"Leave it for now," Byron said seriously, pressing the spot between his eyebrows. "Have you found Neville's whereabouts?"
Archer lowered his head. "The lead was lost about halfway up the mountain. He likely fled abroad during that time."
Byron sneered. "If so, he won't be hiding at Lashton Sanatorium."
"Yes. I'll have someone continue investigating."
After leaving McDaniel Group, Maeve stood by the roadside, bracing herself against the cold wind. The chaos in her mind slowly subsided.
She recalled Byron's calm, noble demeanor in his luxurious office, finding it amusing. She thought, How could he be so at ease, pretending to be a driver? Was he afraid I'd go after his assets? Or worried I'd refuse a divorce? Maybe both. Maeve took a deep breath. The icy wind caused her to cough.
She hailed a taxi and went to look at rental properties. Although Bonnie offered her a place indefinitely, Maeve didn't want to be a burden. She decided to find her own place as soon as possible.
Early the next morning, Maeve took her documents and contract to the top floor of McDaniel Group. As expected, she was ignored. This continued for several days.
The secretary who usually received Maeve eventually grew familiar with her. Seeing Maeve waiting again, she confided, "I heard Mr. McDaniel accepted Bert's invitation yesterday. You might not get anywhere waiting here."
Disappointment flickered in Maeve's eyes. She hadn't even seen Byron, let alone persuaded him. Waiting felt like a complete waste of time. Her phone rang.
"Ms. Mason, I was just about to call you," Maeve said. "We might not get Mr. McDaniel's project..."
"Forget that," Leah said. "Hurry back to the company. A distinguished guest wants to see you. Be here within half an hour."
Puzzled, Maeve complied. "Alright. I'll be right there."
After hanging up, she thanked the secretary. "I have an appointment, so I have to go now. Bye!" She quickly entered the elevator.
The secretary, seeing Maeve's documents left on the table, picked them up and chased after her, but—
"Where is she?" A deep voice called from behind.
Byron had emerged from the conference room. His gaze swept across the lounge, and his expression turned cold upon not finding Maeve.
"Mr. McDaniel," the secretary stammered, pointing timidly at the elevator. "Ms. Reese just left..."
Byron squinted. "Where did she go?"
"She didn't say, but she left in a hurry and forgot these." The secretary held up the documents.
Byron looked at the documents for a few seconds, then gestured for Archer to take them. He headed towards his office.
Archer followed, reporting, "Mr. McDaniel, you have an international meeting in fifteen minutes. The spa resort acquisition..."
As the year-end approached, Byron's workload increased dramatically, filled with endless meetings. He had no time for trivial matters.
A thud echoed as documents on his desk were knocked to the floor. Byron frowned, put down his pen, and picked them up.
The folder contained design drafts, distinctive and mature in both black and white and color. Detailed yet concise notes accompanied each. The signature "MR" appeared in elegant cursive on every page.
His gaze lingered. He flipped through the pages, his expression slowly relaxing. He finally understood Maeve's confidence—she hadn't been wasting time; she'd produced at least ten sketches. They were early drafts, but the creativity and elegance were undeniable. He’d considered helping her, but now realized it would have been unnecessary.
Byron's lips curved slightly. Turning the last page, a small card slipped out. It depicted a man—himself—standing before a silver Christmas tree, holding a coffee cup, with a relaxed smile. Even his shadow seemed gentle.
Byron examined the card. Surprise flickered in his eyes. Is this me? Did Maeve secretly draw me?
He chuckled. His stern expression softened into a teasing smile. He thought, That woman! She says she wants a divorce, yet her actions speak louder than words. Does she like me? He covered his mouth, chuckling.
Archer entered with documents. He thought he'd misheard Byron.
"Mr. McDaniel, any progress on the acquisition?" he asked. "You seem in a good mood."
"Call Maeve," Byron said, his smile fading slightly. He placed the documents and card in a drawer. "Tell her to come sign the contract now."
Archer thought, Thank goodness! They were like a couple in a cold war. If they hadn't reconciled, Ms. Reese might have gone back to her husband.
"I'll call her now."
Meanwhile, at Eternal Hope, Maeve entered the reception area and saw a dark-haired, dark-eyed young man sitting on a sofa. His head was lowered, but his jawline was striking. A black-haired girl in a vintage palace-style dress, lace gloves, leather shoes, and veiled hat sat beside him, looking regal.
Leah introduced Maeve. "This is our lead designer, Ms. Reese. These are Princess Fiora and Prince Loren, niece and nephew of the Queen of Erancia."
Maeve was shocked. The Queen's relatives… truly distinguished guests.
Before she could speak, Fiora gave her a critical look and, in Erancian, commented on Maeve's youth and the improbability of her designing "Moonlight." Fiora seemed to assume Maeve wouldn't understand.
Maeve replied in fluent Erancian, neither subservient nor arrogant. "Thank you for the compliment, but many designers achieve success young. I will work hard to catch up." Fiora was surprised by Maeve's fluency.
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