Maeve's gaze froze as she was about to look away. Her phone rang from her coat pocket. She pulled it out; a message appeared: Byron: [Come over.] She glanced at it, switched off the screen, slipped the phone back into her pocket, and followed Alex into the car.

As the white Mulsanne drove away, Alex noticed Maeve's veil, concealing the scars on her face. "You can take it off," he said. "Don't worry about what others think—I'm no different."

Maeve shook her head. "I'd rather keep it on. I feel more comfortable this way." Her facial wounds flared up just as they healed, sometimes becoming infected. She hated looking at herself in the mirror and preferred to spare others the sight.

A hint of sadness flickered in Alex's eyes, but seeing her insistence, he didn't press. Instead, he handed her a box. "This is the phone you dropped in the basement. It's been with the police."

Maeve took the phone, examined it, and shook her head. "This isn't mine. I took it from Karen that day."

"Karen's?" Alex mused thoughtfully. "I don't believe she's innocent, but with the evidence destroyed and her bodyguards covering for her, suspicion isn't enough."

Maeve powered on the phone and waved it slightly. "Let's see if there are any clues."

"There should be a passcode, right?" Alex asked.

"I picked up a few unlocking tricks in college. Let me try." After a few minutes, Maeve smiled as the phone unlocked. "Got it." Alex's gaze softened. "Let's see what we can find."

Maeve opened the contacts and messages—empty. The social media apps were equally bare. "She's cautious; she didn't leave any information," Maeve said, disappointed. "And now she gets away."

It made sense. If Karen orchestrated the first kidnapping, she wouldn't leave a trace.

Alex comforted her. "We know she's the culprit. It's only a matter of time before we find the evidence."

Maeve remained silent, thinking, After finding the evidence, will we convict Karen? As long as Byron protects her, she'll always escape responsibility.

She pursed her lips, about to turn off the phone, when she noticed a string of numbers in the notes app—a phone number. She dialed it. The call connected, but no one answered. Then, an older woman's voice said, "Hello? Who is this?"

Maeve thought, A woman? That likely has little to do with the kidnapper. She said, "Sorry, wrong number," and hung up.

"What's wrong?" Alex asked. "Any clues?"

Maeve shook her head. "No, I was being paranoid. I thought the numbers might belong to one of the kidnappers, so I called and tested it."

Alex smiled, about to reassure her, when he noticed a car appearing out of nowhere. It darted past and stopped ahead. He slammed on the brakes, stopping 6.5 feet from it. Maeve lurched forward; her phone slipped from her pocket, falling under the seat. Holding her veil, she retrieved it. "What happened?"

Alex kept his eyes on the road. "I'm not sure. It looks like that car is blocking my way."

As he spoke, Maeve's phone pinged. A message from Byron: [Are you coming alone, or should I find you?]

She glared at the black Rolls-Royce, clearly blocking the road. Why doesn't he fly? Does he think this road belongs to him? This was a single-lane, two-way street with little traffic.

"I'll go see what's going on," Alex said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Wait," Maeve called. "No need. That's someone I know."

"Someone you know?" Alex asked, puzzled. "How he's getting your attention is… unusual." Who greets someone by blocking the road?

Maeve laughed nervously, unsure how to explain. She was just as curious about Byron's actions.

"Then go quickly," Alex said, noticing her discomfort. "Let's save dinner for another time. Don't rush back to the office; take care of yourself. I'll approve your leave."

"Thank you, Alex," Maeve said warmly. She smiled and bid him farewell before striding angrily toward the Rolls-Royce.

The car door was open; she climbed inside. Before she could speak, Byron's cold voice cut through the air. "Are you that afraid of him seeing me?"

Maeve returned his gaze with equal coldness. "Is that why you came? We don't need to meet, then."

Byron fixed his gaze on her veiled face. "I mentioned I have no intention of separating from my wife."

Maeve was taken aback. She'd almost forgotten. She might have been happy to live with him before, but now she felt no such inclination.

"How unfortunate. I have no plans to live with my husband either," Maeve replied flatly. "So please, go back. Goodbye." She pushed the door open.

Before she could leave, a firm grip seized her wrist, yanking her back. Her back collided with Byron's chest; his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pinning her.

Maeve stomped. "What are you doing? Let go of me!"

Byron ignored her, holding her waist with one hand while the other removed her veil. Maeve struggled, but it was too late.

"Don't look! Give me back my veil!" Her eyes reddened; she raised her hand to cover the scar, her wrist trembling.