"Well?" Byron lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Maeve steeled herself. "I came to find that silly girl," she said boldly. "I feared you wouldn't let me in, so I dressed up a little. Is that so wrong?"

Byron sized her up. "You call this a little dressing up?"

Her face was caked with makeup, her features so altered she was barely recognizable. She resembled a flat painting, lacking distinct characteristics. Perhaps he should compliment her artistry. Maeve held her head high, silent.

"What do you want with her?" Byron asked again.

Maeve bit her lip, remaining silent. He suspected her of hurting Gilbert, and knowing her intentions would likely result in her immediate dismissal.

"Not going to say anything?" Byron narrowed his eyes. "Should I have someone throw you out?"

"Don't!" Maeve grabbed his arm, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

A knock came at the door. "Daddy, can I come in?" A soft, composed child's voice called from outside.

Overjoyed, Maeve whispered urgently, "Your son! Let me go!"

Byron glanced at her, then said casually, "Come in."

Maeve froze, eyes wide with disbelief. Is he out of his mind? Doesn't he care about his son misunderstanding? she thought.

Will pushed open the door. Seeing Byron awkwardly leaning against the sofa, he asked curiously, "Daddy, are you not feeling well?"

Hearing the sweet voice, Maeve panicked, shooting Byron desperate looks, silently urging him to avoid recklessness. If his son sees us, what will that make us? Caught cheating? she thought. He might not care, but I do.

Byron ignored her, replying to Will in a low voice, "I might have a cold. You can say what you need from there; no need to come closer."

"Okay." Will, thinking Byron didn't want to spread germs, obediently stayed put.

"Daddy, I want to talk to you about things between men," Will said.

"What?" Byron found it amusing that Will considered himself a man at such a young age.

"As a man," Will said slowly, "one must shoulder family responsibilities, harbor ambitions, and pursue career goals with all their might." While subtly adjusting Maeve's skirt, Byron replied, "That's true. I'm delighted you think this way."

Lying beneath him, unable to move, Maeve rolled her eyes, bitterness rising in her heart. Both her sons—Theo and the unborn child—faced his strong rejection, even pressure to terminate the pregnancy. Lynn's son, however, received all his tenderness and affection.

Strangely, despite resentment and hatred toward Byron, Maeve felt no dislike for Will; perhaps his voice, slightly resembling Theo's, softened her heart.

While Maeve pondered, Will delivered a lengthy speech on men focusing on their careers. Byron's brow twitched. "Alright, what exactly do you want to talk about?" he asked.

With a serious expression, Will concluded, "Daddy, I believe men marrying before forty disrespect their careers. What do you think?"

So that was the setup, Byron thought. He glanced at the indignant Maeve and replied cryptically, "I'm afraid I can't agree."

"Why?" Will frowned, wondering if Byron intended to marry Lynn.

"Because..." Byron hadn't finished when his brows furrowed. Maeve bit his palm, a mix of frustration and provocation.

Byron remained unfazed, pressing down on her lower lip, rubbing it firmly, teasingly.

Maeve's ears burned with embarrassment. This bastard! she thought.

After "punishing" Maeve, Byron turned to Will. "As for those conditions, Daddy has already met them." His position at the McDaniel Group was proof enough.

Will pouted slightly, disappointed. Is Daddy still intending to marry Miss Anderson? he wondered.

"Any other questions?" Byron asked.

"Nothing more, donor," Will said flatly, his calm indifference suggesting he saw through everything. "I'm going to meditate now. Goodbye."

Byron was speechless.

Maeve initially thought Will a privileged, strictly raised child, serious and slightly old-fashioned. But when he called Byron "donor," she had to pinch herself to stifle laughter. She didn't want to find it funny, but it was hilarious.

Byron saw her struggle to contain her laughter. "Is my son adorable?" he asked casually.

Maeve's smile faded. "He's your son," she retorted. "Whether he's adorable or not is none of my business. He's not my son."

Byron's lips curved slightly, the words "he's your son" hanging unspoken. He lowered his voice. "Maeve, do you regret it? If not for your stubbornness, we wouldn't be like this."

Maeve's heart clenched. "I truly regret it," she said, her eyes sparkling with sarcasm. "I regret not running far enough so you could never find me."

If not for him, she wouldn't have left Theo in the hospital, wouldn't have left him without a home. But at least Theo was safe. Byron's expression grew icy. Maeve showed no remorse. "Then why did you come back?" he asked, his voice chilling.

"As my ex-husband," Maeve raised her chin defiantly, "don't you think you're overstepping your bounds? Or do you want to be in my life?"

Byron tightened his grip around her waist, his eyes reflecting chilling intensity. "Do you think I'm that easy to please? A selfish, vain, pretentious woman like you wouldn't be worthy of carrying my shoes. What were you just doing? Sneaking around with me, a vain and selfish woman, in front of your son?"

Byron snorted. "After rich foods, one craves something light. Is that so wrong? Besides, aren't you the one lying beneath me, at my mercy, sneaking around behind your fiancé's back?" Humiliation overwhelmed Maeve. In anger, she bit fiercely on the finger he'd pressed against her lip.