Byron guided Maeve back to the bedroom before leaving. Less than half an hour later, he returned with a plate of spaghetti. The aroma was mouthwatering. The pasta was tender, drenched in a zesty tomato sauce, and finished with a sprinkle of Parmesan and fresh basil. It was simple, satisfying, and absolutely delicious.

"Wow," Maeve said, her voice full of surprise. "I never took you for such a great cook. This spaghetti is fantastic. Thanks."

Byron leaned back against the table, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "Just shut up and eat. Don't waste time talking."

If she hadn't looked so pitiful and defeated, Byron wouldn't have cooked. No one else could have convinced him. But Maeve wasn't put off by his cold demeanor. She saw right through his tough-guy act. If he were truly indifferent, he would have let her fend for herself.

"Anyway, thanks for coming to my rescue," Maeve said with a smile, her dimples adding a delicate charm to her pale face, like a rose blooming after the rain. He held her gaze, his brows slightly furrowed, his brown eyes darker.

He wondered if her gratitude was flirtation. "No need to thank me," he said coolly. "Just think of it as repaying the favor."

Maeve said nothing more. After finishing her meal and taking some stomach medicine, she felt better and was able to scroll through her phone. She hadn't been to the office in two days, and even though she was on leave, her manager, Piers, had called her out in the group chat, criticizing her absence. His message implied that anyone considering leaving was slacking off. Maeve rolled her eyes, ignoring the comments, and opened a message from a colleague:

[We're having a department dinner this Friday to say goodbye to you. You've always had something come up, but since we've all worked together, you should definitely come this time, right?]

The invitation was worded so that refusing would feel rude. Her colleagues had only been giving her grief because Jeff had told them to. Now that they thought she was leaving for good, she wouldn't have to put up with them anymore. One last gathering didn't seem like a big deal.

After replying, Maeve turned off her phone, ignoring calls from her parents. She got out of bed and left the bedroom just as the front door swung open. Byron walked in, followed by uniformed workers.

"Mr. McDaniel, who are these people?" Maeve asked, confused.

"They're here to deliver a bed," Byron said, directing the workers to the guest room.

Maeve remembered the furniture store's promise, and its failure to deliver. "The store must have forgotten my order," she said, embarrassed. "Since you've already gotten a bed, I'll cancel mine. I should pay for this one, though."

It felt awkward that, after agreeing to support him, she was relying on him for a bed.

Byron noticed her blushing and assumed she was disappointed about not sharing a bed with him. He sneered, doubting she'd actually ordered a bed.

"No need to worry about it," Byron said. "This bed was pricey."

Maeve raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. It was just a bed—a few hundred bucks, maybe. But given his pay as a driver, it might have been a stretch. She didn't notice the logo on the bed, a symbol of a high-end furniture brand known for its custom-made luxury pieces. These beds were exclusive, even with the money. As additional furniture was moved into the guest room, the space transformed.

The black-and-white, minimalist design exuded understated luxury. What was once a plain room now radiated sophisticated elegance. Maeve was tempted to ask where Byron had bought the furniture. She'd never seen such stylish, yet seemingly affordable pieces.

"Are you finished with everything now?" she asked.

Byron, arranging his books, glanced at her. "Need something?"

"Not me, but your wound," Maeve replied, holding up a first-aid kit. "It's time to change the dressing, isn't it?"

Byron raised an eyebrow. "How do you know I haven't changed it yet?"

Maeve smiled lightly. "Just a guess. You avoid the hospital and seem averse to letting others help. Plus, the wound's in a spot you can't easily reach." Byron paused, his gaze thoughtful. He'd been too busy to remember.

Once Maeve finished dressing his wound, she asked, "It was healing well, but now it's bleeding again. Have you been neglecting it?"

Anthony had warned him. But with everything going on at the McDaniel Group, there was no time to relax and heal properly. Maeve didn't know the full story but smiled. "I'll remind you next time. But you should take care of it yourself. If this wound doesn't heal properly, it could cause problems." The room fell silent for a moment. Byron narrowed his eyes, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "What kind of problems are we talking about?"

"Your... your waist, of course..." Maeve stammered, then fell silent, sensing the awkwardness.

Byron snorted, leaning closer. His gaze locked onto hers, and the soft light accentuated the flush on her cheeks. Seeing her reaction, he felt a tightness in his throat and an unexpected urge.

Without thinking, he asked, "Are you interested in trying something with me?"

I have removed the promotional message for FindNovel.net. I have also corrected grammar, punctuation, and sentence structure throughout the passage to improve readability and flow. There were some inconsistencies in tense and word choice that I've addressed.