The elevator plunged into a suffocating silence.

Arianna’s heart skipped a beat. She fumbled for her phone, her hands shaking so violently from nerves that she accidentally hit the end-call button before she could speak.

Maxwell: "..."

The elevator doors slid open at the ground floor.

The office building was in a bustling business district, flanked by a massive shopping complex where a row of taxis sat waiting for fares. Ivy Mitchell flagged down a sleek, electric-powered cab. "Take this one. It’s a smoother ride—it should be easier on you."

"Thanks," Arianna said, climbing into the back seat. "Don't worry about me. I’m fine, you should head back inside."

"Just text me when you get home," Ivy insisted.

Inside the cab, Arianna sat in the back, her stomach churning, and dialed Maxwell back. Before the first ring could even finish, he picked up. His voice was laced with an underlying, focused intensity. "Arianna."

Arianna bit her lip, forcing herself to offer an explanation. "I wasn't feeling great today, so my supervisor let me head out early. I’m in a cab now, heading back to my hotel."

Maxwell didn’t buy her act for a second.

*Not feeling great?*

Only minutes ago, he’d heard her coworkers gasping about how pale she looked, insisting on escorting her all the way downstairs. Was she really just "not feeling great"? He kept his frustration to himself, however, refusing to push her further.

"Text me the cab’s license plate number once you get in."

"Okay."

After hanging up, Arianna followed his instructions, dutifully sending him the license plate details.

Maxwell: [Which hotel?]

Arianna assumed he was just looking out for her safety. Without a second thought, she sent him the address and her room number.

***

After she stepped out of the cab, Arianna stopped at a pharmacy to pick up painkillers and sanitary pads before heading up to her room.

The moment the door clicked shut, her legs gave out. She slumped to the floor, sliding down until she was sitting on the carpet, clutching her abdomen. A fine sheen of sweat broke out across her forehead.

All the composure she had been clinging to shattered instantly. Her breathing turned jagged, echoing loudly in the quiet room. She leaned her back against the shoe rack, her knuckles white as she dug her fingers into her stomach, trying to stifle the agony. It felt as if her internal organs were being twisted and pulled, a relentless, searing cramp that pulsed with every heartbeat. Her shirt was soaked through with cold sweat, but she didn’t have the strength to move, let alone change.

She sat there for half an hour, shivering uncontrollably. Finally, she managed to haul herself up and boil some water to swallow a dose of pain medication.

It was mid-summer, yet the room felt like a freezer to her. She was trapped in a cycle of feverish heat and bone-deep chills. Her consciousness began to blur. She crawled toward the bed and dragged the duvet over herself, desperate to slip into a deep, dreamless sleep, praying that when she woke up, the torture in her gut would finally subside.

Large droplets of sweat rolled down her temples, staining the white sheets. She curled into a small, tight ball, her long lashes trembling against her flushed cheeks.

Time slipped away.

When Arianna finally drifted back to consciousness, the room was swallowed in darkness. She groped for her phone: 8:30 PM. The pain hadn't relented. Starving but unable to stomach a real meal, she opened a food delivery app and ordered a bowl of hot porridge, then cranked the volume on her phone to the max and pulled the blankets over her head.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Arianna blinked, dazed. She marveled at the delivery driver's speed, stumbling toward the door. As she passed the entryway, she grabbed a cardigan and threw it over her shoulders—her T-shirt was drenched with sweat, clinging to her skin.

She swung the door open, her hand already extended to grab the bag, but she froze. Her arm hung uselessly in the air, her brain stalling.

Standing in the hallway, looking impossibly sharp in a tailored shirt and slacks, was Maxwell King. He stood tall and steady, his dark eyes fixed on her. There was a faint, lingering fatigue around his eyes, as if he had traveled a long distance to be here.

Arianna blinked. She was certain she was hallucinating. She didn't speak, just stared at him in stunned silence.

Maxwell frowned, his eyes scanning her.

She was thinner. She’d only been gone for a few days, but the little bit of weight she’d managed to put on was gone, leaving her chin sharp. Her arms looked like fragile twigs, as if they might snap under the slightest pressure. She was leaning against the doorframe, her hair damp with sweat and clinging to her temples, her usually bright, starry eyes dimmed by exhaustion.

His heart ached. Trying not to startle her, he whispered, "Arianna."

She snapped back to reality, realizing this wasn't a dream. "What are you doing here?"

Maxwell lied with practiced ease. "I was in town for business. Just thought I’d stop by to check on you."

Arianna was far too delirious from the pain to analyze the truth of his statement. She simply nodded, dazed. "Oh."

Maxwell lowered his gaze, his voice softening. "Are you not going to invite me in?"

"..."

Arianna stepped back, clearing a path. "Sorry... I’m a bit out of it. Come in."

The room was sweltering, the air thick and stagnant. Arianna, still wrapped tightly in her cardigan, retreated to the sofa and curled into a ball. She looked drained, her face flushed with fever.

On the flight over, Maxwell had spent the entire journey researching the symptoms of her condition: abdominal cramping, back pain, sensitivity to cold, cold sweats, nausea, dizziness.

Seeing the sheer misery etched onto her face, he felt a sharp stab of self-loathing. He had arrived far too late.

Arianna shifted on the sofa, finally noticing the oppressive heat of the room. She stood up, heading toward the wall unit to crank up the air conditioning, but Maxwell intercepted her, catching her arm. "What are you doing?"

"Turning on the AC," Arianna said, looking at him as if he were crazy. "Are you not roasting in here?"

"Don't. Keep the AC off."

Arianna: "?"

He came up with a lie in a heartbeat. "I’ve been dealing with a bit of a cold lately. My doctor told me to stay away from the air conditioning." He paused, looking down at her, worried she would be annoyed. "It’s only a mild cold, don't worry. I’m not contagious."

Arianna was still focused on the heat. "If we keep it off, won't you be too hot?"

"I'm fine," Maxwell said with complete composure. "I'm used to it."

"Alright."

It was only then that she noticed what he was holding. A clear plastic bag, identical to the ones from the convenience store downstairs. He hadn't brought any luggage, just that bag.

She watched, stunned, as he pulled the contents out one by one: sanitary pads, a canister of organic ginger-brown sugar tea, a box of painkillers, and several packs of self-heating menstrual patches.

Arianna stared. "You brought all this?"

Maxwell didn't hesitate. "I heard you talking to your coworker earlier. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard your voice and knew something was wrong. I’m sorry."

Arianna felt the world spinning. "No... it's okay."