Every girl hoped to be remembered favorably by the person she liked, and Maeve was no exception. When her face was first injured, she still joked with Bonnie. But as the days passed and the wound showed no signs of healing, she grew anxious about a permanent scar—an image she desperately wanted to hide from Byron.

"Don't touch it," Byron frowned, reprimanding her and gripping her wrist to stop her from touching her scar. "Your hands are full of bacteria. Do you want to ruin your face?"

Eyes red, Maeve turned her head, only to be forcibly turned back by his grip on her chin. Frustrated, she glared fiercely. "What do you want? Is this amusing to you? Do you want to see me like this?" Her voice caught in her throat. In anger, she bit his thumb.

Byron watched silently, neither moving nor stopping her. Only when her grip loosened did he coldly say, "What's the point of wearing that?"

Feeling bold, Maeve retorted, "I can wear it if I want! It's none of your business!"

To her surprise, he laughed instead of getting angry. "I can't control you, but who do you want to be in charge? That pretty boy?"

"That's my freedom. Don't you think you're overstepping?" Maeve looked into his eyes. "I haven't interfered with you and Karen, so why can you control me?"

The car fell silent. Byron's grip on her chin shifted between gentle and firm. After a moment, he said coldly, "Just because you're in the same household, does that justify it?"

Maeve had expected him to claim authority due to his youth. His actual words nearly choked her. What kind of reason is that? she thought.

She didn't want to argue about such a trivial matter and reached for her veil. With a flick of his fingers, Byron tossed it into the trash.

"Byron McDaniel!" Maeve fumed. "Is this how you want to humiliate me? What am I doing to bother you? Haven't you already gotten enough revenge for Karen?" His deep eyes fixed on her, as if twisting the knife. "Revenge for Karen? Maeve Reese, do you have any conscience left?"

Maeve bit her lip, her eyes red and puffy, the corners tinged pink. Byron closed his eyes, suppressing his frustration. In a low voice, he said, "The veil also carries bacteria. Covering your face like that—are you trying to make your wound worse?"

"Worse?" Maeve furrowed her brows. "How do you know it's getting worse?" He only visited me once in the hospital, didn't he? she thought.

Byron paused. "If it weren't getting worse, wouldn't it have healed by now?"

Maeve fell silent, knowing he was right. But didn't I know veils harbor bacteria and shouldn't be worn long? I wouldn't cover my face if I had a choice. She scoffed, "Karen did this to my face, and while I was in the hospital, I didn't see you care. Now you pretend to care. Is it because Mr. McDaniel wants to see me again, or do you need something from me as your nominal wife? Say it. This act doesn't suit you."

A cold glint appeared in Byron's eyes. "You think I'm being insincere?"

"Isn't that the case?" The car grew frigid.

The driver and Archer wished they could disappear. Archer cautiously said, "Ms. Reese, you might have misunderstood Mr. McDaniel. He's been extremely busy with company affairs lately, and he's been focused on helping you with the kidnapping investigation..."

"Shut up," Byron interrupted coldly. Archer fell silent.

Maeve froze. Reinvestigating the kidnapping? Didn't he already determine Karen was innocent? Why?

Lost in thought, she heard the driver's timid voice, "Mr. McDaniel, we're here."

Where are we? She glanced out the window. Beautifully arranged flower arches, expansive lawns, topiary, and a grand fountain surrounded an emerald green townhouse, exuding luxury.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked Byron.

He didn't look up. "Bringing you home doesn't require a reason." Karen stayed at the apartment; his only home was this one. The mention of "home" stirred sweetness and discomfort in Maeve's heart.

Stunned, she regained her senses as Byron exited the car, signaling her to follow.

Maeve hesitated. "What about my face...?"

Byron's gaze softened as he looked at her scar. "I have a scar on my back deeper than this. It's nothing to worry about."

"On your back!" Maeve grumbled. "No one can see it."

"And what does that matter?" Byron's expression was unwavering. "Would you stop being yourself because of a scar? No matter the scar, you're still Maeve Reese."

A tremor ran through Maeve. The anxiety vanished. Could he mean I look perfect in his eyes?

Lost in thought, she felt a warm covering. Byron had removed his jacket and draped it over her head, shielding her face.

He clicked his tongue. "What a nuisance." She was the most troublesome woman he'd ever met, and she didn't even appreciate it.

Maeve puffed her cheeks, removed the jacket, and stepped out. "It's fine if it doesn't cover."

Returning the jacket, she noticed his scent. "Byron, is your perfume easy to find?"

"I never use perfume," Byron said.

Confused, Maeve asked, "Then what's that scent?"

"It's an energizing aromatic blend from my doctor, Anthony Garcia. It lingers after use," Byron explained flatly.

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