Maeve thought, Kiss him? Here?

She was utterly shocked, her cheeks and palms flushed. Her glistening eyes avoided Byron's gaze. She began to say, "No—" but Byron didn't give her a chance to finish. He raised her chin and pressed his lips to hers without hesitation.

Maeve's heart raced. An electric current seemed to shoot through her lower lip, spreading throughout her body. It was intensely tingling and numb. From the corner of her eye, she saw the maid pass the living room door. Her heart leaped into her throat.

Fortunately, the maid didn't enter. Maeve heaved a sigh of relief, then felt a sharp pain on her lips. Byron, dissatisfied with her distraction, bit her lightly as punishment. Knowing when to stop, he released her.

"It hurts," Maeve said, staring at him with tearful eyes and covering her mouth. "I didn't even agree to it."

"You said nothing, so I took it as consent," Byron said meaningfully. "You expect me to reason with you, huh?"

"People who don't reason are hooligans," Maeve retorted angrily. "I wanted to lose to Gilbert, but you ruined it and even demanded a reward!" She ran to the bathroom, in a huff, to wash her face before Gilbert noticed, fearing further embarrassment.

Unfortunately, she misjudged the situation. The maid immediately told Gilbert about their kiss.

Gilbert was in a good mood, even having extra food at dinner. However, he wasn't as strong as before and retired to his room to rest shortly after.

Maeve followed Byron upstairs to his room. She hadn't brought a change of clothes, so she had to wear his. She planned to give her clothes to the maid to wash and wear them when she left the next day. Although not her first time wearing his clothes, doing so while sober felt completely different from when she was drunk.

Maeve lingered in the bathroom before venturing out. Byron sat on the large black bed, reading a book. The warm orange glow of the wall lamp illuminated the top of his head. His face looked gentle and distant, like a painting.

Recalling Gilbert's words, Maeve suppressed her chaotic thoughts, quickly lifted the bed covers, and lay down on the opposite side of the bed.

Byron glanced at her indifferently. "Have you put on your pants?"

Maeve curled under the blanket. "Of course, I have. I'm not drunk this time."

Byron turned a page. "Is that so? Who knows."

Maeve poked her head out. "You don't know? Didn't you smell it when you kissed me?"

"I'm not sure. Shall I try again?" His teasing tone made Maeve's ears burn.

"Mr. McDaniel, you're not sleeping on the sofa, are you?"

Byron closed his book, resting his elbows on his knees and turning to her. "Why should I? This is my bed."

"We're getting a divorce. Sharing a bed isn't appropriate, is it?" Maeve repeated what she'd said in the bathroom.

Byron's jaw tightened at the mention of divorce. He lightly ran his tongue over his teeth. "Maeve, aren't you tired of saying things you don't mean?"

Maeve was stunned. Before she could respond, the light went out, plunging the room into darkness. A masculine body pressed down on her, enveloping her completely. Maeve's heart pounded. She pushed him away, but he grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head.

"Mr. McDaniel, what are you doing?" she squirmed.

Byron looked down at her in the dim light. Her flushed face seemed more captivating than usual. He thought, She's wearing my shirt, lying on my bed, smelling of my shampoo. She's marked with my brand. This intensified the passion in his eyes. He tightened his grip and leaned close to her nose.

Maeve's heart raced. Her toes curled against the sheet, wrinkling it. As their breaths mingled, Byron asked in a serious voice, close to her ear, "I'll give you another chance. Do you really want a divorce?"

Maeve bit her lip, unable to say "I do."

Before she could respond, he kissed her—passionately, domineeringly, and gently. He chuckled. "My Maeve is so good at chess. Who taught you?"

Maeve thought, My Maeve... His words echoed, her mind going blank. Her body curled, blush blooming across her skin.

"When I was young... s-someone taught me..." Maeve stammered, her resolve wavering. Reason told her to push him away, but his words, playful yet loving, left her feeling vulnerable. "Play chess with me again," Byron murmured, his voice deep and bewitching. The room's warmth paled in comparison to the heat of his kiss. Her hands, initially pushing him away, now clung to him. "Mm," she replied vaguely, barely comprehending his words. She felt the increasing pressure of his movements, a growing intensity she couldn't articulate. She twisted, frowned, opened her misty eyes, and looked at him, almost pleading. "M-Mr. McDaniel..."

Byron's eyes were dim. He nuzzled her nose. "What did you call me?"

Maeve, understanding, tightened her grip on his shoulders. "B-Byron."

Satisfaction flashed in Byron's eyes. "Good girl."

Maeve's eyelashes fluttered. A phone ringing shattered the moment. Byron frowned, answered, and listened to Karen's distressed voice. "Byron, what should I do? My dad fell and fainted. He's in surgery. I'm alone, and I'm so scared."

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