“Byron, you don’t really mean that,” Maeve said, huffing.

Byron instinctively tightened his grip on her hand, the familiar touch catching him off guard. A moment later, realizing his reaction, his expression darkened, and he gently tried to pull away, not wanting to hurt her. For a moment, they stood in tense silence.

Maeve, however, seemed unfazed by Byron’s cold demeanor. The fact that he’d left his ward to see her after hearing her voice messages hinted that he didn’t truly want her gone. That was enough for her.

No matter why he kept pushing her away, Maeve knew that if she didn’t back down, he couldn’t force her out. She half-expected him to repeat his harsh words from the previous night, but instead, he turned silently and headed back to his room. Seeing him hesitantly navigate the wall, she held back from offering help, simply following quietly in her wheelchair. She knew Byron would refuse her assistance; his pride would never allow it.

Inside the ward, he completely ignored her. No matter what she said, he acted as though she wasn’t there, even waiting for the staff to bring him water instead of taking it from her. It was as if he’d built a wall of ice around himself.

“Yet if he truly didn’t care, why make such an effort to ignore me?” Maeve thought. The thought comforted her a little.

Just then, Archer entered with a bag, nodding to Maeve before respectfully addressing Byron. “Mr. McDaniel, I have the items you requested.”

Byron nodded indifferently. “Put them on the table.”

Archer carefully placed the items beside the bed. Maeve’s eyes drifted over and froze when she recognized a particular object: the portrait Byron kept in his study, the one of his first love.

“He couldn’t even see right now, yet he wanted that portrait by his side?” Maeve thought.

Her heart sank, and her hands trembled slightly as she gripped her water glass. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand he was likely doing this to push her away, but of all ways, he chose the one that hurt her most. He knew how much she resented that lingering attachment to his first love.

Maeve could no longer convince herself that Byron cared for her. Perhaps, all along, he only tolerated her because she looked like that woman in the painting.

Maeve paled, her cheeks burned with shame, and she quickly excused herself.

After she left, Archer glanced at Byron, concerned. “Mr. McDaniel, Ms. Reese seemed distressed when she left. It may have upset her.”

It took Archer a while to find the painting, discarded casually in storage, so Archer figured Byron didn’t care all that much for his so-called first love.

Byron’s face remained calm; his fingertips traced the edge of the gauze. “Good. Let her leave.”

He assumed Jaylen had already told her the full truth. Otherwise, why would she continue trying to care for him despite his coldness? She was kind but strong-willed, not the type to be passive. He didn’t need her pity.

However, Byron’s assumption was wrong. Jaylen and Alexis had only shared the same limited information, and Maeve’s reaction wasn’t from guilt. Her heart ached for him more than she was angry.

As someone who suffers from sensory deprivation, Maeve understood it could make someone irritable and emotionally volatile. She saw Byron’s treatment of her as a way to keep her from worrying, not as a personal rejection. But that portrait was a blow. She hadn’t caused his blindness, so she didn’t owe him anything. She didn’t need to put herself through this.

Exhausted, Maeve collapsed onto her pillow, too drained to even open her eyes.

Just then, her phone rang. She ignored it at first, but the ringing persisted until she gave in, sitting up and answering. “Hello?”

“Ms. Reese, the uniform has been modified. I’ll send you a photo to review,” Paige’s cheerful voice sounded over the line.

“Alright, send it over,” Maeve replied.

“How are you feeling? Any idea when you’ll be discharged?”

Maeve calculated. “Maybe a week, two at the most.”

“Rest up! I’ll keep you updated on anything important,” Paige said. “Oh, and there’s something strange I wanted to mention.”

“What is it?”

“While you were in the hospital, a suspicious man has been hanging around outside the studio, taking photos. We couldn’t chase him away since he never actually came inside. It wouldn’t look good in front of clients,” Paige said. “Even stranger is that the man didn’t show up yesterday. A package with your name on it, however, was left at the door. We checked the cameras, and it looks like the man dropped it off.”

“Can you describe him?” Maeve asked, now on alert.

“He was wearing a mask and hat, so I couldn’t see his face well. He seemed middle-aged, maybe about 5’7” with a slight hunch. I passed him once, and he had a strong medicinal smell.”

Maeve wracked her mind but couldn’t think of anyone who matched that description.

“Please bring the package to the hospital. I’d like to check it myself,” Maeve instructed.

Paige, always eager to help, responded quickly. “Of course! I’ll be right over!”

Half an hour later, Maeve received the package. She examined the label, and her heart sank. The name of the sender was her dad.