Noah Carter stared at him in stunned silence, his mouth agape, forgetting even to chew the slice of watermelon in his mouth.

Alexis Morgan was equally rattled.

Maxwell King married to Arianna Stone? The very thought sounded like a fever dream.

In her mind, they were two people who moved in entirely different orbits. Putting aside their family backgrounds—where Maxwell was leagues above anyone in this room—how did a woman like Arianna even enter the picture?

Yet, looking at the raw, agonizing frustration on Cameron Hughes’s face, she was forced to accept the reality:

Maxwell had indeed married Arianna.

And from the looks of it, they were sickeningly happy, with no sign of a divorce on the horizon.

Why?

How could a woman like Arianna land such a golden goose after dumping Cameron?

Alexis took a long, steadying breath, suppressing the venom rising in her throat. She patted Cameron on the shoulder. "Forget it, man. It’s just Arianna. You want me to set you up with someone else next week?"

Cameron was a storm cloud of misery, his expression dark enough to kill. He didn’t even register a word Alexis said. All he could hear was the way Maxwell had cooed "Arianna" into the phone moments ago.

That nickname. It used to belong to him.

...

Out in the hallway, Maxwell held his phone to his ear, his voice softened to a whisper. "Arianna?"

"Oh?" Arianna blinked, pulling the phone away to double-check the caller ID. "Sorry, wrong number. I was trying to call Miranda..."

Maxwell didn't care about the slip-up. "Did you have dinner?"

"Not yet. I was just about to head out."

"Good."

Silence stretched between them until Arianna broke it. "What about you? What are you up to?"

Maxwell chuckled, giving her a play-by-play. "I’m still out. I’m at Julian Adams’s restaurant—the food is incredible. We should come here together sometime."

"I’ve finished up, though. Heading home now."

Arianna listened patiently. "Drive safe, then."

"I will," Maxwell promised. "It’s getting late. Go get something to eat."

"Okay."

---

Hanging up, Maxwell strolled back into the ballroom with effortless grace.

Under the gaze of the entire room, he curled his lips into a faint, indulgent smile. "Excuse me, everyone. My wife is demanding I come home. We’ll have to catch up another time."

Someone in the crowd jeered playfully.

"I didn’t realize Mrs. King was so clingy, Maxwell."

"She is," Maxwell replied, unbothered. "But honestly? We’re both pretty clingy. If anything, I’m the one who’s worse."

The room went dead silent.

"Mrs. King is truly blessed to have married a man as accomplished as you, Maxwell," a guest chimed in with a forced laugh. "I was actually going to introduce my sister to you yesterday—she’s been a fan of yours for years. Seems she’s missed her chance."

Maxwell’s eyes warmed with a genuine, gentle light.

"No, it’s my blessing," he said softly. "Marrying her is the honor of my life."

The guest’s smile faltered, replaced by a series of frantic, sycophantic nods. "Right, right. Of course. A fortunate man indeed."

The curiosity in the room was now a physical weight. Who was this woman who had managed to tame the untouchable head of King Enterprises? How was she keeping him on such a short leash, to the point where he couldn't stand to hear a single word against her?

A bolder soul decided to push their luck. "Maxwell, when are you going to bring your wife out? Let us all meet her."

Maxwell’s response was immediate. "She’s busy with work. She doesn't have time for social calls."

---

On the ride back, Spencer Miller drummed his fingers against the seat armrest, unable to resist a jab. "Was it really work, or are you just terrified of bringing her out around all these men?"

"What’s the matter? Scared someone’s going to snatch her up?"

Maxwell leaned back, his eyes closed, his expression masked in exhaustion. He didn’t reply.

In the span of a few seconds, Spencer’s imagination had already spiraled into a hundred different, sordid scenarios. "Don’t tell me you’re actually planning to keep her hidden away like a trophy?"

Maxwell draped his arm over his brow, his voice lazy and raspy. "I’d like to. But she wouldn't have it."

"Damn," Spencer hissed. "Are you always this unhinged? Don't make me call your sister on you!"

Childish.

Maxwell couldn’t be bothered to trade barbs with such an amateur. It was a drain on his IQ.

He straightened up, his eyes cold and clear. "I’m joking."

Spencer looked at him and felt a chill. That didn't sound like a joke at all.

"I just don't see the point in her being around those people," Maxwell added. "It’s unnecessary."

Spencer blinked. "How is it unnecessary?"

"What is the point for her?" Maxwell challenged.

"I bring her out just to stroke my own ego, or to satisfy the idle curiosity of people who want to see what kind of wife I picked out? It would just make her the main course of their dinner-party gossip."

"At the end of the day, what does she gain from it? Absolutely nothing."

Spencer stared at him, momentarily speechless. Finally, he gave a slow, begrudging thumbs-up.

"You win. Don’t ever ask me for relationship advice again. You’re the master here. I’m clearly the one who needs to take notes."

---

Back home, Maxwell went upstairs for a shower. Wrapped in a towel, he sent a text to Arianna. When he saw she was free, he initiated a video call.

He hadn't seen her all day.

He missed her.