But then I remembered his confession in my office, the night he'd finally told me the truth about why he knelt. Because I want to. Because I crave it. Because serving you is the only thing that makes me feel whole.
Maxime understood devotion that defied logic. He understood needs that couldn't be explained to people who'd never felt them. He would understand this.
The Escalade turned onto his street, and my chest tightened.
His mansion rose before us, all Corinthian columns and classical pretension, exactly the kind of home I'd insisted he purchase because a man in his position needed appropriate surroundings. I'd never actually been inside.
Williams pulled into the circular driveway and stopped. The evening light had faded to gold, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn.
"That will be all for tonight," I said, gathering the paper bag and my cane. "I won't need you again."
Williams nodded, professional as always, though I caught the slight lift of his eyebrows. I'd never dismissed my driver at a personal residence, and I'd never stayed anywhere without an exit strategy in place.
But tonight was different.
I walked to the front door, each tap of my cane against the cobblestones marking the rhythm of my increasingly rapid pulse. The crown's cardboard edge pressed against my chest through my coat, a reminder of everything I was about to risk.
I rang the doorbell.
For a long moment, nothing happened. I had a sudden, irrational fear that he wasn't home, that he'd gone somewhere despite my orders, that all of this had been for nothing.
Then the door opened.
Maxime stood in the cashmere robe I'd sent him, the black fabric luxuriously soft against his pale skin. His hair was disheveled, his eyes slightly unfocused with recent sleep. The bruising on his face had darkened since I'd sent him home, purple spreading across his cheekbone like spilled ink.
He stared at me with an expression I couldn't immediately categorize.
"I brought dinner," I said, raising the paper bag slightly.
His gaze dropped to the bag. His nostrils flared as he caught the unmistakable scent of fast food, greasy and pungent and completely incongruous with every element of our carefully constructed lives.
"Please tell me that's not..." He trailed off, apparently unable to complete the sentence.
"Whopper with cheese, no mayo. Fries. Still hot." I delivered this deadpan, though something unfamiliar was building in my chest.
I reached into my coat pocket and produced the paper crown, holding it up like a sacred artifact. The red and gold cardboard looked even more ridiculous in the elegant light of his doorway, a garish intrusion of childhood into a space designed for adults who'd forgotten how to play.
"And this," I added.
Maxime stared at the crown. "You didn't."
"I did." My mouth twitched, threatening to curve into something that might have been a smile. "And you're going to eat every bite while we watch a boy ride a flying dog."
"A what?"
"The NeverEnding Story. You have Netflix, right?"
"Yes, but I've never seen it."
"Good. Then this will be new for you."
I stepped past him into the foyer without waiting for an invitation, because waiting for invitations had never been my style and because if I hesitated now I might lose my nerve entirely.
I navigated his home like I belonged there, my cane tapping against imported marble as I made my way toward what looked like a living room. The space was exactly as I'd imagined: expensive, tasteful, and utterly devoid of personality. A mausoleum decorated by committee.
But he was here, and that changed everything.
I shrugged off my coat, draping it over a custom leather chair without ceremony, then placed the paper bag on his coffee table. The Burger King logo looked obscene against the expensive glass.
