Maeve hesitated before dialing Byron's number again. She didn't want to seem needy, so she decided to wait, hoping he would call back sooner or later.

Almost a full day passed without a single bite to eat. Her stomach growled and twisted in pain, and eventually, exhaustion overcame her. She drifted into a restless sleep, too drained and hungry to keep her eyes open. What felt like forever later, Maeve woke groggily, squinting at her phone to see it was already past ten in the morning. She realized she'd been in the room for nearly twenty-four hours, and her phone battery was critically low at three percent.

She stared at her phone, her heart sinking as there were no missed calls or messages. Despair washed over her. She shut her eyes and curled up on the cold floor, trying to ignore the gnawing hunger. "Is he too busy to call back, or did he just forget about me?" she wondered, pulling her knees to her chest and shielding her eyes with her hand. The hunger was bad, but the endless, crushing darkness was worse.

In the executive office at McDaniel Group, the afternoon sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing Byron in a warm, golden light as he sat at his desk. With his sharp looks and commanding presence, he was every inch the powerful CEO. "Mr. McDaniel, you just got over a fever and barely slept last night," Archer said for the third time as he entered the office. "If you keep pushing yourself, you're going to crash. Plus, it's time to change the dressing on your wound." Byron put down the contract and, with a swift flick of his wrist, signed his name with bold, decisive strokes—sharp and unyielding, just like him.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"It's already five in the afternoon. [The rest of this sentence is unintelligible.]"

He slowly capped his pen, a cold smile tugging at his lips. "Let them try. If they think that will make me change my mind..." He grabbed his jacket and stood up. "Have the driver bring the car around."

"Oh, by the way, Mr. McDaniel, your grandfather called again last night. He's insisting you visit soon," Archer added.

Byron gave a brief nod, his thoughts suddenly flashing back to Maeve's call from two days prior. He picked up his phone and dialed her number. The call connected almost immediately. "Something's come up; I won't be coming home tonight," Byron said as he stepped out of the office. He was about to hang up when a faint voice stopped him. "Help me..."

His grip tightened on the phone. "Where are you?"

"I've been locked up by my parents. If you could just—" Maeve's voice cut off abruptly as the phone beeped, signaling the dead battery. Byron quickly redialed, but the call went straight to voicemail. A deep frown creased his brow.

"Mr. McDaniel, your grandfather called again—he's insisting you visit soon," Archer said, hurrying over.

Byron's gaze lingered on his phone for a moment before he nodded slightly and stepped into the elevator.

In the underground parking lot, he settled into the back seat of the car, pressing his fingers lightly against the wound on his abdomen, his mind deep in thought. "Take me to the Reese residence," he instructed. "Yes, sir," the driver replied.

An hour later, they arrived at the Reese residence. Scott had an engagement that evening, and Valda was out shopping, leaving Maeve alone at home. After nearly two days and nights of being locked up, Maeve was completely drained. She lay on the cold floor, barely conscious, her strength almost entirely spent.

What jolted Maeve awake was the loud crack of the door lock breaking and the blinding rush of light flooding the dark storage room. Through the glare, she saw Byron's tall, commanding figure striding toward her, his presence cutting through the light. Maeve squinted up at him, her hand weakly grasping the hem of his coat. Her voice was a hoarse whisper: "Help... help..."

Byron looked down at her frail, trembling hands, his face impassive. "Can you move?"

Maeve shook her head weakly.

"Ugh, how troublesome," Byron muttered, his impatience evident. Maeve bit her dry lips, her fingers loosening their grip on his coat. But before she could react, Byron bent down and lifted her into his arms, carrying her out.

Maeve, taken aback, stared up at his sharp jawline as a wave of dizziness hit her. She closed her eyes, pressing her hands against her stomach to soothe the gnawing hunger. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they ran into Valda, who had returned for her wallet. Seeing Byron carrying Maeve, Valda's face twisted in shock. "How did you get in here? Put my daughter down right now—"

Byron shot her a cold, piercing look. "Move." His voice was firm and commanding. Terrified of Scott's wrath, Valda didn't step aside. Instead, she chased after Byron as he carried Maeve out of the building. "You can't just take my daughter! She's already agreed to divorce you! If you keep this up, I'll call the police! And let me tell you, Jeff is madly in love with Maeve and won't marry anyone else. You're just a driver—don't fool yourself into thinking you have a chance with her!"

Byron cast a cold, sidelong glance at Valda. Maeve, feeling the weight of his imposing presence, was struck by how a mere driver could exude such authority. As she thought back over the past few days, doubt crept in for the first time. "Is he really just a driver?" she wondered.

I removed the website plug and corrected numerous grammatical errors, punctuation issues, and awkward phrasing. I also filled in some gaps where the text was unintelligible.