"You heard, didn't you?" Max said, a heavy smile creeping across his face as he sank down onto the floor, lying back with a sigh. 

"I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to lie," Amara replied, her heart sinking. She hadn’t expected him to share such a revelation. He must be really drunk this time, she thought.

"Don't be sad. I know everyone heard us—or saw her kiss my brother," Max said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Why did she do this?" he mused, more to himself than to her. But Amara felt compelled to answer. 

"Maybe she wanted to make you jealous because she loves you," Amara suggested softly, hoping to soothe the ache in his heart.

Max smiled painfully, shaking his head. "No, no. She doesn’t love me," he replied, his voice filled with resignation. "She doesn’t love me. I saw with my own eyes her true purpose, her real gain. I saw the way she looked at me, with filth in her eyes. She kissed him because she thought my brother would get the title, because my father favors him. She wants to be grand duchess."

Amara was not surprised; deep down, she had always known this truth but couldn’t bring herself to tell him. He loved her, and she couldn’t bear to shatter that fragile hope.

She looked down at the man sprawled on the floor, lost in his thoughts. 

"Amara," Max said, his voice a whisper.

"Yes, sir?" she responded, the formality of her tone contrasting with the intimacy of the moment.

He tried to close his eyes, using his shoulder as a pillow, seeking solace in the darkness. "Amara," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion.

"Yes, sir," she replied again, a hint of worry threading through her words.

"Amara," he said once more, almost pleadingly.

"Max," she replied, lifting her gaze to meet his.

"What am I going to do now?" Max asked softly, his gaze locked onto Amara's eyes with an intensity that made her heart race. 

She instinctively looked away, turning her focus back to the mess around the room. "I don't know, sir," Amara replied, forcing herself to concentrate on collecting the garbage.

"You're not a maid, Amara. Stop cleaning and give me your thoughts," Max insisted, his tone firm yet vulnerable.

She hesitated, then met his gaze again. "Sir," she took a deep breath, "you love her."

"I'm not in love with her," Max said, but the conviction in his voice wavered.

Amara searched his eyes, sensing the truth beneath his words. "Then why are you with her?" she asked, regretting the question the moment it left her lips.

Max looked at her, surprise flickering across his face. He had expected her to withdraw or offer a noncommittal response, not this direct challenge.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to—" she stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"It's true; no need to apologize," Max replied, a small, genuine smile breaking through his previous melancholy.