Karen's voice, thick with resentment and unwillingness, cracked as she finished her question. "In terms of family background, ability, and feelings for you, how can she compare to me?" She couldn't accept that Maeve, of all people, was winning the affections of the man she'd long admired. She even blamed Gilbert for initially objecting to her relationship with Byron. Believing her father's debt to Byron entitled her to his hand, she felt she was the most deserving wife.
"I warned you from the very beginning," Byron said slowly, his eyes calm and devoid of emotion. "Maeve is mine." He wouldn't tolerate anyone interfering, even if Maeve were his pet.
Karen's disbelief spiraled into irrationality. "Are you sure Maeve is yours? She's clearly having an affair with Alex, and you don't care?"
Byron's eyes narrowed. "Did you arrange for those photos to be sent to me?" He'd realized the delivery's convenient timing upon his return.
"I just don't want you to be deceived by that flirtatious woman!" Karen yelled.
"Mind your own business." Byron hung up, then looked toward the French window. Seeing Maeve retrieve a piece of paper from under the sofa, his expression turned anxious. He rushed to the couch.
Maeve had already read the report: a blood and ointment test. The ointment was fine; the poison in her wound wasn't bacterial. The source? Karen.
Maeve looked up, meeting Byron's gaze. After a few seconds of silence, she asked, "I was poisoned. Why did you lie and say it was a bacterial infection?"
"It's not good for you to know too much," Byron said gently, taking the report. "The doctor will treat the wound for a week. Don't worry about the rest."
"Don't you have anything to explain?" Maeve asked.
Byron stared at her, then said in a low voice, "Get some rest." He left the room.
Hope drained from Maeve's eyes. She realized he knew who poisoned her but covered for Karen. He hadn't brought her there for treatment. He’d kissed her, all while still in love with Karen. His actions had fueled her imagination, only to be cruelly dashed. She laughed bitterly, curled up on the bed, and eventually fell asleep.
Hours later, the wound itched intensely. She scratched it. A tall shadow loomed over her bed, a hand pressing down on hers. Byron switched on a lamp and examined her cheek. The redness and purplish tinge indicated the poison's spread, just as Anthony had predicted. Agitation or exertion would spread the poison. He regretted bringing the test results home. Maeve's wrist thrashed against his restraint. He encircled her wrist, unscrewed an ointment, and applied it gently. The refreshing scent eased the itch, and she relaxed, falling back to sleep.
He chuckled, muttering, "You look like a green gumell," referring to the hallucination she’d experienced the previous night. The next morning, the effect was gone. She felt a cooling sensation on her face, but it vanished after washing. She went downstairs, had breakfast, and rode to the office with Byron, pointedly keeping her distance. Byron noticed her avoidance. His hand paused on his iPad as he calmly said, "Your wound isn't healed. Why the rush?"
"As a designer, I don't rely on my face for a living," she replied coolly. Her company allowed flexible work hours, but she needed to be present for the design process.
"The doctor will apply medicine twice a day," Byron said impassively.
His consideration meant nothing to her. She simply nodded. The silence continued until she asked the driver to stop at an intersection, preferring to walk the rest of the way.
Byron's eyes darkened. "What's this about? Afraid people will see us together?" He thought she was avoiding suspicion of their relationship, and possibly Alex.
She stopped, turning to him. "What's to be afraid of? You're my uncle. What's wrong with you driving me to work?" She grabbed her bag and left. Byron was speechless, regretting his kindness the previous night.
At the office, Leah informed her that Trend Style Magazine had replaced her as an interview guest. Maeve recalled Lind’s disappointed tone and felt a pang of unease. Leah expressed deep disappointment. The replacement? A designer from Finesse Bloom, a rival company with a long-standing grudge, stemming from poaching incidents and design plagiarism. Maeve was confused. Eternal Hope's status should have been sufficient to deal with a newer company.
Leah explained the founder was no ordinary person: a daughter of the Booth family and secretary to the McDaniel Group's CEO. Her connections were formidable.