"Elizabeth, lower your voice," her mother said softly, disapproval threading through the words. Elizabeth caught the swollen, tear-stained eyes—the kind that came from hours of crying. Even now, after all this upheaval, her mother was still reaching for peace. It left Elizabeth worn thin, drained down to the bone.

Elizabeth drew a deep breath and pulled herself together. "Then why don't you offer your own daughter up for sale?" The words came out sharp with frustration.

"I am not marrying a guy who looks like a pig," Sabrina cut in from the couch, smug and completely unbothered. "Elizabeth, you'd better hurry up and say yes while you're still young. Otherwise, once you hit thirty, nobody's going to want you."

Elizabeth's anger simmered beneath the surface—a silent storm of cold fury. She turned to her mother. "Mom, is that what you think too?"

Her mother's evasive gaze said enough. Elizabeth felt like a stranger in her own home.

"Sabrina," her mother said, trying to quiet her other daughter, but Sabrina just rolled her eyes with blatant indifference.

"Either you get married tomorrow, or you get out of my house!" Barry, her stepfather, declared with icy finality.

Elizabeth looked at her mother, exasperation written all over her face. "Mom, after all these years, what do you have to say for yourself?" Her voice was thick with disappointment.

Her mother's weakness surfaced, and Barry cut in harshly. "I'm the head of this household now. For the rest of your life, I'm the one you'll have to depend on. You think you can count on her?"

Elizabeth's mother fell quiet, subdued under his domineering presence. "Elizabeth, listen to your father."

"My father's dead," Elizabeth shot back, her gaze piercing as she stared Barry down.

"Then get out! Get out of my house, you ungrateful brat! I doubt you'll survive on your own!" Barry shouted, disdain dripping from every word.

Feeling deeply betrayed, Elizabeth packed her clothes with determination, slammed her suitcase shut, and headed for the door. "Fine. I'm leaving!" Her voice was a mix of anger and sorrow.

Barry hadn't expected her to resist. He trailed after her, bellowing into the corridor, "If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back!"

Elizabeth didn't turn around. Her footsteps echoed as she stepped into the elevator.

Outside, the rain was pouring down in sheets.

With only her suitcase, Elizabeth walked into the downpour. The rain lashed her skin and mixed with her tears.

Lightning split the sky in a blinding flash, followed by a roar of thunder. Elizabeth flinched and shielded her head with her arms.

She had always hated stormy nights.

Her father had died in an accident on a night like this.

Dragging her suitcase, Elizabeth took refuge at a nearby bus stop. The wind howled, and the rain battered everything in its path, making even finding a spot to rest a challenge.

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, her vision blurring as she fiddled with her phone. The battery hovered at a measly five percent. When it rains, it pours—and for Elizabeth, that had never felt more true. Life kept hurling new hurdles at her with every step she took.

With a sardonic chuckle at her predicament, Elizabeth opened the company group chat and found Maximilian Carter's contact.

Without overthinking it, she sent a friend request.

Her verification message read, "Mr. Carter, is your marriage proposal from this afternoon still on the table?"

After she hit send, Elizabeth couldn't help but scorn herself. She had already turned Maximilian down twice. What made her think he'd still be interested?

At the hospital, Maximilian Carter stood silently at his grandmother’s bedside, watching her breathe through the oxygen mask. His usually unreadable face was drawn with worry. His phone buzzed in his pocket, cutting through the quiet. He pulled it out and saw a friend request.

He frowned slightly and accepted. Elizabeth Cox. Maximilian tapped “Accept” without hesitation.

Elizabeth hadn’t expected him to move that fast. When his reply came through, she wiped her tears and typed with trembling fingers: Could you come pick me up? We need to talk.

To her, his brief response felt like a lifeline. She wasn’t optimistic about marriage, but maybe a relationship of mutual convenience wouldn’t be the worst thing. Just as she sent him her location, her phone died—whether from the rain or a low battery, she couldn’t tell.

She made up her mind: if he showed up, she’d marry him. If he didn’t, she’d let it go.

Maximilian pocketed his phone and started to leave, but his grandmother’s frail hand caught his. She was showing signs of waking.

“You stubborn boy...”

“Grandma, I didn’t mean to upset you. I have someone I care about, and I’m planning to marry her tomorrow. So please, don’t be mad at me anymore, okay?” His tone softened, a hint of playfulness slipping through.

His grandmother’s dull eyes lit with joy. “Really?” She tried to sit up.

Maximilian gently pressed her back down and tucked the blanket around her with care. “Really. I’ll go pick her up now, and tomorrow I’ll bring her to meet you. You should rest.”

“Alright... but no more lies,” she said.

“I promise.” He nodded.

To the world, Maximilian Carter was known for his cold demeanor, but with his grandmother, he was endlessly patient. After making sure she was settled and telling the nurses to keep an eye on her, he grabbed his car keys.

“Mr. Carter, there’s a severe storm warning today. It might not be safe to drive,” his bodyguard said.

“I’ll be fine,” Maximilian assured him.

He went down to the garage and started the car. In the stormy night, the black Maybach looked like a lone beacon, cutting purposefully toward its destination.

Outside, Elizabeth sheltered under a bus stop, fighting the relentless wind and rain. She clung to her suitcase, feeling exposed. She thought about moving somewhere better but worried Maximilian wouldn’t be able to find her.

The rain hammered the bus stop roof while the wind whipped through the trees. Her anxiety climbed. What if he didn’t come? Just as she considered finding better shelter, a black car approached, its headlights slicing through the storm.

Elizabeth’s face lit with surprise.

The Maybach rolled to a steady stop. Despite the fierce storm, Maximilian stepped out without an umbrella, immediately soaked but focused on the girl standing alone in the rain. She looked vulnerable—like an abandoned puppy—and it tugged at something in his chest.

“Get in,” he said, his voice cutting through the storm as he bent to pick up her suitcase.

Elizabeth’s tears streamed down her face. “I thought you wouldn’t come,” she said, her eyes swollen as she looked at him.

Buffeted by the storm, Elizabeth shivered from the cold—and from a sudden, unfamiliar sense of security. His arrival felt like a beacon in her dark world. Her tears shifted from despair to relief, her eyes brighter now.

Seeing how distressed she was, Maximilian helped her into the passenger seat. “Get in,” he urged gently.

Elizabeth felt his firm grip on her hand, numb from the cold rain. The moment felt unreal.

Suddenly, the storm intensified. With a loud crash, part of the bus shelter tore loose and flew toward them. Maximilian reacted instinctively, shielding Elizabeth with his body.

She felt his strong presence like a protective barrier and heard his pained grunt as something struck him.

“Are you alright?” Elizabeth asked, fear in her voice.

“I’m fine,” Maximilian replied, brow furrowed as he ignored the pain in his arm and kept shielding her toward the car.

Once their luggage was stowed and they were both inside, the Maybach’s cabin offered refuge from the storm outside.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, ignoring her own soaked face, vividly recalling the sound of metal hitting the ground.

“Let’s go home first,” Maximilian said, giving no further details as he started the engine and headed home.

Elizabeth clutched her seatbelt tightly, holding her breath, reluctant to break the silence between them. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Maximilian’s sharp profile, and the situation felt surreal.

About forty minutes later, they arrived at the underground garage of Maximilian’s villa.

“We’re here,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and grabbing her damaged suitcase.

Elizabeth followed him, the long exposure to rain leaving her chilly and congested. Her voice held a nasal quality: “Mr. Carter, can we talk?”

Standing by the car door, her swollen eyes lingered on his cool, composed face.

“Let’s get changed first,” Maximilian replied, carrying her suitcase toward the elevator.

Elizabeth trailed behind him, her steps cautious. Her current demeanor was a stark contrast to the boldness she had shown the previous night.

Maximilian paused, waiting for her to catch up. She moved slowly, her head down, eyes fixed on her toes—completely different from the carefree spirit she’d been when tipsy.

He stood there, watching her approach, her wet shoes and Victorian-style dress dripping onto the floor.

Why hadn’t he moved?

Elizabeth stopped and looked up.

“Name your terms, or we’ll do this my way,” Maximilian said, his voice filled with authority.

Sniffling, Elizabeth quickly responded, “We’ll have a marriage of convenience, keep your identity secret, and divorce in six or twelve months. We’ll have separate bedrooms,” she proposed, avoiding his intense gaze.

Feeling slightly guilty, she added, “You did say you’d take responsibility.”

Aware of her limited bargaining power, she waited for his response.

“I agree to the first three points. We’ll discuss divorce later. Explain the separate bedrooms,” Maximilian said, tilting her chin so she had to meet his gaze.

Forced to look at him, her lips parted, and she stammered, “I want my own room, in case you... you...”

Her words faltered as her face turned crimson with embarrassment. Her eyes, wide and teary, avoided his.

Maximilian’s eyes softened with a hint of amusement as he took in her flushed face and damp eyelashes. “So, if I want, I’ll visit your room? Hmm?” His voice was low, laced with a teasing tone.

“Well… when there’s a need, both partners should pull their weight.”

“All right,” Maximilian Carter agreed.

“Let’s go.” He started toward the elevator.

Elizabeth Cox trailed after him, her cheeks hot with embarrassment, and stepped in behind him. Drenched head to toe, she looked like a tiny, rescued puppy. Maximilian—soaked designer suit and all—somehow still looked composed. Elegant. His natural poise and quiet dignity drew Elizabeth in, and she couldn’t help but feel pulled toward him.

Despite the strange circumstances, a small spark of hope flickered inside her. He was the only person who had thrown her a lifeline when she was drowning. No woman could remain immune to that—to someone offering her solace in the middle of hopelessness, even if they both had their own reasons.

“We’re here,” Maximilian said, stepping out and glancing back at Elizabeth, who was still lost in thought.

Elizabeth snapped out of it and hurried after him. As they stepped out of the elevator, she stared at the villa’s interior.

The soft gray tones gave the place a cool, refreshing feel—much like Maximilian himself. Yet every detail had been chosen with care, turning the house into a work of art. Captivating. Indulgent. It was Elizabeth’s first time inside a home this stunning.

“The guest room hasn’t been used. I’ll grab some bedding from my room. You should shower and change,” Maximilian instructed, handing her the suitcase.

His tone left no room for argument. Elizabeth nodded obediently. “All right,” she said softly, dragging the damaged suitcase toward the guest room.

The room was immaculate, with a new bed and sofa. After the cramped, converted storage space she called home, it felt almost unreal. Clean. Bright. Everything she’d ever dreamed of—and it even had a private bathroom.

Elizabeth was thrilled.

But when she opened the suitcase to find clothes, everything inside was soaked.

Maximilian glanced at her over his shoulder. “Everything’s wet?”

Elizabeth bit her lip in frustration. “Yes. I’ll try to dry them with a hairdryer.”

“I’ll bring you something,” Maximilian said, turning to leave.

Elizabeth watched him go, her heart racing. She felt impossibly warm, her damp clothes clinging to her like a second skin.

Soon, Maximilian returned and handed her one of his black shirts. “Use my room to shower. The guest room doesn’t have hot water or toiletries.”

Elizabeth looked up, her face wet and her eyes red, hesitating.

“Don’t catch a cold. I’ll wash your clothes,” Maximilian said. He pressed the shirt into her hands and picked up her clothes from the suitcase, handling the wet bundle with an ease that made her face burn even hotter.

Elizabeth wasn’t sure how to feel about Maximilian offering to wash her clothes. Holding the shirt, she hesitated—but then she remembered how gentlemanly he’d been and decided not to overthink it. They hadn’t even registered their marriage yet, and he was still being courteous.

But Elizabeth underestimated a man’s nature—or maybe Maximilian underestimated his own patience.

After loading her clothes and his shirt into the washer, Maximilian came back to find Elizabeth inching toward his room like a cautious turtle. His deep eyes narrowed slightly.

Stepping into Maximilian’s room, Elizabeth was awestruck by how spacious it was. The bedroom alone was the size of a three-bedroom apartment.

She stood there bewildered until Maximilian appeared behind her.

Before she could react, he guided her into the bathroom with one hand.

The door shut with a click, leaving Elizabeth in her wet clothes, staring at Maximilian in shock.

“What… what are you doing?”

The composed, elegantly dressed man now stood shirtless—and he was proposing a shared shower.

“To keep you from catching a cold, let’s shower together,” he said. His calm voice made Elizabeth blush and want to bolt.

She tried to move away, but he lifted her onto the sink, then stepped back just slightly, bracing himself on either side of her.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“No,” Elizabeth denied quickly.

Her hair was still dripping, her cheeks softly flushed. Maximilian stayed close, his presence overwhelming.

He touched her face. “You scratched and bit me yesterday. Wouldn’t it be fair for you to help me shower today?”

His voice carried a compelling allure. Elizabeth’s face flushed even more as she glanced at his chest. His body was tall and defined, water trailing over his skin. The bite marks she’d left were visible on his chest—a reminder of moments that had already passed.

Maybe because it was her first time this close to a man, Elizabeth didn’t know where to look. Her gaze flickered everywhere.

Especially when she saw the water droplets on his abs—the hard lines of muscle a testament to masculine energy. She had touched them. She remembered how they’d felt.

The air grew hotter. Elizabeth’s body warmed with it.

Maximilian watched her expressions keenly.

“Do I look better with my clothes off?” he teased.

Elizabeth blushed furiously, wishing she could disappear from embarrassment.

“I’m not answering that,” she said, covering her face.

But Maximilian lifted her under the shower.

Warm water cascaded over them, intensifying the heat spreading between them.

He guided her hand to his waistband and lowered his voice. “Help me with these.”