He placed a heavy, pointed emphasis on the title "Mrs. King," as if he were trying to drill a reminder into her.

Arianna winced, a soft hiss escaping her lips. She was just about to tell him that he was biting her too hard, but before the words could leave her, a rush of warmth replaced his teeth on her tongue, brushing against her like a soft, taunting feather.

It felt as though a feather had settled right against the center of her heart.

Maxwell didn't give her a chance to speak. He silenced her with a kiss.

The kiss grew increasingly searing, the rhythm of his passion hidden beneath the thumping bass of the music outside.

The man on the other side of the door was relentless. "Arianna, I know you’re in there."

Maxwell’s grip on her waist tightened. His cool, pale fingers were far from idle, moving restlessly against the fabric of her dress, tracing the soft, delicate skin beneath.

Arianna’s mind went blank.

It was a battle between Maxwell’s overwhelming presence and the persistent, infuriating thud of the door. Her pulse spiked, hitting its limit, and her fingers curled, digging into Maxwell’s crisp white shirt and leaving permanent creases in the fabric.

After an eternity, Maxwell finally pulled away.

He stayed pressed against her, backed against the door, his tone domineering and sharp. "We're married. You aren't going anywhere with him."

Arianna didn't catch the drift at first. "Go with whom?"

Maxwell tilted his head, gesturing toward the door.

Arianna stared at him, bewildered. "Why on earth would I go with him? And more importantly, go where?"

Her reaction was the exact opposite of what Maxwell had expected. He froze, staring at her in silence.

In the heavy, unspoken tension that filled the room, a lightbulb suddenly flickered on in Arianna’s mind.

It all made sense. He had been so difficult, so moody all night—was it really because of Cameron Hughes? He actually thought she was going to leave him?

Within a minute, a new voice echoed from the hall—a clean, polite tone belonging to a bartender. "Sir, please, stop knocking. You're disturbing the other guests."

Cameron, smelling like a distillery, latched onto the man like he was a life raft. "Perfect, you’re here. Open the door for me, now!"

The bartender remained professional. "I'm sorry, sir. Please come downstairs with me. You can't be bothering the guests."

Cameron clawed at the door frame, refusing to budge. "My friend is in there. Tell her to open the door for me!" He turned his face toward the wood, shouting, "Arianna, I was wrong! Won't you open the door? Please... just open it, I can explain everything."

The bartender looked visibly pained.

At the same moment, Spencer Miller’s icy voice crackled through the earpiece. "Why are you wasting time with a drunkard? Just drag him out."

"But this is my friend's private booth. Don't ruin their good time."

Spencer was one of the partners in this lounge, and technically, his boss. The bartender immediately complied, flagging down security to help drag the drunk away.

Finally, silence returned to the hallway. But the silence inside the room felt even louder.

Maxwell’s insecurity had been stripped bare, though he seemed oblivious to how obvious he’d been. "You really wouldn't leave with him?" he muttered, still in disbelief.

"Of course not," Arianna said, smiling brightly at him. "Why would I go with him? I don't even like him."

"Then who do you..." Maxwell cut himself off before he could finish the question.

Why did she need to like anyone at all? Maybe she didn't have anyone. But the realization that she didn't like Cameron and wouldn't go back to him was enough to make his chest ache with relief.

That was all he needed. The rest, he could work for.

Maxwell let out a long breath, his hand loosening its grip on her shoulder. His posture slackened, shifting back into his usual, effortless, and slightly arrogant demeanor.

But then, one sentence from Arianna pinned him to the spot, leaving him unable to move.

"I like you, Maxwell."

She tilted her face up, the blush still staining her cheeks, yet she found the courage to look him directly in the eyes. Her feelings were laid out, raw and bold.

Maxwell stood there like a stone statue, murmuring in shock. "You... you like me?"

"Yeah. Did you really not notice?"

Seeing his blank expression, Arianna’s shoulders slumped. "No way. You seriously didn't see it?"

The truth was, he had seen it. He had seen it when she picked him up from work, when she sent him flowers, ordered dinner, and helped him celebrate landing that new contract. He saw how her eyes would curve into soft crescents every time she saw him—eyes that were clear, yet filled with no one but him.

He had noticed the shift in her attitude, but he had dismissed it as them simply becoming closer. He hadn't "not noticed"—he hadn't dared to entertain the thought. In his wildest dreams, he hadn't imagined it was possible.

Looking back, the signs were everywhere.

Maxwell leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her pale earlobe. He felt like he was walking on clouds, his voice a low, teasing hum. "Arianna, say it again?"

"I like you, Maxwell," she said without a moment's hesitation. "I like you so much."

He stopped moving, cupping her face in his hands to peer into her eyes. He looked genuinely lost, as if he couldn't process the words—or perhaps he was too afraid to believe them.

Arianna watched him, a playful smile on her lips, and reached out to tug on his fingers. "What's wrong? Does it feel like a dream?"

Maxwell nodded honestly. "Yeah. It feels less real than a dream."

Arianna could have grabbed his hand like she did last time to prove it wasn't a dream, but she didn't. Instead, her gaze drifted to his thin, perfectly shaped lips, which were curved into a faint, intoxicating smile.

Without hesitation, she stood on her tiptoes, aiming for her target.

Because she was so nervous—and because Maxwell, thinking she was about to trip, reached out to steady her—she missed her mark, landing a clumsy peck on the corner of his mouth.

The situation was a mess, but she refused to lose her cool. She held her ground, brushed another light kiss against his corner, then pulled back, looking him straight in the eye.

"It’s not a dream, Maxwell. I really like you."

"Only you."

---

Inside the car.

Arianna leaned against the window, which she’d cracked open just an inch to let the night air cool her flushed cheeks.

The party back at the lounge was still going, but they had left early.

Maxwell was driving, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. The streetlights flickered into the cabin, half-shadowing his face and highlighting the sharp bridge of his nose and his deep-set, defined features. His wrists rested on the steering wheel, his watch gleaming coldly in the dark.

He looked like the picture of composure—a wealthy, high-society prince.

That is, if you ignored the fact that the corners of his mouth were practically touching his ears.

Arianna was already mortified. The memory of her failed kiss, followed by Maxwell pulling her back for a long, deep, suffocating kiss that nearly left her breathless, made her face burn even hotter.

When they stopped at a red light, she couldn't take it anymore. She reached over, pressed her index finger against the corner of his mouth, and shoved it downward.

"Stop smiling."

Maxwell looked at her, his voice brimming with amusement. "Why?"