"You look beautiful," Maxwell said, his voice low, his eyes tracing her reflection. Something in him softened. Whenever he looked at her, he felt a strange sense of calm — like for a brief moment, the chaos of his world settled.

But Amara only looked tired. The spark that once lived in her gaze had dimmed.

"You're ready, I assume," he said finally. "Sisi, make sure Axel is—"

"I need to talk to you," Amara interrupted.

"Sisi, leave us," Maxwell ordered without hesitation. The maid bowed and slipped quietly out of the room.

"Amara," he began, trying to sound patient, "if you need more time to say goodbye to your friends, I can give you an hour. But only an hour."

"Aiden," she said firmly, meeting his eyes, "I'll ask you one question. You'll answer truthfully — and after that, we can leave. No more lies."

She had learned long ago that Maxwell never explained himself. He hid behind silence, behind control. Every time she reached for honesty, he retreated. And she was done with that.

"Fine," he said quietly.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Amara asked. Her voice was calm, but her eyes searched his face. "Why do we have to leave *now*?"

It was a simple question — one he should have been able to answer easily — but his silence told her everything.

"I just want to go home with my wife," he said at last.

"Then we can go tomorrow," Amara said sharply. "I don't feel well today."

Maxwell's jaw tensed. "Amara, my love, we've prepared everything. We can't cancel now."

"Of course we can," she replied coolly. "But if you tell me the truth, we'll leave right now — if that's what you want."

Maxwell sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not in a hurry," he murmured. "I'm not lying."

Amara let out a humorless laugh. "You'll need more imagination than that. I know you're lying." She circled him slowly, her tone soft but cutting. "When you first spoke to me—if I remember correctly—you said you'd leave with me. Even if I said no, you'd still drag me along. Everything's already arranged, isn't it? Yesterday, I ruined your plans. That's why you want us to leave in such a hurry today, isn't it?"

She stopped, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "Now I feel it—something's not right. What's out there, Maxwell? What are you hiding this time?"

As she spoke, she reached out and straightened his collar, her fingers brushing his chest. "It's your choice," she whispered.

He looked at her — guilt flickering in his eyes — and said quietly, "I can't."

She froze. "What?"

"I can't tell you."

Amara stepped back, her voice cold now. "What do you mean, *you can't*?"

He exhaled slowly, avoiding her gaze. "Just… trust me, Amara. Please."