"What are you doing?"

Maxwell poured two cubes of brown sugar from the jar, replying with measured calm, "Making you some warm brown sugar water."

As the sugar cubes hit the water with a soft splash, he continued, "The store had two kinds—plain brown sugar and ginger-infused. I figured you weren't a fan of ginger, so I went with the plain."

"I asked the clerk; she said both work about the same. Just drinking something warm should make you feel a bit better."

"Try this first. If it doesn't do the trick, we can swap it out for the ginger stuff, okay?"

Arianna’s lips parted, but no words came out. She stared blankly at his silhouette just a few feet away, back turned to her as he fussed over the kettle.

To give her a better view of the night skyline, he’d kept the lights off. He was hunched over now, searching for an outlet on the wall. He looked oddly endearing—almost comical in his focus.

Yet, a sudden, sharp ache blossomed in Arianna’s chest. Her eyes grew hot, and her nose stung. It felt like a stone had been dropped into a quiet lake, sending ripples out that refused to settle. She could hear the frantic rhythm of her own heart.

When she didn’t answer for a long moment, Maxwell glanced over his shoulder. "Everything okay?"

Thank God the room was dim; he couldn't see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. She sniffled softly. "I'm fine."

Maxwell didn’t dwell on it. He assumed the moodiness was just part of the cramps and hoped the sugar water would settle her. He turned back to his task. As the kettle began to heat up, he asked, "Are you going to drink the water first, or take your pain meds?"

"I already took some," Arianna replied.

As she spoke, Maxwell noticed the box of painkillers sitting on the TV stand. It was the exact same brand he’d just purchased. He walked over and sat down beside her, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. "You’ve already taken the medicine, and it still hurts this much?"

"Maybe I’ve built up a tolerance," Arianna said, thinking it over seriously. "It used to work like a charm when I first started taking them."

Maxwell shifted closer. His lean, firm arm brushed against hers, and she could feel the tension of his muscles beneath his sleeve. He naturally reached over, taking her hand and massaging her pale fingertips with slow, rhythmic strokes. He moved from her fingers to the back of her hand, his thumb tracing slow circles against her skin.

Under normal circumstances, this felt like the kind of loaded, sensual gesture that would have sent Arianna’s imagination into an uncontrollable tailspin—the kind of internal panic that usually forced her to run for the hills.

But tonight, there wasn't a hint of flirtation. She was in agony, her hands having gripped the throw pillow for hours; he was just trying to ease the tension in her fingers. And honestly, she only had one thought: she wanted to stay like this. She wanted to stay right here, even if it meant sitting in silence for the rest of the night.

Once he finished with one hand, he took the other, massaging it with the same patient care. "I remember when you were in college," he said softly, "you didn't have these kinds of problems, did you?"

*Problems?* She used to be a force of nature—eating anything in sight, bouncing around like a lunatic.

Arianna felt a pang of self-reproach. "It wasn't that bad then. But after I started working, my sleep schedule got messed up, my diet went to hell, and the cramps just... started happening."

"And by 'messed up,' you mean?"

"Staying up late," Arianna admitted.

"Work-related?"

"Not entirely," she said, feeling embarrassed. "I just... I don't want the day to end. It feels like as soon as I wake up, I'm already at the office. So, even when I’m exhausted—even when I’m so tired I’ve dropped my phone on my face—I still can't bring myself to sleep."

Maxwell was silent for a beat, his expression one of rare, genuine confusion.

"And your diet?" he pressed, lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. "What exactly were you eating?"

"Greasy stuff, spicy food, things that are too cold."

He arched a brow. "For example?"

"For example," Arianna started, listing them off, "crab, shrimp, shellfish, watermelon, ice cream, alcohol, coffee, strong tea, chili peppers, Szechuan peppercorns..."

She thought he was just making small talk, so she rattled off the list without holding back. She didn't realize that Maxwell had pulled out his phone and opened his notes app. He typed every single item down.

"Got it," he said, locking his phone. "I’ve made a note of it."

"From now on, we’re following this protocol during your period. I’ll be the one supervising."

Arianna stared at him, stunned. That... that wasn't what she meant at all. Look at her—literally digging her own grave, and doing it with a smile. She laughed dryly. "That seems a bit excessive, don't you think?"

Maxwell’s resolve was ironclad. "We have two options. One: you stick to a strict, regimented diet during your period."

"Or, two: I know a fantastic holistic specialist. We can go see him, get some herbal decoctions, and you can drink them on schedule to balance your system. What do you think?"

Arianna squinted at him. "If I take the herbal stuff, does that mean I don't have to follow the diet?"

What would even be the point of the medicine otherwise?

"No," Maxwell said, looking impossibly reasonable. "You'd still have to stick to the diet. Whatever the doctor says is off-limits stays off-limits."

...Wait. What was the difference?

What kind of herbalist would ever let someone on their period eat ice-cold food? Arianna remembered reading about a famous family of herbalists who wouldn't touch a cold drink even in the middle of a heatwave.

But Arianna couldn't give up her sweets. Especially chocolate-covered ice cream bars, rich with fruit jam and creamy fudge. Just looking at them on a non-cramping day was enough to make her lose her mind. Her grandmother always said she was the type to forget the pain as soon as the hunger hit.

Maxwell watched her, eyes burning with focus, one eyebrow cocked. "Well? Which one are you picking?"

"Or we could go with both. Double down. You'll heal faster that way."

Arianna: "..."

"I'll take the first one."

Maxwell squeezed her fingertips, his expression unreadable. "Are you sure?"

Arianna nodded. "Sure."

He sighed with mock regret. "Fair enough. The first one it is. I’ll be keeping a very close eye on your diet from now on."

"I expect the future Mrs. King to be completely cooperative."

Arianna thought it wouldn't be that hard. "No problem." She agreed, far too eager.

It wasn't until the kettle began to whistle and steam, bubbles roiling in the water, that the reality hit her. She’d been played. From the start of this "negotiation," he’d led her by the nose, and she’d walked blindly into his trap. And the worst part? The hunter looked like he was the one making a sacrifice, making her feel like she’d actually gotten the better end of the deal.

Arianna fought the urge to put her head in her hands.

Wasn't this just basic childhood psychology? How had she fallen for it?

Then again, one look at him, and she knew: her judgment was clearly compromised.