Maxwell felt the corner of his mouth lift as the realization settled in.

Arianna stiffened. She was seated on the sofa, while Maxwell stood directly behind her, his hands braced against the backrest. He leaned in lazily, lowering himself to match the height of the phone she held, as if he were holding her from behind.

They were so close their heads were nearly touching.

The lingering steam from the bathroom clung to him, mingled with the crisp, clean scent of his body wash, quietly invading her senses. The entire room seemed to be saturated with him. He had just stepped out of the shower, bare-chested and wrapped only in a white towel that sat precariously low on his waist. In her periphery, Arianna could see a glimpse of that white fabric and the tight, rippled muscles of his abdomen—chiseled and dangerously alluring.

She held the phone with a rigid, unnatural grip, barely registering the pleasantries being exchanged between Maxwell and her grandmother, Rosemary. Her brain had completely short-circuited. Arianna was never one to handle flirting well; her earlobes and the fair column of her neck flushed a deep, burning crimson.

Maxwell’s lips curled in a barely perceptible smile. He didn’t dare push her any further, afraid that if he teased her too hard, she’d retreat into her shell again.

He reached out and gently took the phone from her, standing tall as he continued the conversation. Arianna stayed frozen in place, still trying to regain her composure. She watched as their conversation drifted, and before she knew it, Maxwell had stepped out onto the terrace to finish the call.

The terrace was just far enough from the living room that she couldn't make out the words, but Maxwell’s expression was uncharacteristically serious, as if he were discussing something of grave importance. When he finally returned, Arianna’s curiosity got the better of her.

"What were you talking to my grandmother about?" she asked.

Maxwell chuckled. "Rosemary told me to make sure you’re careful during your period—no more cold or iced foods."

"Huh? I don’t believe you," Arianna countered, her tone instinctively laced with a playful, spoiled edge. She laughed, teasing him, "Are you treating me like a child? Using my grandmother as an excuse to lecture me?"

"I’m kidding," Maxwell said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "But if she knew you were in this much pain today, she’d definitely say exactly that."

Arianna’s spirits immediately withered. "Fine. You have a point."

Maxwell raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"..." Arianna bit the bullet, muttering, "I’ll try to change, okay?"

"No need to just 'try.'"

"What?" Arianna’s eyes widened, and she looked up at him, surprised.

Maxwell reached out to ruffle her hair, his voice dropping into a gentle, devilish tone right against her ear, "I’ll take responsibility for supervising you. I’m a man of my word—I won't let you touch anything cold from now on."

Arianna: "..."

*I’m so... thank you for that.*

***

Inside the bathroom, Maxwell splashed cold water onto his face to cool down. Crystal-clear droplets cascaded down from his forehead. He braced his arms against the vanity and went quiet, the words Rosemary had whispered earlier echoing in his mind:

*“I know you’re a good boy, Maxwell. I’ve seen how you treat Arianna. But if—and I mean if—there comes a day when you don't love her anymore, please, don’t hurt her. Just let her go back to living her own life.”*

*“She’s lived alone for so many years; she’ll be just fine on her own.”*

*“I know her nature. As soon as someone shows her a little kindness, she feels indebted. She’ll give them her heart, her soul—she’d give them her life if she could.”*

*“She’s only just started to heal after the suffering she went through those past few years.”*

Over the phone, the old woman’s voice had been thick with unshed tears, terrified that he would treat Arianna poorly, yet equally terrified that he would treat her *too* well, only to cause a deeper, more devastating wound later.

*“I have no other request, only this: no matter what happens, please, don't break her.”*

At the end of the call, Maxwell had shed his usual carefree, cynical demeanor and answered with absolute gravity, "Rosemary, I promise you. I will treat Arianna well for as long as I live."

"Arianna is my wife, now and forever. We will spend the rest of our lives together."

***

Arianna’s parents had divorced when she was in elementary school. According to Rosemary, those were the happiest, most carefree days of Arianna’s life. Her parents had been a loving couple, doting on their only daughter. But in the blink of an eye, the marriage shattered. Both parents remarried, and Arianna was left as a piece of baggage that neither side wanted.

If she had never known that kind of love, perhaps it wouldn't have mattered. But the sheer drop from grace is the only thing that can kill a person from the inside out. That sentiment was painfully true.

When Arianna was little, she would watch other children being coddled by their parents and be flooded with memories of her own lost happiness. Then, she would look at herself—utterly alone. Sometimes, she would be mocked or isolated by cruel classmates. It became a weapon for others to use against her.

*“No wonder your parents don’t want you.”*

*“It’s no surprise they got divorced. It’s probably your fault.”*

*“If you’re so great, why did your parents abandon you?”*

Those childhood shadows had haunted her into adulthood, leaving deep scars on her personality. Even now, she could effortlessly deflect malice or insults from unfriendly people, ensuring she never felt the sting of their words.

But kindness? Sudden, genuine warmth? That always left her feeling bewildered. She never knew how to reciprocate that kind of generosity, terrified that the person’s efforts would be wasted on her.

Maxwell understood her psychology, which was why he kept so many things hidden from her. For instance, when he received that call today, he had dropped everything—work, meetings, obligations—and raced to the airport without a second thought. He had lied, claiming it was for work, because he was afraid of making her uncomfortable, afraid she couldn't adapt to the weight of his devotion.

Yet, she had no idea that five years ago, Maxwell had already handed his heart to her completely.

***

Ever since she realized they would be sharing a bed tonight, Arianna’s heart had been pounding in her throat. She couldn't sit still, her eyes glued to the variety show on the television while her mind drifted a thousand miles away.

Unlike the time she had been drunk, she was wide awake now.

*How do I act natural?*

Maxwell had been in the bathroom for so long—was he shy?

*Well, fair enough.*

This was her hotel room, after all; by proxy, she was the host. That thought gave her a sudden, misplaced sense of responsibility. She stood up and knocked on the bathroom door.

After a few seconds of silence, Maxwell’s gentle voice drifted through. "What’s wrong?"

"Are you..." Arianna spent several minutes steeling her nerves before she could get the words out naturally. "Are you going to sleep soon?"

Silence followed from inside.

A moment later, the tap was turned on, the water rushing into the sink. The door swung open. Maxwell, taking advantage of his height, looked down at her. "Hmm? What did you say?"

There were still water droplets on his face from where he’d splashed it, but his eyes were rimmed with a faint, unusual red.

Arianna froze, reaching out to point at his eyes. "What happened? Are you in pain?"

Her voice was soft, her tone filled with genuine concern. Her fair finger hovered just inches from his skin, hesitant to touch.

Maxwell didn't wait; he caught her hand and pressed it gently against his cheek. "Where? Here?"

"No," Arianna paused, her finger tracing slightly higher. "The corners of your eyes. They’re very red."