The black Spyker pulled to the roadside. Byron lifted Maeve into the passenger seat, ignoring her struggles.

Maeve felt dizzy. She tried to escape but Byron held her waist firmly.

"What are you doing?!" she glared. "I said I don't want to go back! Don't you understand?"

"Are you so happy to stay out?" he asked coldly.

"Aren't you?" Maeve retorted. "I thought we had an understanding—we'd play our own games outside."

Byron's expression darkened. "Is this how you ruin your body when I'm not around?"

"It's my body. What's it to you?" Maeve snapped, refusing to yield.

Byron pinched her chin, his dark eyes dangerous. "Repeat it. It has nothing to do with me?"

"Ten times if you like. Besides, who are you to interfere?" Her bright eyes flashed with anger at his recent avoidance. Poking his chest, she smirked. "Don't forget your identity, ex-husband." The words instantly darkened Byron's face.

Their gazes clashed, each refusing to yield.

Finally, Byron slammed the passenger door, circled the car, and got in. Maeve's alcohol-impaired brain began to fail her. The door locked as she tried to exit.

Before she could speak, the car lurched forward. The sudden jolt churned her stomach.

Clutching her burning stomach, Maeve could only turn pale.

Was it her weak constitution, or had the cocktail hit her harder this time? Byron wondered. Why did she feel so miserable?

He glanced at her in the rearview mirror as she doubled over. His expression remained cold, but unconsciously, he slowed the car.

By the time they reached their apartment building, Maeve was in agony, leaning against the seat, nearly collapsing.

Byron carried her upstairs silently.

The children slept soundly; the apartment was quiet.

After putting Maeve in bed, he left without a word, closing the door behind him.

Disappointment, like a thorny vine, coiled around her heart. The intermittent pain was far worse than the stomach ache. Chapter 352

NOV TO

Perhaps the pain kept her alert—this was the first time Maeve remained so lucid after drinking, wanting to sleep but unable.

After some time, the door creaked open.

Faint footsteps approached.

Byron placed a bowl on the table, then gently pulled back the blanket, urging Maeve to drink the hangover remedy.

He found her already asleep, her cheeks flushed, brows furrowed, and lips pressed tightly together. Even asleep, her discomfort was evident. Byron pursed his lips, sitting beside her and propping her up. "Maeve, wake up," he said softly.

"Ugh..." she mumbled, half-asleep.

Seeing Byron, she blurted out, "Why are you still here? Go! My husband will find you!" Byron narrowed his eyes. "Who's your husband?"

"I don't know," she muttered, disoriented.

"You don't?" he asked incredulously.

"No. Our relationship's unstable. I can't even remember him sometimes," she slurred.

Byron's lips curled. Leaning closer, he asked, "Do you remember who I am?"

Her eyes glistened as she stared at him. "Do I look stupid? I know you! Leave before my husband finds out about our affair!" Byron's temples throbbed with each word. Lover. Adultery. Breaking them up. Even now, she claimed she wasn't stupid.

He sighed. "Next time you touch alcohol," he warned harshly, picking up the bowl. "Drink this."

Weakly leaning against him, Maeve opened her mouth. "Ah."

Byron was speechless.

He resigned himself and fed her the remedy slowly, carefully. He seemed impatient, but his movements were gentle.

After she finished, he tucked her under the blanket. "Close your eyes," he ordered coldly.

But Maeve remained wide-eyed. "Go! My husband will be back."

Byron sneered. "If he dares, I'll break his legs."

Sun, Nov Kiss

The ruthlessness in his voice made Maeve tremble. "You're so fierce, just like Byron," she whispered.

Byron's expression darkened, but he remained silent.

Maeve pouted. "Why don't you break his legs? He avoids me, won't even let me speak."

His gaze deepened. "What do you want to tell him?"

"Will you keep it a secret?" she asked. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the Findnøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

"Yes," he replied.

Maeve smiled foolishly and whispered in his ear, "I hid a child. I didn't tell him." Byron's eyes darkened. He knew. He'd known for three days. The child at her place was hers and Jaylen's son.

He clenched his fists, a biting coldness on his face.

Oblivious, Maeve continued, "This child is..."

"Enough," Byron interrupted coldly. "I'm not interested. My tolerance is limited."

He stood, his gaze cold and mocking. "Maeve, did you agree to be Jaylen's fiancée out of obligation or guilt?" She was too confused to answer.

He restrained his emotions. "Let's both calm down and not see each other for a while." Without waiting, he left.

Maeve burped, confused. Why did he leave before I finished? Is he going to tell Byron?