Maeve emerged from the changing room and went to the private jacuzzi she'd reserved. It was nestled amidst greenery, beautifully lit. Rose petals floated on the misty water, releasing a pleasant fragrance. Maeve squatted, scooping up some water. Its perfect temperature crinkled her eyes.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of water from the front of the pool. A low, cold voice followed: "Who's there?"

The voice, deeply textured and chilling, cut through the mist, striking Maeve's ears. Her body froze; she felt rooted to the spot. The voice was instantly familiar. Even after four years, she recognized it: Byron.

From the other side of the pool, Byron turned, his gaze locking onto Maeve. His brown hair was wet, droplets tracing a path down his handsome brow, across his dark eyes, and down his high nose bridge—a strikingly beautiful sight. Compared to the ambitious businessman of four years ago, he was calmer, more reserved now, the undisputed leader of the McDaniel Group.

Their last encounter, by the roadside, had allowed Maeve to escape. But now, under his sharp gaze, she was paralyzed.

After a long moment, Maeve said calmly, "Sir, you're in the wrong place. This is the jacuzzi I reserved."

A hint of mockery flickered in Byron's eyes. "Is it interesting?"

Maeve frowned. "What?"

Byron sneered, rising from the misty water. His strong, well-defined physique displayed explosive beauty, evidence of a dedicated fitness regimen. This was the picture of a handsome man emerging from a bath, a scene quickly obscured by his bathrobe.

With a cold expression, Byron fastened his robe and approached Maeve, stopping before her, his eyes filled with disdain. "You're still the same. You'll do anything for my attention."

The corner of Maeve's mouth twitched. She was almost amused. "You're in the wrong place, using my jacuzzi. Fine, since you've used it, I'll leave." He's making it sound like I deliberately bumped into him, she thought, furious.

She stood, intending to leave, but her foot slipped—either on the wet floor or a patch of water—sending her tumbling into Byron. Instinctively grabbing for support, she didn't see his angry expression.

"Ouch!" She glimpsed white before falling into the pool.

"Splash! Splash!" Two bodies hit the water, soaking the surrounding tiles and cobblestones. Maeve choked on water, the thought of it being Byron's bathwater fueling her anger. Then, ankle pain made her face pale; her body felt heavy.

The resort's main attraction was its deep, exclusive jacuzzis, usually attended by staff. But Byron disliked being watched, so no one dared disturb him.

Emerging from the water, Byron's displeasure at being pulled in by Maeve etched his face with ice. His expression was dark. He leaned against the edge, then noticed something was wrong. Maeve wasn't in the pool.

Without changing his expression, he muttered, "This idiot!" and plunged back in.

A splash. Ripples spread across the surface. Byron pulled Maeve to the shore, laying her down and patting her cheek. Her eyes were closed; her face alarmingly pale, but she was breathing. He used one hand to support her chin and the other her head to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Maeve coughed up water and woke, her eyes widening at Byron's face inches from hers. "You...what are you doing?" she coughed.

Seeing she'd awakened, Byron's Adam's apple bobbed. He coldly pushed her away, looking down with disgust. "Such tactics are outdated, Maeve." He strode off without looking back.

Maeve, clutching her aching ankle, glared at his retreating form. Who seduced him? What's so seductive about him? His arrogance? His temper?

Then, her still-foggy brain registered a problem. Byron was only wearing a towel. Where was his robe? She remembered grabbing something before falling—something like a robe. She looked back at the pool, seeing his discarded robe.

The situation felt surreal. She covered her eyes, her head throbbing. No longer wanting the jacuzzi, she took a clean robe, endured the ankle pain, and limped out. She saw the number "9" on a sign, then checked her card: "8." She'd gone to the wrong jacuzzi.

Shame washed over her. A female employee approached, "Miss, are you unwell? Can I help you to your room?"

Maeve sighed with relief. "Thank you, thank you." She couldn't have made it back alone.

"You're welcome. This is what I should do," the employee said, her tone altered by a previous instruction from the cold man.

Back in her room, Maeve thanked the employee and closed the door. Theo hadn't returned, likely still at the arcade. She called him; he didn't answer.

Theo wanted to answer, but couldn't. A familiar hand gripped the back of his neck.

"Weren't you meditating in your room?"

Theo's face went pale. Why is Dad here?

Byron, in dark casual clothes, looked even taller. He eyed Theo's claw machine, raising an eyebrow. "Do you like this?"

Theo ignored Byron, especially considering his mother's tears and Byron's role in them.