Byron stood beside the sofa, furrowing his brow as he touched Maeve's forehead. It was burning hot. Restless in her feverish slumber, Maeve sensed the coolness and nuzzled into his hand, yearning for more. "Maeve, wake up," Byron said seriously, caressing her damp hair. "You have a fever. We need to go to the hospital."

Maeve clung to his hand, groaning. "I just got out of the hospital. I won't go back," she mumbled, her words barely audible.

"Do you think lying here with the window open is wise, after being discharged?" Byron's face darkened. "Are you tired of living?"

He sighed. She hadn't even covered herself with a blanket. Is she a child? he thought.

Maeve's shoulders twitched; her eyes remained closed. Byron pursed his lips, lifting her into his arms. He reached the guest room and remembered the furniture was gone. Since she'd decided to leave, he'd discarded it all, leaving the room empty.

He carried her to the master bedroom, placed her on the bed, and pulled the blanket over her. He called Ray. "It's me. What medication reduces a fever? It's for Maeve."

"Maeve has a fever? I heard you're about to get a divorce. Why are you taking care of her?" Ray asked, his tone ironic.

Byron's temples throbbed. "Who told you that?"

Ray glanced at Bonnie, who was eating an apple in a hospital bed. "It's better if you don't know."

Byron grabbed the medicine cabinet. "Stop wasting time. Tell me what to give her. She refuses to go to the hospital."

Ray was astonished. Who would've thought? Byron's actually taking care of someone. He never worries about his own health! "Byron, could you consult another doctor? I'm a surgeon; I don't deal with fevers and colds," Ray said delicately.

"Then find out and give me an answer in five minutes," Byron replied tersely and hung up.

Ray, exasperated, consulted other doctors and sent Byron a lengthy list of instructions. He received no reply.

"Maeve has a fever?" Bonnie asked Ray, concerned. "What happened? Who's taking care of her?"

Ray's scowl softened. "Yes, she has a fever. Byron is taking care of her and asked me for medication."

"The great Mr. McDaniel is quite nice to Maeve, isn't he?" Bonnie remarked. She'd expected him to delegate such tasks, but he was surprisingly caring. "Of course, he's my friend," Ray quipped.

Bonnie's lips twitched. "Are you sneaking in some self-praise? You really have no shame."

"How am I shameless?" Ray protested playfully. "It was an accident that I touched your butt. Is it really necessary for you to hold a grudge?"

The word "butt" seemed to trigger Bonnie. She threw a pillow at Ray. "Get out! Don't let me see you again today."

Ray caught the pillow, grinning. "That might not be possible. You have another check-up tonight." He looked at the pillow's image, puzzled. Why did Maeve draw Bonnie's husband like that?

Meanwhile, Maeve felt better after taking the medication and slept soundly. However, she kept kicking off the blanket.

Byron covered her repeatedly, then lost patience. He lay beside her, pulling both her and the blanket into his arms. Her restless legs were pinned beneath him, and she settled down.

Holding her warm body, Byron felt uneasy. He gazed at her flushed face, her glowing cheeks, furrowed brows, and slightly parted lips revealing her tongue. Her feverish state held a subtle allure.

Byron felt he'd cease being human if he couldn't remain calm. But he had to. If her fever persisted, he'd be the most troubled. He pressed her closer, resting his chin on her head, and whispered huskily, "Sooner or later, you'll be the death of me."

The next morning, Maeve's fever had subsided, but she had a splitting headache, a blocked nose, a sore throat, and felt weak.

Did I catch a cold on the terrace last night? she wondered, touching her forehead. She got out of bed for medicine.

Before she reached the door, Byron entered with oatmeal and medicine. Seeing her barefoot, his expression hardened. Before she could react, he placed the items on the table, lifted her, and put her back on the bed.

"Don't you know to wear shoes? Has your fever made you stupid? If you don't want to live, I'll throw you out right now." His tone was harsh.

Frightened, Maeve felt vulnerable. Tears welled up. "I didn't do it on purpose," she said, her voice wounded. "I'm only barefoot."

Seeing her reddened eyes, Byron softened. He released her and sat up straight. After a long silence, he asked softly, "Do you want some oatmeal?"

After hesitating, Maeve nodded. She ate slowly, letting it cool.

After finishing, she felt warmer and more energetic.

Byron, arms crossed, asked, "Do you want more?"

Maeve shook her head. "I'm full. Did you make this?"

"Who else?"

"I didn't think you'd bother," Maeve muttered. "You don't look like someone who knows how to care for others."

Byron narrowed his eyes. "Take your medicine."

Maeve grimaced and swallowed the pills.

"Didn't you say that even if you're sick, it's your own problem?" Byron's voice was cold. "Now you're enjoying my care and food."

The final promotional sentence has been removed as it is not part of the narrative.