Byron frowned, his voice growing cold. "Maeve, be rational. Don't let your emotions control you."

He actually thought she was irrational? That she was letting her emotions control her and slandering Karen? The thought made her almost laugh. Her heart ached with sorrow.

She rubbed her eyes, choosing not to explain. Instead, she said, "Byron, do you know how long you've been gone? A whole week. You weren't there when I was locked in Karen's dark, cold basement. You weren't there when Karen dragged my hair against the bars, my head bleeding. I tried to call you for help, but your phone was always off."

A flicker of something new appeared in Byron's eyes.

Maeve swallowed, then looked up at him. Word by word, she asked, "You weren't there when I needed you most. So what right do you have to question me now?" Each word felt like a wound.

She had waited for him, but this was the result.

Byron's gaze fell on her pale face. His Adam's apple bobbed as he recalled the photos.

He said mockingly, "Do you really need me, or are you just afraid I'll keep pursuing Karen's involvement and change the subject?"

Maeve closed her eyes, drained of strength. "You can go. I'm going to rest."

Byron glanced at her coldly, then turned and left without a word.

Just as he reached the ward door, Maeve asked, "Where have you been all week?"

He stopped. His aura shifted, becoming dangerously cold, like a provoked beast. His jaw tightened. Without answering, he left.

The driver took him to the hospital. Byron sat in the back seat, legs crossed, his brow furrowed in frustration. He looked gloomy and angry. An open paper bag sat beside him. Several photos slid out, showing Maeve and Alex hugging intimately, smiling.

The hug was real; the photos unedited. Byron hadn't misunderstood. Maeve would recognize the day—the day she'd cramped her leg in her room and fallen. Bonnie, too weak to help, had asked Alex. The cramp had distorted Maeve's face, making it look like a blissful smile in the photo.

Byron glanced at the photos, his eyes cold and mocking. He picked up the bag, tossed the photos into it, then tossed the bag into the glove compartment. He closed his eyes and leaned back. "Archer."

"Mr. McDaniel," Archer replied from the front seat.

"Send the hospital surveillance footage of Karen to Jarrett for re-identification," Byron said slowly. "Investigate the abandoned villa where Maeve was held and Karen's contacts for the past few days. I want everything."

Archer was stunned. "Mr. McDaniel, haven't we already investigated this?" Karen had left the police station; the case should be closed.

Byron looked at him impassively, saying nothing.

"I'll immediately arrange a re-investigation!" Archer's heart sank; more overtime.

"Back to the office."

"Yes, sir." Archer sighed inwardly. No wonder Byron was CEO at such a young age. He'd been abroad, sleep-deprived for almost a week. He'd rushed back overnight after learning about Maeve's accident. Anyone else would have collapsed, but Byron hadn't rested, choosing to return to work. Was he even human?

The ward was silent. Maeve remained still for a long time, her earlier emotions lingering. She had many questions for Byron, but his subconscious defense of Karen made her realize it was pointless. So what if Karen had impersonated his bodyguard, or even him? He only saw Karen's supposed grievances, ignoring everything she'd done. Even if she'd nearly been killed, he didn't care. In comparison to his sweetheart, what was she worth?

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Perhaps he cared a little, but that little was insignificant compared to his feelings for Karen.

Night fell. Only a few scattered lights illuminated the outside. Under a wall lamp, Maeve bent over her table, meticulously editing Fiora's design drawings. She wouldn't dwell on negativity. Only work could distract her.

After two days and nights, she finished and sent them to Fiora.

Fiora: [Why 15 designs? I ordered three gowns.]

Maeve: [Yes, but the state banquet is approaching, and your gown designs aren't finished. Production could be delayed; you might miss your chance to shine.]

Maeve: [So I drew five variations for each gown.]

Fiora wanted to criticize, but the designs exceeded her expectations. More importantly, Maeve was right; the banquet was only a month away.

Fiora: [Acceptable. I want these.]

Maeve: [I'm sorry, per the contract, you can only choose three. Decide before noon.] Fiora: [...]

Had Maeve sent so many to tempt her?

Maeve remained focused on work, despite being in the hospital. The gown fabric needed to complement Fiora's gems. After careful consideration, she chose high-grade fabric from overseas, requiring air freight.

After Fiora's selection, Maeve ordered the fabric, accessories, lace, etc. Upon the goods' arrival, she was finally discharged. Bonnie was unavailable, but Alex was to pick her up. However, downstairs, she saw a black Rolls-Royce. Behind the half-lowered window was a familiar handsome face, his dark eyes fixed on hers.

I removed the seemingly spammy sentence at the end. The writing was already quite long. Let me know if you'd like me to adjust anything else!