Before Maeve could process her thoughts, Byron's icy voice cut through the air. "Wait until we're actually divorced before you meddle in our marriage." Maeve's heart skipped a beat.

Byron didn't spare Valda another glance as he carried Maeve to the car and ordered the driver to leave. Valda watched helplessly as the car sped away, frustration etched on her face. She didn't know much about cars, but it was clear this one was far from ordinary—probably something only the wealthy could afford. She figured the driver was a colleague of Byron's, showing off by borrowing the boss's car for a dramatic exit.

In the car, Byron settled Maeve into the seat beside him, then straightened and took his own seat. Maeve's tone was steady as she regained her composure. She added cautiously, "No matter what, if a driver is making an honest living, they deserve respect." Byron glanced at her, his face unreadable, but his curiosity piqued. He wondered: If I weren't the CEO of the McDaniel Group, would she have gone to all this trouble to marry me? Would she still be putting on this act? How long can she keep up the pretense? He realized she had overthought things—he was just a driver, after all. Byron asked, his tone casual, "So, you're saying you'd stick with me even if life got tough?"

She nodded firmly. "I won't regret my decision, and I married you of my own free will." Maeve felt a surprising wave of relief. Even if they faced some rough patches, it was her choice. With a little extra effort, their future didn't have to look so bleak. She wanted to make it clear that her mother's words didn't reflect her own feelings, skillfully sidestepping the real issue. If that's how it was, he didn't mind playing along, indulging in this little "poor man's game."

Byron lowered his gaze, a faint, unreadable smile playing on his lips.

When Maeve woke up, she found herself in the bedroom of the Pinehurst Apartments. She must have fallen asleep in the car, and Byron had carried her inside. Her throat was parched and sore, and her lips were chapped. The moment she moved, her stomach rumbled loudly. Clutching her belly, Maeve pushed aside the blanket and tried to get out of bed. But she underestimated her condition. As soon as her feet hit the floor, her vision blurred, and she collapsed. The glass of water by the bed shattered on the floor.

As cold sweat beaded on her forehead, she reached for the shards, only to have a strong hand firmly grip her arm. Byron had somehow appeared without her noticing. "What are you doing?" he asked, his brow furrowed, making his already stern expression seem even more distant.

Maeve froze. "I just wanted to get some water from the living room, but I knocked over the glass by accident…"

"Why didn't you call me?" Byron eased her back onto the bed, his tone indifferent. "If you're not feeling well, just stay put."

"Fine… Sorry," Maeve murmured, her voice soft and apologetic.

Byron tidied up the glass and set a fresh glass of water on the bedside table. "Anything else you need?"

Maeve hesitated. "I could use something to eat—just a simple plate of spaghetti would be fine. There should be ingredients in the fridge. But, do you actually know how to cook?" She eyed him with a blend of curiosity and skepticism; he didn't exactly seem like the type.

Byron's face stayed impassive. "Spaghetti, got it. I'll be right back."

Just as he was about to leave, Maeve called after him, "Wait! I haven't had a chance to wash up in two days. Could you help me to the bathroom?"

Byron turned back, his gaze cool and indifferent. "You can't even stand. Are you seriously asking me to watch you bathe?"

Maeve's face flushed crimson. "N-No! That's not what I meant!" She waved her hands frantically. "I just need to rinse my mouth and wash my face—nothing more!"

Byron glanced at her flushed cheeks, then grabbed her and pulled her out of bed. "Just lean on me, but don't get too close," he said flatly, his disdain evident.

Maeve fumed silently. She quickly rinsed her mouth and washed her face, leaning against the sink. Water splashed onto her shirt collar, revealing a sliver of skin that Byron's gaze caught in the mirror. He quickly looked away and asked casually, "So, why did your parents lock you up?"

"We had a bit of a falling out," Maeve replied vaguely, drying her face.

Byron had a good idea of what was up but didn't bother to pry. Instead, he asked, "So, why didn't you call me back after I missed your call the other day?"

She hesitated. The memory of the woman's voice on the phone replayed in her mind. She glanced at Byron's reflection, her words catching in her throat. Admitting she'd been hoping for his call felt too awkward. "I forgot," Maeve said with a small, casual smile. "I didn't expect my parents to keep me locked up for so long."

Her earlier resistance had turned into a deep sense of disheartenment. Despite her efforts to stay upbeat, a trace of loneliness flickered across her face. Her smile, tinged with sadness, made Byron feel oddly unsettled. He frowned, swallowed hard, and asked, "Are you done?"

"Yes," Maeve replied. "Could you help me back to bed now?"

The final sentence, "23," appears to be a chapter or page number and should be removed or appropriately labeled. The promotional message for FindNovel.net should also be removed.