Maeve's shoulders trembled slightly. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts. "I was afraid you'd be angry..."

Byron let out a low, cold laugh. "You think hiding it would keep me from being mad?"

Maeve lowered her eyes, her mouth tasting bitter. "It was an accident. I'm panicking inside, so scared I don't know what to do."

Ever since she found out she was pregnant, there hadn't been a single moment of calm. Fear, confusion, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness hit her all at once, as if she had experienced a hundred different emotions in a single day. She had originally planned to hide it from him longer, but she hadn't expected him to find out so quickly.

Looking at her panicked expression, Byron's anger began to subside, though his voice remained cold and harsh. "So you stressed yourself out to the point of getting gastritis? Impressive."

Maeve nodded numbly. Something suddenly struck her as odd. "Gastritis?"

Byron unfolded the report and gave a derisive snort. "Did you think I wouldn't find out if you kept it hidden? Try drinking alcohol around me again, and we'll see." He'd suspected something that night when she was violently ill. He just hadn't thought it was this.

Maeve, still bewildered, blinked at him until her eyes landed on the report. Then it hit her. She had gone to the gastroenterologist before her gynecological exam! The pregnancy had shocked her so much that she'd forgotten the earlier diagnosis entirely. Realizing this, she flushed with embarrassment, thinking Byron had discovered her pregnancy when it was really just the gastritis.

Maeve exhaled deeply, her racing heart slowly settling. "It's just gastritis. It can be treated. Don't be so angry," she said.

Byron's eyes darkened further. "Just gastritis?"

Maeve shrank back. "Don't you have stomach problems yourself? Yours still hasn't healed..."

"Say that again?" Byron reached out, his hand lightly gripping the back of her neck. The cool touch sent shivers down her spine, making her instinctively want to step back. Terrified, Maeve raised her hands in surrender. "I swear I won't drink again! If I do, I'll be a puppy!"

Byron's expression grew colder and more withdrawn. It was true that he also had stomach problems, but he couldn't stand watching her neglect hers. His eyes were filled with coldness and gloom.

Maeve thought he was still mad about the stomach bug. She dwelled on it for a moment, then kissed him on his cool lips.

Her kissing skills weren't the same anymore, but even the slowest rabbit learns from daily petting and kisses from a lion. Maeve was smart enough to pick up a few things. She followed Byron's lead, licking and kissing his bottom lip, sucking on it until his breaths fell out of rhythm. Then she pried open his teeth, letting her tongue slip inside.

Byron's eyes darkened, and his arms tightened around her waist. It was the first time Maeve had initiated a kiss. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and her eyelashes fluttered, as if she were trying to hide her blush. She mimicked his usual teasing moves, attempting to please him, though her effort was adorably clumsy. Byron felt a soft, tingling sensation in his heart.

The innocence left his eyes. Maeve quickly lost the upper hand, pressed deeper into the couch, his kisses growing fierce and intense, barely giving her room to breathe. His kisses trailed over her face, stirring a storm of sensations in Maeve, who trembled beneath him. Byron's grip became heavier, leaving red marks on her waist.

"Tsk," his voice was low and hoarse, "do you even have any bones?" She was so soft, he worried he might pinch her too hard.

Maeve's face flushed even deeper, her watery eyes glaring at him. "Of course I do! You don't need to check so thoroughly!"

If this continued, it was bound to get out of hand. Remembering the pregnancy test, Maeve snapped back to her senses and hurriedly grabbed his hand. "Wait! My period hasn't ended yet!"

Byron's expression remained unchanged. "I didn't forget."

"Then... then let go of me?" Maeve said.

"Not now," Byron smirked. "You dared to tease me even though you're still on your cycle. Wouldn't it be a waste if I didn't collect some interest?"

Maeve stifled her frustration, pouting as she closed her eyes, resigned to whatever he was going to do. Once one sense is lost, others become sharper—sometimes unbearably so.

In the end, Maeve, who hadn't moved much, was drenched in sweat. Byron carried her back to the master bedroom and laid her down on the bed.

Looking at his expressionless face, Maeve felt uneasy. "Byron, are you still angry?"

Byron lifted his eyelids. His voice was low and cold. "You realize you made me angry?"

Maeve smiled awkwardly. "I didn't want to get sick either. I promise I won't touch alcohol again."

"Come back to the manor with me," Byron suddenly said.

"What?" Maeve was surprised.

"Dr. Foster is an expert. It'll be easier for you to recover if you stay there." Byron's tone was calm but left no room for argument.

Maeve instantly tensed. She had witnessed Harold's skills before—an expert in both traditional and modern medicine. If he saw Maeve, he might figure out her pregnancy instantly.

"I don't want to stay there," Maeve said, lowering her eyes. "I can take care of myself. There's no need to bother Dr. Foster."

Byron's dark eyes locked on her. "You don't trust his medical expertise?"

"Of course I do!" Maeve said.

"Then give me a reason," Byron said.

Maeve furrowed her brow, her mind racing. What excuse could possibly convince Byron not to take me back to the manor? she thought. But she couldn't think of anything, and her face was slightly pale as discomfort stirred in her stomach.

Byron's expression tightened as he watched her unease. Is my manor really that repulsive to her? Or is it… he thought.

"Maeve," Byron said quietly, "do you still think it would be better to marry a chauffeur than to marry me?" Whether it was never asking him for gifts, never turning to him when work became difficult, or treating his manor like a hotel—all of it pointed to one thing: she couldn't get past the difference in their social status.

Maeve froze, her fingers gripping the quilt. If he'd asked her two months ago, her answer would have been clear. Marrying a chauffeur would have been much simpler. But now...

"I don't know," Maeve admitted, shaking her head. Then, under Byron's icy stare, she added playfully, "I guess I wouldn't know the difference unless I married a chauffeur in my second marriage, would I?"

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