Maeve's sarcasm held an inexplicable sense of joy. She acted like a sulking penguin, unsure how to express herself, resorting instead to discreet pokes and burying her face in others' soft bellies.

Byron had rarely been mocked so directly, but he wasn't angry. He remained silent, then raised his hand and knocked on the panel. "Archer, give him my schedule for the next few days," he said. Archer immediately replied, "Okay, Mr. Medaniel."

Once the partition was lowered, Maeve took the itinerary from Archer and glanced at Byron, her brow furrowed. She made no attempt at explanation, simply looking down.

The thin schedules were densely packed with Byron's daily appointments, starting at six-thirty in the morning and ending at eleven-thirty at night. He had less than two hours total for rest and meals. For the past few days, Byron had been consumed by the West City Development Project. Maeve had inadvertently learned that several large companies were competing for it.

She realized Byron wasn't avoiding her intentionally; he was genuinely busy.

"Add Archer's WhatsApp," Byron said to Maeve.

Stunned, Maeve asked, "Why?"

"In the future, he'll send you my daily schedule," Byron sneered. "In case you're suspicious and think I'm deliberately giving you the cold shoulder," he added. Maeve hesitated. "I don't think that's necessary..."

"Why not? Don't you think I've neglected you?" Byron asked.

Maeve remained silent. She inwardly cursed his small-mindedness, though her face remained impassive. "Let's say I misunderstood this time," she said. "But what about before? Didn't you intend to ignore me on purpose?" Byron frowned, but didn't respond.

Maeve smiled. "You always act like this during our arguments. I can't help but feel you're giving me the cold shoulder again. Isn't that normal?"

"Is this your reason for having dinner with other men?" Byron's voice lowered.

"That's a separate issue," Maeve replied. "I just want to tell you that I hate what you did. I'd rather be locked in a room and argue with you until dark than be left alone like this. Otherwise, every time you walk away unhappy, I'll think you're giving me the cold shoulder, making me feel like I've done something wrong."

Outside the car window, the city lights and shadows played across Byron's sharp features, making his emotions unreadable. Maeve didn't expect him to listen. Given his position, he was accustomed to dominance. How could he understand my feelings? she thought pessimistically. She looked up; they had arrived at Retro Apartment. She opened the door and got out.

After entering the apartment, they walked in silence until they reached the bedroom, where Byron turned to face her.

"Let's continue," he said abruptly.

"What?" Maeve asked. "Continue what?"

Byron put down his jacket and adjusted his cuffs. "You'll think I'm giving you the cold shoulder because of that conversation the other day. Is it so hard for you to accept that I can't have a child...?"

Byron had hit the nail on the head. Maeve was worried about children. Composing herself, she said, "What if I say yes? I like children very much. What if I want one in the future?"

"Then adopt one," Byron replied easily.

This puzzled Maeve. "If you can accept adopted children, why don't you want your own biological child?"

Byron stopped tidying his sleeves, walked closer, and looked directly into her eyes, placing his palm on her stomach.

"Maeve, are you pregnant?"

Maeve's ears buzzed, her heart pounding. The shock threatened to overwhelm her, but she suppressed it.

"Don't you always take precautions? How am I supposed to get pregnant?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Byron thoughtfully withdrew his hand. "You seem to be paying a lot of attention to the topic of children recently," he replied.

"That's because I don't understand why you hate children," Maeve said.

"You don't need to understand," Byron said calmly. "If you like children, we can adopt some in the future."

Maeve clenched her fists. "Do you hate your own child that much?" She raised her voice.

Byron touched the back of her neck, his touch neither gentle nor forceful. "Biologically, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to help but strangle him to death."

"Why?" Maeve asked.

"Since you're not pregnant, that's the end of the topic. As you said, every time I take precautions, the probability of you getting pregnant is about zero," Byron explained. A cruel smile touched his lips. "Give up on this idea. I won't repeat myself."

Maeve's hands were cold, her heart felt like it was deflating. She still didn't understand his aversion to children. She understood his apparent heartlessness towards a biological child—or perhaps towards her. The child was unexpected. How long could I hide this from him? she wondered. Not wanting to show her disappointment, she changed the subject. "I still feel a little uncomfortable. I'll see if there's anything to eat in the fridge."

"Wait," Byron said.

"What's wrong?" Maeve turned, feeling Byron's fingertips on her cheek, her eyelashes fluttering. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek to her ear. "Arguing in a room until dark is too cliché."

"And?" Maeve asked.

"Why don't we change it to something..."