The next morning, Maeve was still hungover. She forced herself to go to the hospital, barely opening her eyes until she arrived. Then, a flood of fragmented memories from the previous night surged into her mind: intertwined bodies, heavy breathing, foreheads pressed together, and a cold but handsome face.

Maeve's face flushed crimson. She wanted to bang her head against the wall. "What the hell am I thinking?" she muttered. A wet dream was one thing, but the man in her dream was Byron—the reason she'd drunk so much the night before. Fantasizing about him disgusted her. "What kind of lousy dream was that? Gosh, if this continues, I might need to get my head checked."

She stood up too quickly, a sharp pain shooting through her lower body. She grimaced and cried out in pain.

Her cry woke the man asleep beside her. He slowly opened his eyes, sleepiness clinging to them. But as he saw Maeve's pained, confused expression, he fully awoke. Byron. "I was dreaming last night, right?" Maeve thought, realizing something was terribly wrong. She suspected the truth but didn't dare confirm it until her eyes met Byron's.

"What the hell?" Maeve shrieked, horrified. She retreated to the corner of the room, pointing a trembling finger at him. "Why are you in my room? And why are you in my bed?"

Last night hadn't been a dream. She'd had sex with Byron. They'd had a furious argument less than twelve hours earlier, yet here they were.

Byron stared at her, his eyes widening with what seemed to be a realization of the situation. "Let me ask you first," he said. "Since you live here, why didn't you change the password?"

"You're blaming me?" Maeve wrapped herself in her blanket, her teeth gritted. "This apartment is mine, and it's none of your goddamn business if I change the password or not. Why do you care so much?"

Then, a memory struck her. "Don't tell me you've been living in my apartment since I left the country?" Otherwise, he wouldn't have known her password.

Byron cleared his throat. "Not every day, only on Fridays. And I didn't expect you to still be here. Given your attitude, I thought you'd rather sell the apartment than live in it." He paused, a thought striking him. "No wonder the bathroom layout changed last night." He'd attributed it to the alcohol.

Byron rubbed his temples. "Maeve, last night was an accident."

"Accident? Gee, Mister, what a nice way of putting it!" Maeve's face burned. "You're trespassing on my property, and I can sue you!" Her voice rose in anger. "What a sick bastard! He has a new fiancée, yet he still can't control his dick? He didn't even have the slightest..."

Byron didn't know what she was thinking, but the word "trespassing" made his sharp eyes narrow. "I was drunk last night. Were you?"

"Of course I was! I was drunk and sound asleep. Otherwise, I would have chased you out with a cleaver!"

"Since we were both drunk and unconscious, how do you know I violated you, and not the other way around?" Byron asked.

Maeve was speechless. "What the hell are you saying? Are you accusing me of shamelessly pestering you and asking you to… to… top me last night?"

Byron picked up a bathrobe and put it on. "If that was the case, so what? I'm a man. It's no big deal for me to suffer a little." He made it sound as if she had taken advantage of him.

Maeve kicked him in frustration. "I didn't! I slept so soundly last night that even if a comet hit the Earth, I wouldn't wake up. How the hell did I have time to ask you to… to… do anything? You're a man, yet you still want to shirk responsibility after doing such a thing. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

As she kicked him, she felt a warm touch under her foot. Byron's fingers pinched her foot. His gaze swept across her, and he said calmly, "Are you sure you want to keep talking to me like this? You're the one showing too much, and you're accusing me of touching you?" Maeve followed his gaze and realized her blanket had slipped, revealing her breasts.

She quickly retracted her foot, her brain simmering with anger. She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. "Get your perverted ass out of my room!"

Byron retreated, leaving a business card on the table. "If you want compensation, you can contact me anytime." He looked directly at her. "Considering we were husband and wife in the past, I won't let you suffer."

Maeve grunted, "Get lost!"

Byron left. A faint blush was visible under his hair, but Maeve didn't notice. The door closed. Maeve punched her pillow repeatedly. She wished she hadn't drunk so much.

What's wrong with Byron? He comes to live in the house he gave away. Does he have nowhere to live? That doesn't make sense. How did the owner of The McDaniel Group become homeless?

At least she was fine. She'd treat it like a dog bite. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She lifted the blanket, but her legs were weak, her waist aching. Leaning on the bed, she cursed Byron. She picked up the business card.

Huh? Is leaving a business card after a one-night stand a thing among people like him?

The card didn't have Byron's name, only an address. Maeve sighed, crumpled it, and threw it away.

After washing up, she heard commotion outside. Theo usually woke up around now. Byron and Theo might meet. Her heart pounded, and she hurried out of the room.

(The final date and time stamp should be removed as it's not part of the story.)