?*

Maxwell continued, trailing off, "And even if you were willing... I wouldn't let you."

Arianna froze.

*Wait.*

What did he mean, "even if you were willing"? Could this man stop acting like a walking heart-stealer for five seconds? Even if he asked, she wouldn't be interested!

"Right, I get it," Arianna said, deciding to treat him like a toddler. She spoke in a soothing, gentle tone. "Go on, get your shower over with."

***

The bathroom door finally clicked shut.

A moment later, the rhythmic sound of running water filled the air.

Arianna slumped against the door, finally letting out a long, shuddering breath. She had intended to go back to her own room, but the thought of him stumbling around, drunk and slippery, kept her rooted to the spot. What if he fell?

She grabbed her phone and settled onto the sofa in his room, mindlessly scrolling through her feed.

When she’d been slacking off at work yesterday, she’d confessed her marriage situation to her best friend, Gemma Bennett.

Gemma, unsurprisingly, hadn't been as shocked as Arianna expected. As someone who practically lived on a diet of romance novels, Gemma’s first reaction had been, "Holy hell, is this the legendary 'marriage-first, love-later' trope?!"

Arianna had countered calmly, "There is the marriage, but there is no 'later love.'"

Gemma, naturally, had been having none of it. "No, no, no. Don't simplify it. Everything happens for a reason."

Arianna: "The reason is he was being pressured by his family, and I wanted a place to call my own."

"Tsk," Gemma replied, her tone dripping with certainty. "Excuses. All of them!"

By the end of the call, Arianna had finally relented to Gemma's pestering and agreed to share the daily details of their life together, just so Gemma could keep an eye out for signs of them falling in love.

Just then, a message from Gemma popped up: [Arianna, what are you doing?]

As a long-time friend, Arianna could see the subtext immediately. With a resigned smile, she typed back: [He’s in the shower. I’m waiting for him to finish.]

Gemma: [...]

Gemma followed up with a frantic barrage of texts: [Holy crap, you two are already at that stage?!]

[Wait, it’s not what you think.]

Arianna quickly typed out an explanation: [He had too much to drink tonight. I’m worried he might pass out or hurt himself, so I’m just keeping watch.]

[I get it. You’re so in love, Arianna.]

Arianna rolled her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips: [Can you stop reading so many novels? It's rotting your brain.]

Gemma: [Can a marriage really lead to love? I feel like there’s a whole fairytale world in there.]

Arianna: [Who would even understand this! Reading all those novels has made you silly!]

Gemma: [...]

After a few more exchanges, Gemma mentioned she was heading out to dinner with some friends. Arianna’s phone was running low on battery, so they said their goodbyes and made vague plans to meet up, though they both knew how unlikely that was.

Back in their student days, they had been inseparable. But now, buried under the weight of their respective careers and endless overtime, finding a single day where both of them were free was a luxury neither could afford.

***

Arianna took her phone to her room to charge it, splashing cold water on her face to snap herself out of the daze.

When she stepped back out, the sound of the shower had stopped.

She slowed her pace, tilting her head to listen to the room. Once she heard the door open, she’d know he was safe and could finally retreat to her own room to sleep.

She stood there, straining her ears, but the room was deathly quiet.

*He didn't fall, did he?*

Her heart skipped a beat, and she hurried toward his bedroom.