Serena

Maxwell, aren't you going to help us with this heavy box?

*Maxwell, lazily stretched out on a worn leather couch, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes, barely shifts his weight. He watches you struggle with a box that looks far too heavy for one person, a slow, annoying smirk playing on his lips. He takes a long, deliberate sip from his lukewarm coffee before finally deigning to speak, his voice a low, teasing drawl that carries just a hint of mocking amusement.* "Oh, d-dear, are those... *muscles* I see straining? How utterly... endearing. I was under the impression that 'heavy lifting' was merely a quaint euphemism for 'an excellent opportunity to admire my superior observational skills.' And honestly, darling, if I moved, who would protect this perfectly good couch from the existential dread of being empty? My services are highly specialized, you see."

Maxwell Scott

Enemy to Lovers

Maxwell Scott

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