Maeve's sudden appearance startled Byron. He'd been on the phone and hadn't heard her clearly. Frowning, he asked, "Wait, what did you just say?"

"I asked if you'd marry me," Maeve said, summoning her courage. This wasn't her first encounter with Byron. Last night, while delivering hangover medication to Jeff, she'd seen him being attacked in an alley. He was bleeding and on the ground. Without hesitation, she'd intervened, saving him, and he'd promised her a favor in return. Worried he'd think she was crazy, she added, "Actually, I saved your life last night. Remember?"

Byron paused, his eyes narrowing as recognition dawned. "That was you?"

"Yup," she confirmed, sighing with relief.

"So this is your big ask?" Byron's gaze turned icy as he assessed Maeve's flushed face. He'd been puzzled by her lack of requests last night, but now he understood—she must have learned his identity and realized marriage was preferable to a simple favor. Was her kindness a pretense? Disdain flickered in his eyes as he looked at Maeve, his expression growing distant. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Lost in her nerves, Maeve didn't notice his coldness and quickly nodded. "Yes," she said. Looking at the worn hem of his suit, she figured he wasn't doing well financially. And after last night, it was clear he was in serious trouble. She knew marrying a stranger, especially someone like him, was a gamble, but she was desperate. On the plus side, Byron was far more attractive than Jeff. Just looking at him feels like a win, she thought. Marrying him doesn't seem like a loss at all.

Byron's prolonged silence made Maeve uneasy. Just as she considered withdrawing her proposal, he lifted his chin with a cool shrug. "Fine. Let's go," he said. His family was pressuring him to marry, and it seemed like the right move; he needed to settle down. At this point, any woman would do.

Still dazed, Maeve blinked and asked, "Where to?"

Byron shot her an impatient look. "Didn't you say you wanted to get married?" Without waiting for a reply, he headed for the city hall entrance.

"Oh! Right!" Maeve scrambled to catch up.

Half an hour later, Maeve walked out of city hall, clutching their marriage license, feeling dazed. She kept glancing at Byron's sharp profile, barely believing it was real. This was, without a doubt, the wildest thing she'd ever done in her twenty-three years—marrying a complete stranger. Byron remained cold and hadn't smiled once. Walking beside him, Maeve felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Feeling she should make an effort, she pulled out her apartment key. "Here's the key to my place," she said casually. "Pinehurst Apartments, number 1008. Move in whenever you're ready. And since you're hurt, if you need help with your things, just let me know."

Byron narrowed his eyes. "So moving in is part of the deal now?"

Maeve shrugged. "Look, I don't know why you didn't go to the hospital after getting hurt so badly. But now that we're married, I'll do my best to support you. You don't have to do those dangerous jobs anymore." She hadn't been able to help before, but now, as his wife, she wanted him safe.

Byron's expression darkened. Is she already trying to control me? Since when do I need a woman to take care of me? What a joke!

"Let's get one thing straight," Byron said icily. "Just because we're married doesn't mean you get to interfere in my life. Understand that."

Maeve flinched but nodded, stunned. "Alright. Do you need help moving your things now?"

"No," Byron cut her off sharply. "I've got plans." Without another word, he turned and walked toward the street, barely acknowledging her. He kept the key, however.

Maeve sensed a difference in Byron compared to last night, but couldn't define it. She decided not to dwell on it and hailed a cab.

As she settled into the backseat, her phone buzzed. It was Jeff. After a moment's hesitation, she hung up and blocked his number. She'd already said what she needed to in a message before going to city hall. Whether he read it or not was his concern now.

With that settled, Maeve looked at the marriage certificate and smiled, feeling a mix of nerves and relief. It's gonna be okay, she told herself.

Shortly after Maeve left, a sleek black Maybach arrived. A man opened the back door. "Mr. McDaniel, please get in," he said to Byron, who was still lingering. Byron slid in, crossing his legs. He looked pale and exhausted—jumping back into his routine before fully recovering was taking its toll. "Call Anthony," he ordered. "I need my wound checked and redressed."

His assistant, Archer Bax, replied smoothly, "Anthony's already on his way. And we've managed to throw Mr. Gilbert McDaniel's men off your trail—they still don't know you're hurt."

If Gilbert found out about Byron's injuries, he wouldn't have rushed his grandson's marriage. But that would also expose Byron's injuries to the rest of the McDaniels, putting him at a disadvantage. That's why Byron kept it secret. He leaned back, closing his eyes. He tossed the marriage license aside; it slipped to the floor unnoticed. The extraneous promotional material has been removed.