Even if Karen went to that apartment to recuperate, her presence wouldn't affect Maeve, regardless of the distance between their apartments.

Who would have thought Maeve had such a bad temper? She hung up without hearing an explanation, then ignored Byron for two days.

After hearing his explanation, Maeve blushed awkwardly, her hands clenched, a guilty look on her face. She didn't know Byron owned the entire building—Karen had stated it so confidently. Naturally, Maeve assumed Byron had given their home away. Moreover, Byron's nonchalant phone manner hurt her even more; hence, she didn't ask further questions.

Unexpectedly, Maeve wished she could hide her embarrassment. Byron didn't give her the chance, asking coldly, "Do you have anything to explain?"

"I... it's my fault for leaving without saying anything," Maeve stammered, biting her lip.

"More?" Byron pressed.

"Thank you for taking care of me when I had a fever," Maeve added.

Byron waited, hearing nothing he wanted. He narrowed his eyes. "Nothing else?" Maeve knew what he wanted. Hesitating, she said, "I'll go back after Karen recovers." She didn't understand Byron's thinking. He insisted she move back. But now that Karen lived in that apartment, Maeve thought it convenient for Byron and Karen to meet; there was no point in him asking Maeve to return.

"Where are you staying now?" Byron asked.

Maeve thought of the new place Alex had found. She hesitated.

Byron sensed something was wrong. He stared coldly. "Don't tell me you're living next door to Alex."

"Not yet. I'm staying at Bonnie's for now," Maeve said.

Byron said, "Come stay at my place."

Maeve asked, "What?"

"I thought you didn't want to go back to your apartment," Byron said calmly. "Then stay at my place so you don't have to move around."

Maeve was stunned. She shook her head, wanting to refuse, but Byron interrupted. "I don't plan on separating from my wife. Don't tell me you want Grandpa to find out about this?" Byron's statement was reasonable, and Maeve couldn't refute it. After much deliberation, she said, "Let me think about it."

"How many days?" Byron asked.

"Will a few days be too soon?" Maeve replied.

"I'll give you two days, at most," Byron said firmly.

Maeve was speechless. She'd never seen Byron at work, but now she understood his style. She thought, "He must be a tyrant who doesn't change his mind."

There was a knock. Archer entered. "Mr. McDaniel, this is Ms. Reese's gown and bag. They were found in the staff lounge. The thief has been apprehended." Byron nodded and turned to Maeve. "Check if anything is missing."

"No, they're all here." Maeve took out her phone. Alex called. She answered accidentally.

"Maeve, why were you gone so long? Did you encounter trouble? Should I come up?" Alex's voice was anxious.

Byron smirked.

Maeve explained the situation, telling Alex she'd be down later. Alex relaxed.

After ending the call, Maeve got up to leave, but Byron grabbed her arm.

"Change your clothes before going down. I've asked Archer to prepare a new gown," Byron said.

Archer handed over a new box. Maeve carried the box into the cubicle, followed by Byron. The small cubicle became cramped. Her eyes widened. "Why did you come in?"

"Shouldn't I personally help you change into the gown I prepared?" Byron slowly picked up the gown, his expression serious. Only Maeve understood the implication. Her scalp tingled; she wanted to escape. The heat in the narrow cubicle intensified. Maeve could have changed in minutes, but after half an hour, she emerged flustered, running from the changing room as if pursued.

She'd never seen someone so bold, disregarding consequences. Even though the misunderstanding was cleared, Byron used helping her change as an excuse to take advantage of her; Maeve hadn't truly consented.

Maeve returned to the banquet hall angrily, still flushed. She looked for Alex. Suddenly, someone beside her collapsed, falling at her feet. She recoiled. 'No way! An accident here?' She quickly dismissed the thought. The person was an elderly man with white hair, appearing to be in pain. People avoided him, only the old man's assistant frantically calling for an ambulance. "Isn't this Mr. Charles Chatterly? Oh my god, is he having a heart attack?"

"There's an infirmary upstairs! Hurry and call the doctor!"

"Mr. Chatterly doesn't seem to be having a heart attack. But why is his body twitching? It's so scary."

Speculation filled the hall, but no one approached, leaving a wide space around Charles. Maeve was close enough to see Charles's face turning purple, as if he'd stop breathing. Something was wrong. This wasn't a heart attack. She'd seen similar cases before. It was...

Maeve hesitated, then rushed forward to stop someone from carrying Charles away. Before explaining, she helped him up and patted his back several times.

The assistant's expression changed, trying to stop her. "What are you doing? If anything happens to Mr. Chatterly, you'll be responsible..."

"If you stop me, will you be responsible for his death?" Maeve retorted sharply.

The assistant, shocked, loosened his grip. Realizing Maeve was intimidating him, he hesitated. Charles, eyes closed, suddenly opened his mouth and spat something out. His twitching stopped, though his hands trembled.

"Mr. Chatterly!" The assistant exclaimed. "How are you feeling? I've called an ambulance."

Charles waved his hand, standing with Maeve's help. "I'm fine. I choked." He looked at Maeve gently. "It's all thanks to this young lady. Otherwise, I would have died." Charles had never believed people could choke to death. He knew he wouldn't have survived until the ambulance arrived, but Maeve was there.