Althea had only meant to stretch her legs after an aggressively boring luncheon in which someone used the phrase "synergy between families" three times and meant it.
But now she was lost.
In the backyard.
Of her maybe-in-laws.
Which was less of a backyard and more of a botanical maze designed by someone who hated straight paths and people with poor directional skills. And apparently Althea has the skills to see the unexpected in this garden. Such as that slap. Ouch.
"Left at the weeping willow, right at the aggressively judgmental marble cherub—oh god," she muttered to herself, spinning in a slow circle. Everything looked the same. Green. Fancy. Mildly hostile.
She wandered into the garden like it was her therapist's office. Quiet, leafy, and mostly non-judgmental. Her heels crunched against the pebbles as her brain spiraled in ten different directions.
It had been days since that encounter with Miss High Heels. Or maybe her soul had just ascended and left her physical body in that office chair the moment she walked in.
She let out a sigh and touched her temple dramatically. "It was like… being visited by Aphrodite in Prada."
The memory came back instantly, uninvited and far too vivid.
Alaya had smiled with the warmth of a heroine and laughed like she knew things Althea didn't—and wasn't planning to explain them anytime soon. It wasn't fair. She looked like temptation in heels and spoke like a TED Talk Althea would gladly watch five times.
But she had better things to think about right now. Such as finding a way out of the maze.
She was about to accept her fate as a garden ghost when a voice cut through the air.
"No, that is not my problem. It was your job in the first place, not mine."
It was sharp. Tense. Deep.
And coming from just past a row of suspiciously trimmed hedges.
Althea crept forward and peeked around the corner, as usual again.
There he was.
Maximilian Velasco.
And for a moment, Althea's brain did a cartoon-style double take.
Gone was the brooding hoodie gremlin who insulted her soul during their first encounter.
In his place stood a version of Maximilian that looked like he'd just walked off the cover of Menin Corporate Crisis magazine. Navy dress shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal a wristwatch that probably cost more than her rent. Leather shoes. Hair pushed back neatly like it hadn't been a war with gravity that morning.
He looked… disturbingly put together.
Except for the scowl. That part remained gloriously unchanged.
"…Then un-approve it. I'm not your damn lifeline, Daniel," he snapped into the phone, pacing slightly, one hand on his hip, the other shielding his eyes from the sun as if the sun had personally offended him.
Althea blinked.
Max had a job? Like a real one? With phones and rage and possibly a title with "executive" in it?
Her mouth moved before her brain could stop it.
"You're employed?"
Max froze mid-sentence.
His head turned. Their eyes met.
"Of course you're here," he muttered like she was the final boss in a day full of minor inconveniences.
Althea lifted both hands. "Hey, I got lost. The garden's basically a leafy trap for people who trust nature too much."
He ended the call with a muttered curse and dropped his phone into his pocket like it owed him money.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"I don't know—directions? Life advice? The secret to walking in heels on gravel?"
"You took a left at the peonies, didn't you?"
"…Yes."
"Rookie mistake," he said, starting to walk. "Come on, Maze Runner."
Max didn't wait for her to catch up—of course he didn't. He strolled ahead like a man who had better things to do than rescue lost girls from hedge mazes.
Althea hurried after him, doing that weird half-skip, half-jog people do when they're trying not to look like they're jogging. "So… um, you actually work corporate?" she asked, voice lighter than she intended.
He gave her a look. "I'm the CSO of one of our newer firms. I go to meetings, make decisions, wear shirts with collars. Very wild stuff."
"Wait, seriously?" she blinked. "You have a job?"
"Did I give off unemployed energy?"
Althea squinted. "You gave off… artist-who-refuses-to-label-his-medium energy."
Max smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment."
She blinked. "Hmm... Chief… something… officer?"
"Strategy."
"Ah. You strategize."
"Brilliant deduction."
Althea narrowed her eyes. "You don't look strategic. You look like you just finished critiquing someone's Spotify playlist."
"You don't look like you have a sense of direction," he shot back.
"Okay, fair, but not the point."
They passed yet another dramatic sculpture of a half-naked man wrestling a lion. Probably symbolic. Probably imported.
"You ever be in a good mood?" she asked suddenly.
Max stopped. Turned to her. "I do. Usually when people leave me alone."
Althea held a hand to her chest. "Wow. I can feel the warmth radiating off you."
He kept walking. "Might be the sun."
She stared at him as he moved ahead, tie slightly loose, blazer slung over one arm like he was born in a stock photo titled Business, but make it tortured.
Althea tried to focus on the path, but instead her brain served her a highlight reel of that voice, those eyebrows, and the way he looked personally offended by sunlight.
Max cleared his throat. "Are you always this lost or just when you're at rich people's houses?"
"Statistically, it's mostly here," she said, eyes narrowed. "You people hide your exits."
"You people?"
"Yes. You know. Tall. Brooding. Existential. Probably drinks black coffee and reads contracts for fun."
He raised a brow. "You're profiling me based on a ten-minute walk and a dress shirt."
"You're not denying the coffee part."
"…Fair."
When they finally reached a patio with actual chairs, she sighed dramatically. "Civilization. I almost ate a fern back there."
Max didn't even blink. "Should've. Might've improved your sense of direction."
A silence fell. Somewhere in the hedge, a bird chirped—probably laughing.
"You know," she added, "I thought you hated all this family business nonsense."
"I do."
"But you still show up in a tie and pretend to care?"
"I'm excellent at pretending."
Althea snorted. "Clearly. I thought you were just allergic to people."
He stopped walking, turning slightly. "I am. But unfortunately, people insist on existing."
She cracked a grin despite herself. "You're weird."
He resumed walking. "Takes one to know one."
Max stopped by a stone arch and turned just enough to face her, eyes cool but vaguely amused. "You talk a lot when you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"You're definitely nervous."
"I'm just trying to be polite!"
They reached a clearing where a gravel path finally gave way to a proper marble walkway.
Althea let out a dramatic sigh of relief. "Oh thank god. Civilization."
Max smirked. Just the tiniest one. "Glad I could save you from shrubbery-based doom."
She tilted her head. "I'll name a hedge after you in gratitude."
"Make sure it looks mildly irritated."
They stood there for a beat longer than necessary. Neither of them moved.
Then—
"Well," he said, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve, "try not to get lost again. The roses bite."
And just like that, he turned and walked away.
Like he hadn't just thrown her entire mental image of him into chaos.
Althea watched him disappear into the glass back doors. Althea stood alone by the archway, the trailing edge of Maximilian's blazer just disappearing behind the glass doors.
Silence settled again—thicker than before. Not peaceful. Not calm. Just... weirdly charged.
She turned away, crossing the marble walk with quick, measured steps. The faster she walked, the sooner she could outrun the echo of his voice in her head. The dry wit. The quiet command.
A faint headache bloomed behind her eyes, the kind that came from overstimulation—or worse, emotional interest.
Ridiculous.
Althea had bigger problems. A possible arranged marriage. A maybe-rival in designer heels.
But still, when she reached the main door and glanced back at the garden one last time, something tugged at her chest.
Not longing. Just… irritating intrigue.
She would forget it by tomorrow. Hopefully.
Max, on the other hand, loosened his tie as he moved through the hallway, jaw tight.
His mind kept replaying Miss I-Got-Lost-In-The-Hedge-Maze-And-Decided-To-Make-It-Your-Problem.
She was a problem. A walking tangle of nervous energy and sharp comebacks. Always talking. Always poking.
And yet—
Max's fingers paused at the knot of his tie.
Yet he hadn't minded.
Which was annoying.
He passed a decorative vase that probably cost more than his car. His reflection looked back at him in the polished glass: furrowed brow, slightly flushed ears, and that look he always wore when something was off, and he didn't like admitting it.
She was supposed to be Adrian's mess. That was the whole dynamic.
She was supposed to be another moving part in this corporate chessboard. A pawn, maybe a bishop on a good day.
But she didn't act like one.
She got lost in gardens and talked to marble cherubs and asked questions like she wasn't afraid of the answers.
He shouldn't have walked her out. Should've let her wander until she made friends with a fern and figured it out herself.
And now, he couldn't stop hearing her voice in his head.
"You're not denying the coffee part."
Max exhaled sharply through his nose. It wasn't a laugh. Definitely not.
This was a mistake. All of it.
He wasn't supposed to notice her.
He was trying to figure her out. Like he gave a damn about what she was thinking. About why she said yes to Adrian when she clearly looked like she wanted to bolt every time someone mentioned the wedding.
Max stopped by a side hallway, leaned against the wall, and looked out the narrow window.
She didn't love Adrian.
He wasn't even sure she liked him.
And yet, she was going through with this whole charade like it was a school project and failing wasn't an option.
Why? Max didn't know.
And for the first time in a long time… he wanted to.
End of chapter 6.