"Still hurting?"

"A little."

Maxwell King looked down at her for a few seconds, his voice gentle and coaxing, "Arianna, there's no need to play the tough guy in front of me. We're husband and wife."

Arianna Stone: "..."

That sounded strange, didn't it? Perhaps it was because his tone was so tender that Arianna couldn't help but lose herself in it. She hesitated, then nodded.

Maxwell asked again, "Does it still hurt?"

This time, Arianna didn't hold back. She pressed a hand to her lower abdomen, her mask of composure fracturing. "Yes." She whispered, "But it's better than before. I managed to get some sleep."

Maxwell reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Then, he pulled a tissue from behind him and wiped the cold sweat from her forehead and cheeks. His face remained largely unreadable—somewhat dark, his lips set in a tight, displeased line—but his touch remained gentle, and his tone sounded like he was coddling a child.

"Are you cold?"

The tissue brushed against her cheek, leaving a faint, ticklish sensation. After a beat, she replied, "Not really, just the cramping."

"Then why are you still wearing your coat?"

Arianna replied distractedly, "My clothes underneath were soaked, so I just kept it on."

Maxwell understood immediately.

"Do you have anything dry here? If not, I'll go downstairs and buy some. There's a clothing store in the lobby. Would you mind wearing something from there for now?"

"I have clothes," she said. "In the wardrobe."

Perhaps it's true that haste makes waste. No sooner had the words left her lips than Maxwell walked over and swung the wardrobe door open. "Which one do you—"

In the next second, both of them froze.

Because she was on a week-long business trip, Arianna had hung all her clothes in the hotel wardrobe for easy access, her undergarments included. At that very moment, a moss-green and white lace set hung prominently, swaying gently right before Maxwell’s eyes.

Arianna: "..."

It is no exaggeration to say that in that instant, Arianna was already mentally picking out a burial plot.

The pain in her stomach seemed to flare up even worse. She bit her lip, her mind racing to find a way to salvage the situation and end the excruciating awkwardness.

Maxwell, however, acted as if he’d seen nothing at all. He reached out and plucked the red dress she’d worn in their video call two days ago, along with the undergarments tucked beside it.

Arianna stared, transfixed.

He handled the items as if they were precious treasures, taking them off the hanger and handing them to her. "Will this work?"

Arianna: "...Yes."

Maxwell turned and pulled open the bathroom door.

Arianna whispered a thank you and hugged the clothes, preparing to go in, but Maxwell stepped inside first. He looked back at her and said, "I'll go in. It’s more spacious in there, so you go ahead and change out here. Let me know when you're done."

The bathroom door slowly clicked shut.

Arianna looked at that door. A sliver of light filtered through the crack, along with a dark shadow—the toes of his shoes. Inside, it was completely quiet. Not a single sound.

A fire seemed to be stoked in Arianna’s chest. Her blood felt heated, her lungs tight with a sudden, overwhelming fullness.

Once changed, she walked over and opened the bathroom door. Maxwell was standing there with his back to her. His shoulders were broad and imposing, a picture of effortless security. Hearing the movement, he turned around. "Are you done?"

"Yes."

Maxwell walked over to the table and picked up the self-heating menstrual patches he’d bought downstairs. He tore one open, peeled off the backing, and handed it to her.

"Stick this onto your lower abdomen. It should help," he instructed earnestly. "And be careful not to let it touch your skin directly—it might burn you. Make sure you stick it over a layer of fabric."

Arianna paused. "How did you know?"

"Looked it up online," Maxwell said, his eyes crinkling with a smile. "Plus, the clerk mentioned it earlier—don't let it touch your skin."

After watching her securely attach the patch, Maxwell supported her as she slowly moved toward the sofa. Arianna felt like an Empress Dowager, entirely unused to such pampering. She twitched her fingers, only for Maxwell to take her hand in a firmer, more certain grip.

"...I'm fine," she whispered. "I can walk on my own."

"I know," Maxwell said, staying right by her side, his voice sincere and edged with a hint of pleading. "It’s just that I want to take care of you, Arianna."

"..."

With Maxwell’s help, Arianna sank onto the sofa, clutching a throw pillow against her stomach. The heating patch had started out cool, but now it was radiating a steady warmth, like a miniature hearth pressing against her, slowly dissolving the sharp, dragging ache in her abdomen.

"Arianna, do you want me to open the curtains?"

Maxwell stood by the window, the ambient light casting his frame into a silhouette of nonchalant grace. His voice carried a coaxing lilt. "I hear the night view in Riverside is spectacular. Want to see?"

Arianna was like a mesmerized gosling, nodding blankly. Maxwell had always been gentle, but tonight he was something else entirely—cautious in his movements, soft in his speech, as if he were afraid of startling her.

He was impossibly tender.

With a soft *swish*, the curtains parted. Maxwell walked to the bedside and killed all the lights in the room.

The room plunged into darkness for a heartbeat before the moonlight washed in, suddenly illuminating everything. Her room was just below the top floor. The night sky was dotted with stars, and the moon hung there like a young girl in a shimmering white gown, casting its pale glow across the entire room.

The hotel overlooked the river, and the neon lights of the skyscrapers on the opposite bank danced upon the water, staining the river in a thousand vibrant colors. It was dazzling, a city of endless light.

Arianna hugged her soft pillow, leaning back against the sofa, savoring the view.

The light fell into her eyes, making them clear and bright, the dark pupils reflecting the sparkling stars above, her thick, soft lashes casting a gentle shadow. Maxwell, bathed in the moonlight, watched her, unable to look away. "Have you not been out to see the view these past few days?"

"No," Arianna said, pressing her cheek against the pillow, her voice dragging out into an unconscious, pampered pout. "I've been so busy lately. I just collapse into bed the second I get back. I haven't noticed anything, really."

"And now? Is it beautiful?"

Arianna nodded, saying with sincere awe, "Beautiful. It’s really, really beautiful."

The skyscrapers were inlaid with brilliant lights, a shimmering, kaleidoscopic display that made the world outside look like a fever dream of luxury. Arianna focused intently on the view.

When she turned back, she saw Maxwell standing there, fiddling with something in his hands, causing a faint, rhythmic sound.