Arianna was completely stunned by his words. She sat there for a long moment, unable to form a coherent response.

"I... well..."

She scrambled to organize her thoughts, but nothing came out. Eventually, she gave up.

Maxwell looked on, offering the advice with an air of pure, helpful concern. "This way, you won't strain your hand, and your arm won't go numb."

Technically, it made sense. But something still felt... off. She couldn't quite put her finger on what, though.

Arianna, feeling dazed, let him take her hand and guide it toward his bare torso. "Place it here. You won't be putting any pressure on yourself."

The moment her fingertips brushed his skin, she instinctively recoiled, but Maxwell—half-gently, half-firmly—guided her hand back to his body.

He placed it perfectly over his abs.

Arianna’s breath hitched. Her soft palm rested against his stomach; beneath the skin, she could feel the taut, defined lines of his core. The air in the room suddenly felt heavy and suffocating. She stayed frozen in her initial, stiff posture, palm pressed against him, not daring to move.

"It’s fine," Maxwell said. "You can touch."

Arianna: "???"

Realizing how that sounded, Maxwell gave a light cough and regained his composure. "I mean, feel free to put your hand wherever is comfortable. Whatever works for you."

Arianna: "..."

That sounded even worse. She parted her lips to speak, then thought better of it and just shut her mouth. She honestly couldn't find a single reply. She knew he was just being kind, but this was all just so…

"Don't overthink it," Maxwell’s voice was warm and smooth. "I just want you to be comfortable so you aren't in so much pain. You have to work tomorrow, after all."

Was Maxwell a mind reader?

Arianna quickly reined in her wandering thoughts and replied with an earnest nod. "I know. Thank you."

"Mm. Go to sleep."

He massaged her lower abdomen with a steady, rhythmic pressure that chased the cramping away. With her hand still resting against his firm, warm abs, she felt a strange sense of grounding. Once he had pointed out the logic, all her lingering, fluttery thoughts vanished. Her mind went completely blank—a clean slate.

She fell asleep within five minutes.

Maxwell lay on his side, watching her. He didn't stop the massage, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles. Arianna’s breathing was even; her long lashes were shut, casting shadows over her pale, delicate skin. She had a dainty nose and soft, natural-pink lips.

Maxwell kept his dark eyes locked on her, the intensity of his affection clear and unmasked.

Partway through the night, she shifted, curling into a ball on her side. Maxwell adjusted his position to keep up the massage. Perhaps because the touch was so comforting, Arianna relaxed completely, drifting unconsciously toward his hand until her forehead rested against his shoulder.

Her soft, shallow breaths ghosted against his skin.

Maxwell carefully regulated his movement, terrified that if he were too rough, he’d wake her, but if he were too soft, the pain would return.

"Maxwell," she whispered in her sleep. "Don't be so good to me. I'm afraid I'll..."

Maxwell’s breath hitched. "You'll what?"

She went silent.

He froze, his heart pounding against his ribs, afraid to finish the sentence in his mind. Was she going to say she'd "love" him, or "hate" him?

"Arianna?" he prompted, his voice tight. "What will you do?"

There was no answer from the other side.

A moment later, it dawned on him: she was just talking in her sleep. He exhaled a long, shaky breath and stared blankly at the ceiling. He knew exactly what he was hoping for, and exactly what he was terrified of.

***

In the deep hours of the night, Arianna stirred.

The bed beside her was empty. A light shone from the bathroom, and the faint, rhythmic sound of running water drifted through the door.

She blinked, heavy with sleep, trying to make sense of the scene before drifting back into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Inside the bathroom, water cascaded down, soaking Maxwell’s hair. He slicked it back, baring a sharp, clean forehead. Water droplets tracked down his neck to his collarbone, trailing over his pale, solid chest and the defined muscles of his abdomen.

A low, gravelly groan mixed with the sound of the shower. The veins on his forearms stood out, a testament to the restraint he was desperately holding onto.

***

The next morning, the heavy curtains remained drawn, though slivers of bright, early morning light cut through the gaps to create dappled patterns on the floor.

The figure in the bed was still buried deep under the covers.

The alarm had already gone off once. A few minutes ago, Maxwell had watched with silent amusement as she’d grumbled, shoved a pale arm out from under the duvet to fumble for her phone, and cracked one eye open just long enough to kill the alarm before tucking herself back in with utter contentment.

She hadn't moved since.

Maxwell checked the time. It was early enough; he didn't mind waiting. He sat quietly at the edge of the bed, watching over her.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen.

"Arianna," Maxwell said, his voice soft and amused. "It’s getting late. Time to get up."

A muffled, sleepy voice drifted from beneath the quilt. "What time is it?"

The tail end of her sentence dragged, thick with the drowsy, congested tone of someone who had just woken up. It sounded sweet, lazy, and unintentionally like a pout.

Maxwell paused. He suddenly felt like the cold shower he’d taken in the middle of the night had been entirely wasted.

He checked his phone after a long beat. "Seven-thirty."

The moment the words left his lips, the covers were kicked off. Arianna bolted upright, a dazed, disbelieving look on her face. "Say that again. What time?"

"Seven-thirty."

She leaped out of bed, shoved her feet into her slippers, and practically sprinted toward the bathroom. "Wait for me! I need to get ready."

Maxwell stayed where he was, feeling a bit confused.

Arianna moved with lightning speed, brushing her teeth and washing her face. Just as she was dampening a towel, a knock sounded on the bathroom door.

She cracked the door open. "Yeah?"

Maxwell stood there, looking relaxed, leaning against the doorframe. "How’s the stomach? Still hurting?"

If he hadn't brought it up, she would have forgotten all about her period. "It’s fine now," she replied sincerely. "Thank you for last night."

"Don't mention it," Maxwell replied. He looked at her, tilting his head. "You aren't supposed to be at the office until eight-thirty. Why the rush?"

Arianna froze, clutching the towel to her chest. She stared at herself in the mirror for a few seconds before the realization hit her: she was on a business trip.

The schedule was different; her start time was pushed from eight to eight-thirty to accommodate the client's office.

Maxwell leaned back, looking entirely unbothered. "It takes five minutes to get from here to the office, tops. You still have an hour. No need to panic."

"…Right. Got it."