Maeve unconsciously choked back a sob at the end of her sentence. Realizing this, she quickly clamped her mouth shut to hide her emotions.

Byron's Adam's apple bobbed slightly. His deep black eyes fixed on her without blinking. "I was inconsiderate. However, do you care about my engagement to Lynn?"

"If I had a fiancé and kept pressuring you for intimacy, would you be comfortable?" Maeve asked.

Byron frowned. The mere thought of another man being engaged to Maeve made him unhappy. Suddenly, his brow relaxed, and a smile touched his thin lips. "Maeve, do you think I like Lynn?"

"Don't you?"

"She was only eleven when she died. Do you think I'm a beast?"

Maeve was stunned. She thought, 'Eleven years old? The sketch in his study is clearly of a girl around ten—she's wearing a high school uniform. The ages don't match. Could the girl in the painting not be Lynn? But that face clearly resembles Leon in drag as Lynn...'

Maeve frowned, lost in thought. She didn't notice Byron leaning closer until it was too late. His handsome face filled her vision, and the refreshing scent of pine from his body filled her breath. It was faint and pleasant.

Maeve recoiled. Her back pressed against the seat, and she felt nervous under his intense gaze.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Answer my question," Byron said, his voice deep, his arms flanking her. "Have you been avoiding me because of this?"

Only then did Maeve remember her bad mood last time and her thinly veiled confession. She hadn't been avoiding him; she'd needed time to sort things out. But then this happened, making her feel foolish.

Ashamed and resentful, she feigned calm. "I wasn't avoiding you. I was busy."

"Liar," Byron countered coldly. "Dreamscape is only busy today. Do you think I don't know?"

"You're spying on me?"

"Is it difficult to obtain your itinerary?"

Maeve guiltily averted her gaze. The next second, he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

She frowned, glaring at him. The darkness in his eyes sent her heart racing. She felt the urge to flee.

"You said you liked me the other day," Byron murmured, his voice low and slightly hoarse. "What did you mean?"

Maeve's eyelashes fluttered. She wished she could go back and stop herself from saying those words. She hadn't thought it through at the time—or rather, she'd been prepared to cut him off completely. Now, it was a weapon against her.

Seeing her silence, Byron tightened his grip. "Do you like another man now? Jaylen Chatterly? Or the man who was at your house that day?" A dangerous aura emanated from his dark eyes, making Maeve shiver.

His words, however, sparked a strange feeling within her.

"You don't care about me. Why do you care if I change my mind and like someone else?" Maeve's heart ached. She thought, If he cared, he wouldn't have disregarded my life and aborted my child. He wouldn't have called me and my child "lowly." Perhaps I'm just an amusing toy to him. He doesn't want to discard me yet, so he plays with me. But I don't need this kind of game.

"Byron, I'm not a toy. If you find me amusing and want to tease me, don't bother," Maeve said calmly. "And if you just need a sexual partner, don't bother with me. I'm not as interesting as you think."

Byron froze, seeing the hurt in her beautiful eyes. The dense coldness around him dissipated slightly, though his brow remained furrowed. "Maeve, where is your brain?"

Maeve was confused.

"Last time, I gave up a billion-dollar project to rescue you from Neville McDaniel. Do you think I did that just to use you for sex?" Byron's aura darkened. "Or do you think I am so lust-blinded?"

He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Or do you think I would take a fancy to just any woman and sleep with anyone?" he asked, enunciating each word.

Maeve didn't answer, but her eyes spoke volumes. "Isn't it?"

Seeing her expression, Byron smiled—a chilling smile that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Maeve, you're impressive," he said, then released her chin, sitting up straight, his expression dark. He drove away.

Maeve stared at his angry profile, confused. Wasn't he just using me for sex? Otherwise, he wouldn't have done what he did. Then why is he angry? I should be the angry one, right?

Half an hour later, the car stopped at Nightfall Manor.

"Get out," Byron said coldly.

"I don't want to," Maeve retorted, clenching her fists. "Why did you bring me here? I want to go home. Leo's waiting."

"Don't make me repeat myself."

Maeve remained silent.

Byron's tongue swept across his cheek. He chuckled—a humorless sound. "It seems my temper has been too good lately."

He got out of the car and went to Maeve, opening her door and unbuckling her seatbelt. The next second, he hoisted her onto his shoulder and carried her into the villa.

Maeve was furious. It wasn't the carrying itself; it was the deliberate, stomach-churning way he did it, a punishment.

"Byron, you're shameless! I said I want to go home! Didn't you hear me?"

Byron carried her on, his expression unchanged. The servants on either side of the villa lowered their heads, avoiding gossip.

Reaching the master bedroom, Byron tossed Maeve onto the bed. Without a word, he removed his jacket, tie, and shirt.

Maeve's stomach still churned. Seeing his actions, she understood his intentions and tried to escape. A strong hand caught her ankle, pulling her back.

(The final sentence is incomplete and the following text appears to be website promotion, which has been omitted.)