Maeve instantly felt guilty, an inexplicable nervousness settling over her. However, only a few drops of water and some leaves emerged from the vase.

Byron raised an eyebrow, looking at her teasingly. "I thought you were hiding something in the vase."

Maeve, ambivalent about his accusation, retorted, "Who would hide something in a vase?"

As expected, she was overthinking; it explained her dreams about the vase.

"That's not what your expression said," Byron teased.

He set down the vase, moved to the edge of the bed, and touched Maeve's forehead. "You're not burning up anymore."

Maeve felt the warmth of his palm. Whether it was her illness or something else, she suddenly wanted to tell Byron that Theo was his son. "Byron, I..." A kiss interrupted her.

Byron's hand encircled her neck and head; the other cupped her face. He kissed her slowly, passionately.

Fearing she'd infect him, Maeve whimpered, trying to push him away. "I have a cold!"

"I'm not afraid," Byron chuckled softly, his voice charming. "Sweating a little is good for recovery, right?" Maeve's heart fluttered; her body felt ablaze, her skin flushed. Byron seemed to favor kissing her eyelids, showering them with soft, long kisses until her eyelashes fluttered wildly and her fingers clenched.

Only then did he move to her neck, leaving a bright red mark. Seeing it, his frustration eased slightly. In a hoarse voice, he asked, "What did you want to say just now?"

Maeve's mind still buzzed from his kisses. It took time to recall. "That's right. I want to talk to you about Theo," she said hesitantly.

Byron hummed softly. "What about him?"

Maeve, gathering her courage, grabbed his shirt. "His father is..."

Byron's phone rang, interrupting her again. He dismissed the call. "Ignore it. Continue."

Her hard-won courage vanished instantly. Maybe today wasn't the right time, she thought.

"It's nothing. You can take the call," Maeve sighed gloomily.

Byron brushed her hair. "Wait for me."

He answered the phone bluntly, "If this isn't important, report to me tomorrow."

After a few seconds, a response elicited a slow frown.

After hanging up, Maeve asked, "What happened?"

"An accident at our overseas pharmaceutical company. I have to fly out tomorrow morning at eight."

Maeve glanced at the clock, about to remind him to rest, when he pressed his body against hers. Before she could react, he pushed her nightgown to her waist; her legs felt cold.

Confused, she asked, "What are you doing?"

"This trip is at least three days. We don't have much time. Let's do this quickly," Byron said calmly, biting her nightgown's belt. Maeve was quickly aroused, her mind blank, her hands too weak to push him away.

"It's almost three o'clock. What can we do with so little time? You might as well sleep!" she managed.

Byron narrowed his eyes menacingly. "Four hours is enough time."

Maeve tried to speak, but his overwhelmingly seductive kiss silenced her. He seemed intent on making up for lost time. Naturally, Maeve didn't see him off the next day. She didn't wake until past eleven o'clock.

She recalled last night's frenzy and the damp bedsheets, instantly blushing. They were so wet, they couldn't sleep in them. She thought it impossible to have sex in such a short time. Byron, however, seemed talented at having sex, indulging in her body, and catching up on sleep on the plane.

'Is my body that attractive? Does he like me or my body more?' Maeve wondered.

Feeling dejected, she lifted the blanket to find the bedsheets changed—no wonder she felt comfortable. Byron had probably changed them without waking her.

Her gloom eased slightly. Looking around the room, however, she felt overwhelmingly lonely.

Over the past few days, Byron had kept her well-fed. She made her own breakfast, but it tasted bland. She usually enjoyed spicy food but made non-spicy, nutritious meals for the children. Byron, however, catered to her preferences.

Maeve realized the hypocrisy of eating spicy food while the children ate simple fare like flan. It wasn't fair.

She felt vulnerable, an overwhelming heartache seizing her. 'Byron has just left, and I am already missing him. What should I do?'

The children sensed her low spirits, quickly devising a distraction.

"Mommy, we're having an Arts and Theatrical festival on the third of next month. Our class will act out a play. Guess what role Will and I will play!" Theo held her arm. Maeve was immediately interested. "What role will you play?"

Will blushed. "Theo, you'll spoil the surprise. Let's wait until later."

"Don't be embarrassed just because you don't have a good role!" Theo smirked. "Mommy, I'm playing a prince!"

Will's face reddened. "What about you, Will?" Maeve asked.

"Pfft—he's playing a witch!" Theo said smugly.

Will's face turned tomato red. "The roles we got must have been wrong. How can a boy play the role of a witch?"

Maeve thought the opposite. 'A witch? How nice! My son will look so adorable playing a witch.'

"Have you decided on your costumes? Can I make them for you?" Maeve asked.

The boys felt their mother had questionable taste. Theo reveled in his role, but Will... had a choice to make. Without hesitation, he chose to make their mother happy.

"Mom, I'll play a witch if you make..."