Before she could even cry out, a pair of long, slender hands gripped her waist, swiftly reeling her back into his chest.

Arianna Stone blinked, struggling to process the scene. She was sitting on Maxwell King’s lap. Her own hands, acting on pure instinct, were still wrapped around his neck. And, to make matters significantly worse, her other hand was planted firmly—and quite inconveniently—right over his abs.

Her previous "bold declaration" was still echoing in her mind.

Arianna felt like dying. The humiliation hit harder and faster than she could have prepared for. Would he think she was doing this on purpose? Trying to get a feel? She braced herself for his mockery, ready to just roll over and accept her fate.

But Maxwell didn’t laugh.

His grip on her waist tightened, his expression shifting into visible tension. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Before she could answer, he leaned down, gripping her ankles to inspect them. "Did you twist your foot?"

"No," Arianna stammered, stunned.

Maxwell held her wrists, gently shifting her further onto the sofa. "I’m going to press here. Tell me if it hurts."

"..."

"Does it hurt here?"

Arianna felt as if her brain had short-circuited. She responded mechanically, "No pain."

"How about here?"

"...No pain."

After a full examination, Maxwell finally let out a breath of relief. His warm palm lingered against her ankle as he gave it a gentle rotation. "And this? Any pain?"

"No."

Where his skin pressed against hers, it was searing hot, leaving a trail of warmth that made Arianna’s heart race. She managed to steady her frantic pulse and pulled her feet back, rotating her ankles to prove a point. "See? I’m fine. Totally fine. Stop worrying."

Maxwell let out a soft sound of acknowledgment. His brows smoothed out, and his demeanor relaxed.

An awkward, charged silence hung in the air. Because of the little mishap, Arianna was still perched on Maxwell’s lap, her toes curled against the fabric of the sofa. Maxwell had one arm wrapped around her, his fingers resting lazily against her waist. His gaze was deep, drifting downward with a slow, languid intensity.

A meaningful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Arianna followed his gaze.

Her hand. It was still resting motionless on his abs. It hadn't moved an inch since the moment she sat down!

Arianna: "..."

The sound of his voice, low and teasing, drifted into her ear. "Arianna, it seems your hand... has a mind of its own."

Arianna felt her scalp tingle. She tried to pull away, but he caught her hand, pressing it more firmly against his rigid abdomen. His voice went a little raspy, laced with infinite indulgence and affection. "It's fine. If you want to touch, just touch."

"I don't mind."

Arianna: "..."

The owner of said abs had just issued an incredibly warm and friendly invitation. Arianna sat there like a statue, unable to form a coherent sentence. She could only manage a dry, awkward chuckle.

Beneath her palm, the sensation was impossible to ignore. The firm, knit-like texture of his muscles was digging into her skin. Every time he breathed or spoke, his abs would flex, vibrating against her palm with an intensity that sent a jolt of electricity straight through her. It was overwhelming.

A soft, amused voice dropped from above her head. "Do you like it?"

Arianna froze. "Like... what?" She had a sinking suspicion of what he was asking, and she was doing her absolute best to dodge it.

Maxwell, however, wasn't letting her off the hook. His gaze lingered on her, his lips curled in a relaxed, lazy smirk. "What do you think?"

He didn't wait for her answer. He simply kept his hand over hers, holding her against his muscle with a very clear implication. "My abs. Do you like them?"

Arianna gave a stiff, tiny nod. "...I do."

"Do you like this kind of build," Maxwell pondered, looking at her with genuine, focused curiosity, "or do you prefer something bigger?"

"Something... bigger?"

"Like those gym-rat trainers, for instance."

Arianna was completely lost. She knew nothing about bodybuilding. Was Maxwell asking the wrong person?

Maxwell arched a brow, his expression entirely at ease. "If you like more muscle, I’ll just hit the gym harder and turn into the look you want. If you like the way I am now, then I’ll just maintain this."

Arianna: "..."

She could have racked her brain for a thousand years and never expected this conversation. She sat there, jaw slightly agape, speechless.

His hand on her waist gave a gentle squeeze. "Well? Which one does Mrs. King prefer?"

Arianna’s eyelashes fluttered. Every coherent thought she had was being derailed by that single, intimate movement. She blinked slowly. "This... this lean-cut physique. It’s perfect."

"Lean-cut?" Maxwell repeated, puzzled.

Arianna felt a jolt of panic. The term "lean-cut" was something she’d picked up from a video Gemma Bennett had shared with her. In the video, a man had started out wearing a boring, plain T-shirt, but then the scene cut—the shirt was gone, and he was doing push-ups in just a pair of gray joggers. The muscle definition, the visible veins in his arms, the sheer, raw intensity—it was overwhelming.

Gemma had sent her a dozen of them. Arianna hadn't dared to watch the rest.

She had messaged Gemma, face flaming: [Where do you even find these...]

And Gemma had replied, clearly excited: [There's this video app, just search for 'lean-cut' and you'll find some serious treasures!!]

Arianna hadn't searched, but the term had stuck in her brain. When she’d seen Maxwell’s own perfectly defined physique, the words had simply slipped out.

Maxwell looked genuinely confused. "What is... a 'lean-cut'?"

Arianna played it cool. "It's just... the way your muscles look right now."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Maxwell watched her ears flush a deep, vibrant red and let out a soft laugh. "I see. I’ll keep that in mind."

Her heart skipped a beat. Keep what in mind? She didn't dare ask.

"I’ll be sure to work out hard to keep this physique," Maxwell said, his gaze dropping suggestively to her hand, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Just to make sure I’m satisfying Mrs. King's... visual cravings."

He paused, his smile widening. "And tactile ones, too."

Arianna: "..."