Byron gripped her wrist, his expression hardening. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Lift your shirt; I want to check your wound," Maeve answered.

Maeve felt dizzy. After fumbling for a while, she still couldn't lift his shirt. Frustrated, she leaned closer.

Her warm, alcohol-tinged breath brushed against Byron's chest. He looked down to see her slightly parted, rosy lips near his skin.

His throat tightened, his gaze darkening instantly. Realizing the situation, he forcefully pushed her away. "What kind of game are you playing?" he snapped.

Already unsteady, Maeve stumbled backward toward the liquor cabinet. Before she could fall, Byron caught her, pulling her into his arms.

Her flushed cheek brushed against his neck. The cool touch made her close her eyes contentedly. "So comfy," she murmured.

Byron was infuriated. Is this woman using her drunkenness as an excuse? he thought. First tugging at my clothes, now deliberately leaning on me—how thick-skinned can she be? His mood plummeted, especially when he saw her dress, stained from earlier, clinging to her.

He was tempted to throw her out. But then he remembered her concern for his injury, even in her drunken state.

His brows furrowed. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to dismiss her. "Stay right here and don't move," he warned before going to the bathroom.

Thankfully, Maeve's drunken antics were short-lived. She eventually collapsed onto the bar and fell asleep.

After his shower, Byron grabbed her and carried her to the bathroom. He tossed her a clean shirt and pants. "Hurry up and wash. Don't waste my time," he scowled, then shut the door.

The sudden movement startled Maeve awake. Her head spun, her brows furrowed. All she wanted was to sleep. Remembering Byron's annoyed expression, she decided not to cause more trouble. It's just a shower. I can handle this, she thought.

In the living room, Byron checked company emails on his tablet, but his attention kept drifting to the bathroom. What's taking her so long? Is she swimming in there? he wondered. He couldn't focus. Irritation gnawed at him.

Finally, he went to the bathroom door and knocked. "Maeve, are you done yet?"

No response. He knocked again, more forcefully.

"Yeah, I'm done," came her drowsy voice.

A moment later, Maeve shuffled out, her eyes heavy with sleep. She wore his black shirt, which hung loosely to her thighs, leaving her slender legs bare. Her knees were faintly pink, her toes glowing softly under the light. It was unexpectedly captivating. Her face, flushed from the steam, was framed by tousled hair, giving her a delicate and alluring look. For a brief moment, Byron's dark eyes froze. He hadn't realized his shirt was so sheer; he could clearly see she wasn't wearing anything underneath. And the pants I gave you—did you just eat them? he thought.

"Can't you put your clothes on properly?" Byron's brows furrowed, his tone laced with irritation.

"Your pants don't fit me; they're way too big," Maeve yawned, rubbing her eyes. "Besides, it's not like I'm not wearing anything."

Byron's lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at her. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled lowly. "Maeve, are you doing this on purpose?"

"What?" Maeve blinked in confusion.

Byron stepped closer, backing her against the wall, his gaze sharp. "A woman shows up in front of a man wearing only a shirt, and you expect me to believe you don't know what that implies?"

Maeve's back pressed against the cool tiles as the dizziness worsened. "I really don't get what you're talking about. Aren't these your clothes?" she asked, feeling wronged. Am I in trouble for simply wearing them? she thought.

Seeing her bewildered expression, Byron leaned closer, his breath grazing her lips. "Yeah, but I didn't tell you to wear them like this to seduce me."

"Seduce? What nonsense is that?" Maeve's mind spun as she shook her head. Her blurry vision focused on his handsome face, making her head swim even more.

"Don't—don't come so close to me!" she stammered.

But dizziness overwhelmed her, and she fell into Byron's arms. He looked down to see her eyes tightly shut, leaning limply against him.

Byron was speechless. He had never been so tempted to strangle someone. He intended to teach her a lesson, but somehow, he was the one outplayed. With a dark expression, he carried her to the bedroom and dropped her onto the bed. She didn't wake up—she just rolled over and continued sleeping soundly. The guest room was purely for show; only the master bedroom had a bed. He couldn't be bothered to think about why he didn't let her sleep on the couch. It's just charity, he told himself.

The night passed without incident.

The next morning, Maeve curled under the blanket, not wanting to remember the previous night. Why can't I be one of those people who black out when they drink? she thought. She didn't want to recall any of the embarrassing things she might have done. She glanced around and, not seeing Byron, sighed in relief.

Getting up, she realized her shirt had ridden up during the night, and she wasn't wearing anything underneath. What was I even thinking when I showered last night? she thought. Thankfully, Byron hadn't slept in the same bed; otherwise, she'd never live it down.

Maeve furiously tugged the shirt down, then tiptoed out of the bedroom, carefully closing the door.

"What are you sneaking around for?" Byron's cold voice rang out.

Startled, Maeve spun around to see him standing there, looking sharp in a tailored suit. Her face heated up. "I—I thought you were still asleep and didn't want to wake you." She pressed herself against the door.

Byron didn't bother exposing her excuse. "Your clothes are drying on the balcony. Go get them yourself."

Maeve's eyes widened. "You even washed my clothes?"

Catching her shocked expression, Byron scoffed. "And whose fault do you think that is?"

Maeve wilted, remorse filling her face. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have overestimated my alcohol tolerance. I caused you so much trouble." As she apologized sincerely, Byron's expression softened slightly. "There's a new toothbrush and towel in the bathroom. Go freshen up."

"Thank you," Maeve murmured, hurrying to the balcony. Her heart raced when she saw her undergarments hanging there. Even if he used the washing machine, he definitely had to handle them while hanging them up, she thought. How embarrassing.