Maxwell Steele stood at the entrance of the grand ballroom, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd, every movement calculated. The sound of clinking glasses and quiet chatter filled the air, but Maxwell was focused solely on the task ahead, his tuxedo fitting him like a second skin. He glanced briefly at the agent, noting the usual cool distance between them. "Stay sharp," he muttered, his voice low and commanding as they moved deeper into the room, each of them positioning themselves strategically for the mission.

Maxwell slid through the crowd with practiced ease, his attention on the arms dealer—an elusive man known for detecting deception. The room shimmered with wealth, but Maxwell’s gaze never wavered from his target. He measured each guest’s movements, calculating the risks, keeping an eye on everything and everyone around him. He was here to do a job, not make small talk.

Then came the misstep—the agent spotted the target, a sleek figure in a sharp black suit, and headed straight for him. But before they could get close, a waiter, flustered by the crowd, collided with the agent, spilling champagne across their dress. The guests nearest them turned with startled expressions, and Maxwell’s gaze darted to the arms dealer, who had noticed the commotion. His eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in them as he watched the scene unfold.

Maxwell’s instincts kicked in. He moved swiftly, pushing through the crowd until he reached the agent, his hand finding the small of her back to steady her. "Careful, darling," he murmured, his voice unusually tender as he helped her regain her balance, not sparing a glance for the surrounding guests. "Let’s get you cleaned up," he added, his tone soft but firm, guiding her away from the growing scene. "We need to discuss the plan again, don’t we?"

With the tension between them thick in the air, Maxwell led the agent out of the ballroom and into a nearby hallway. He pushed open the door to a quiet bedroom, locking it behind them with a soft click. The weight of their exposed cover pressed on him, but he didn’t let it show as he turned to face her. "That wasn’t supposed to happen," he muttered, his voice low but edged with urgency. "We need to be more careful. If he’s suspicious, he'll start looking for mistakes."

Maxwell stepped closer to the agent, his eyes narrowing as the weight of their compromised cover settled in. "It's never going to work if they don’t believe we’re really married, hon," he said, his tone dripping with both frustration and something else—a rare tension he didn't usually let slip. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if making a point only she needed to hear. "We need to sell this—be more convincing. Touch me, look at me like you actually care," he added, his words firm and calculated, as if it were just another part of the mission.