Arianna couldn't understand why he had locked the door.

Facing her bewildered gaze, Maxwell remained perfectly calm. "So no one else can come in," he explained. "I need some peace and quiet to let my leg heal properly."

Arianna: "..."

It was obvious to anyone looking at the lounge from the outside whether it was occupied. If people saw someone was already in here, who would be so clueless as to barge in? Still, she didn't overthink it. Maxwell had always preferred his solitude; that was understandable.

She helped him over to the sofa. "Do you want some water? I can go pour you a glass."

"No need," Maxwell replied, shifting his 'injured' leg with a deliberate, agonizing wince toward the right. "Just sit here and keep me company for a bit, okay?"

Arianna did as she was told.

A few moments later, Maxwell noticed her gaze fixed on his bandaged leg, her mind clearly elsewhere.

After all, he was the one harboring a guilty secret.

Maxwell felt a prickle of nerves. "What's wrong?"

"Your leg..." Arianna murmured.

His heart leaped into his throat.

"Maybe you should go to the hospital and have it checked out properly?" Her brow was furrowed, her expression filled with a genuine concern that cut straight to his core. "You should ask a doctor what to do. You can't just let it drag on like this."

Maxwell chuckled softly. "It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

Maxwell ruffled her hair, his voice softening. "I'm sure. Sitting for a while is all it needs. It’s already feeling much better."

Is it?

Arianna was surprised. *Recovering this fast?* Was there some kind of magic in this sofa? One sit and he’s practically cured.

The lounge featured a massive floor-to-ceiling window. It was bright and spacious, offering a panoramic view of the entire first floor, including the grand ballroom below. The sofa was pressed right against the glass.

Arianna looked down at the bustling scene. The crowd moved in a sea of silks and suits, clutching cocktails and wearing practiced, snake-like smiles. The power-players moved with effortless ease, while those lower on the ladder scurried about, watching every eye movement. It was the perfect illustration of how money and status dictated the rhythm of the room.

She had almost forgotten that she was sitting next to a man who stood at the absolute pinnacle of that very food chain.

Amidst the crowd, Arianna spotted a familiar figure. She pointed him out to Maxwell. "Look, isn't that your friend?"

Spencer Miller was standing near the fountain, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a phone, scanning the room.

Maxwell gave a cursory glance and hummed in agreement.

"Is he looking for you?" Arianna asked.

Maxwell instinctively reached for his own phone. It was black. He pressed the power button, but the screen remained dark.

Arianna watched him. "Is your battery dead?"

"Yeah."

Considering Maxwell had twisted his ankle and his mobility was limited, Arianna stood up from the sofa, volunteering, "I'll go get him for you."

Maxwell: "..."

Before she could reach the door, Maxwell lunged out, snagging her sleeve. "Wait, don't. You don't have to."

He couldn't have her leaving the room.

Arianna turned back, confused. "Hm?"

Maxwell licked his lips, trying to negotiate. "Could I borrow your phone? I need to give him a call."

Arianna didn't hesitate. She pulled her phone from her bag and handed it to him.

Drawing from his memory, Maxwell dialed the number. He watched from above as Spencer picked up the phone.

Maxwell spoke without a hint of politeness. "What do you want?"

On the other end, Spencer sounded stunned. "Maxwell? Did you change your number?"

Maxwell brushed it off. "Why are you calling me constantly? If you have something to say, spit it out."

Spencer was baffled. "How did you know I was calling your sister?"

"I don't have anything to add, I just wanted to ask if she’s coming to the party."

"Where the hell are you?"

"Damn, how are you seeing—"

Maxwell: "..."

While he was on the phone, Arianna had fetched two bottles of water. She had noticed his dry lips earlier, unsure if it was from pain or something else. She twisted off the cap and handed him a bottle.

Maxwell, still caught in an awkward silence, took it naturally. "Thanks."

Arianna paused.

For no reason, a memory flashed in her mind—something he had said earlier:

*"If you say 'thank you,' you have to kiss me."*

*"And what if you say it?"*

*"Then I'll kiss you."*

...

Arianna felt like she’d been burned. She hurriedly pulled her hand back. "You're... you're welcome."

Maxwell processed what had happened a second too late. "Wait, did I just say 'thank you'?"

"Yeah," Arianna said, twisting open her own bottle and taking a long, desperate gulp, hoping to douse the heat rising in her chest. "It’s fine, don't worry about it."

Maxwell disagreed. "We established the rules, and we have to stick to them." He sounded incredibly committed to the contract. "I can't be a rule-breaker."

Arianna: "..."

*Actually, you really don't have to.*

And, she couldn't help but point out, "I don't think I ever actually agreed to that rule, so there's nothing to break."

Maxwell looked up, staring directly into her eyes with a glint of playful mischief. "You didn't agree?"

"Exactly."

"But you didn't say anything at the time," Maxwell said, looking at her with a feigned, pitiful expression. "I thought your silence meant you agreed."

Arianna felt a headache brewing. *What is he doing now?*

She knew she couldn't handle that vulnerable, puppy-dog look. Maxwell seemed to know exactly which buttons to press.

He lowered his gaze, his voice barely a whisper. "So you didn't agree. I guess I misunderstood you."

Seeing him look so dejected, Arianna couldn't find it in her heart to be firm. Her rebuttal faltered, softening into, "...It's not that I disagree."

"So that means you agree?"

Arianna wanted to say that didn't mean she agreed, either.

But under his expectant, glowing gaze, she hesitated and eventually, reluctantly, gave a tiny nod.

Maxwell’s eyes brightened instantly. They looked like stars in the night, or the reflection of the moon shimmering on a lake—dazzling enough to make someone lose their way.

But Arianna quickly gave herself an out. "But not now."

She gestured toward his foot. "You twisted your ankle. We can save the kiss for when you're better."

...No, that wasn't right. Just, whenever he's better.

Arianna had tripped over her own words again. Now, she felt even less capable of facing him and started wishing she could just make a run for it.

Fortunately, Maxwell remained nonchalant. "Fine, then I'll just keep it as an I.O.U. We'll do it later."

"Yeah."

He was the one who was supposedly injured, so why was she the one who couldn't look him in the eye? Arianna wondered, genuinely confused.

They stayed in the lounge for a long time. So long, in fact, that she thought they might end up spending the entire night there.

Afraid she was bored, she asked if there was anything he wanted to eat, offering to go down and get it or have the staff bring it up.

Maxwell refused every suggestion. He wouldn't let her leave his side for even a second. It wasn't through any forceful display; whenever Arianna moved—especially when she looked like she was heading for the door—he would just look at her with that abandoned, lost-puppy expression. "Where are you going?"

Arianna sighed, shaking her cup. "Just getting some hot water. Do you want some?"

Maxwell took the cup from her and stood up from the sofa, his movement entirely fluid, and said in his usual gentle tone, "You just sit and rest. I'll go get it."

He walked a few steps before the realization hit him.

The room fell into a dead silence.

He turned his head to find Arianna staring at his feet, her eyes wide with total shock. "Are you better already?"

"I don't know why, but you seem to be walking faster than you were before!"