Henry quickly patted him on the back. "Please don't get so worked up. Your health comes first."

Gilbert took a few deep breaths to steady himself, then asked, "What's Neville been up to lately?"

"Mr. McDaniel is still recuperating at the sanatorium in the mountains. It seems he's had another flare-up recently. Have someone look into his accounts. See if there's been any unusual activity," Gilbert instructed. He added, "Whether you find anything or not, make sure he's kept under strict watch, with no outside contact."

"Understood. I'll take care of it right away." Gilbert nodded slightly and fell silent, absently rubbing his cane. Henry, catching on, thought, "Only Byron is fit to lead the McDaniel Group."

If Neville refuses to accept his place and tries to stir up trouble, he'd be better off staying in the mountains and focusing on his recovery. Otherwise, with the connections he's built within the McDaniel Group, who knows what kind of chaos he might cause? 'Maybe I should have stood by and let Neville become the family's second young master in name!'

Late at night, while the nurse was away, Maeve quietly slipped into the next room and took a seat by Byron's bed. He still showed no signs of waking up. All day, the scene of the accident and the tense veins on his hand replayed in her mind. The more she dwelled on it, the more restless she became, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Now, seeing him in front of her, the anxiety and unease in her heart finally began to settle.

"Please wake up soon," Maeve murmured softly, gently holding his uninjured left hand. "You don't want your grandpa to keep worrying about you, do you?"

The room was silent. Thin wisps of mist drifted from the humidifier, and the faint beeps of the heart monitor were the only sounds that broke the stillness. "I'm worried too," she whispered.

Maeve stayed until just before the nurse returned, then quietly left the room. As the door clicked shut, Byron, lying in bed, slowly opened his eyes.

The next morning, when Maeve heard that Byron had woken up, she didn't even finish her breakfast before rushing next door. Voices drifted from inside.

"I heard that when they pulled you out of the car, you were clutching a girl tightly. I asked around—it's the same girl we saw at the Starlight Pub," Ray said, lounging backward in a chair. He gave Byron a playful look. "What's the deal? You actually risked your life to save her?"

Ray couldn't picture Byron shielding a woman with his own body. It was a shame there weren't any photos—he would have loved to keep one as a souvenir.

Byron shot him a frosty look. "Will you die if you don't gossip for a day?"

"If I can't gossip this time, I really might," Ray exaggerated dramatically.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Ray was momentarily speechless, then grumbled, "How did I end up with a friend like you? It's not like dating is some big secret, yet you're keeping it from us. Remember when I openly shared Jarrett's secret about wetting the bed when he was nine?"

Jarrett, flipping through a magazine, rolled his eyes. "You looking to die? You're still bringing that up?"

Byron's lips twitched. "When are you two leaving?"

"In such a rush to kick us out?" Ray rubbed his chin. "You're hiding her from us, aren't you? Afraid she'll fall for me the moment she sees this handsome face?"

Byron paused, recalling Maeve's earlier compliments about Ray. "This has nothing to do with you," he replied coldly. "Keep your distance from her."

Ray grinned. "No can do. I'm planning on having a nice chat with your future wife."

Jarrett chimed in. "Yeah, we should at least say hi. I'm curious too—what kind of girl could make you risk your life for her?"

"We're not what you think," Byron cut them off curtly. "I only saved her because my grandpa likes her. It was convenient. Even if it had been Karen in the car, I would have done the same. That's all it was."

His firm and matter-of-fact tone brought a subtle wave of disappointment to Maeve outside the door. She wasn't unaware that Byron likely saved her because of Gilbert. But hearing it straight from him still stung. Snapping out of it, Maeve pushed those thoughts aside. She had been saved—she had no right to dwell on his reasons. She should just be grateful.

Composing herself, Maeve knocked. "Mr. McDaniel, may I come in?"

Hearing her voice, Byron thought, 'Why does she have to show up now?'

"Byron, looks like you don't have a choice now," Ray said with a smug grin. Last time at the bar, Maeve had gotten drunk, and Byron whisked her away. This time, they wouldn't miss out.

"Come in," Byron replied coldly. When he saw Maeve, pale in her hospital gown, his brows furrowed. "Why aren't you resting in your room? What are you wandering around for?"

Maeve was stunned by his sharp tone. "I-I'm not as badly injured as you are, and it doesn't hurt much anymore. The doctor said it's okay for me to move around a bit…"

"Byron, don't be so harsh. You're scaring the poor girl," Ray said with a chuckle. Turning to Maeve, he added warmly, "Don't mind him. That's just how he is—when he's worried, it sounds like he's barking orders."

Maeve shook her head, then remembered something and looked at Ray. "Are you… Dr. George?"

Ray smiled. "That's me. Good memory." He remembered Maeve, mostly because she was the girl who made Byron bend his rules more than once.

"So Dr. George and Mr. McDaniel know each other?" Maeve asked, turning to Byron.

Byron, indifferent, introduced them briefly. "Ray and Jarrett. We're college friends."

"Nice to meet you," Maeve nodded politely. "I'm Maeve, and I'm Mr. McDaniel's…"

Before she could finish, Byron cut her off flatly, "Maid." He wasn't one to waste time on unnecessary explanations. Maeve's fingers trembled slightly, a trace of disappointment rising in her heart. 'So, to him, I am just a maid.'

Ray and Jarrett exchanged knowing glances. 'Maid? We aren't buying it.'

"If she's the maid, that's perfect," Ray said, smirking. "With your hand injured, you definitely need someone close by to take care of you, don't you?"

Jarrett joined in. "Meals, meds, helping you wash up—it's all up to Miss Maid now."

"Oh please, Byron hates people touching him. Like he'd ever agree to a little maid doing any of that," Ray added, laughing.

Byron's expression tightened with discomfort. His voice cold, he snapped, "Did your businesses go under? How much longer are you planning to hang around here?" The way they were talking irritated him more than it should.

This cleaned-up version addresses grammar, punctuation, sentence structure, and removes the nonsensical and distracting text. It also improves the flow and readability of the narrative.