Byron wasn't about to give Maeve any time to prepare. He had always been a neat freak, and two days without changing clothes was his limit. If not for his aversion to being touched by strangers, he wouldn't have asked Maeve for help at all.

"What, do I need to personally invite you?" Seeing her standing like a statue, Byron urged her coolly. "N-No need," Maeve answered.

Maeve took a deep breath, steeled herself, and went to the bathroom to prepare a basin of warm water. "Mr. McDaniel, should I help you take off your shirt?" Her voice trembled, but Byron acted as if he didn't notice. "Go ahead."

Maeve bit her lip as she approached the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt. One button, two buttons, three... The further she went, the more her face heated up, and her fingers trembled. She'd seen his upper body before—she'd been changing his bandages daily—but unbuttoning his shirt felt oddly intimate, almost suggestive.

As his chiseled chest and defined abs came into view, Maeve couldn't bring herself to look directly at him. "I-I'm starting now," she mumbled.

She avoided his injuries as she gently wiped his shoulders, chest, and arms, but kept repeating the same areas. Noticing this, Byron smirked and teased, "Maeve, did you eat the rest of me? Why haven't you touched my lower half yet?" To Maeve, "lower half" sounded indecent.

"Mr. McDaniel!" she exclaimed, throwing the towel onto his hand, her face flushed. "It's already nice of me to help you at all! Can you stop saying weird things and making this awkward?" She thought, What on earth is he thinking?

Byron was momentarily caught off guard. Realizing her interpretation, a faint blush crept up behind his dark hair, though he remained outwardly composed.

"Really? Isn't it your own dirty mind that's making you overreact?" He hadn't meant it that way—he was annoyed at her half-hearted effort. But her repetition made his words sound suggestive.

Maeve stared at him in disbelief, shocked by his shameless rebuttal. She thought, How can he accuse me of impure thoughts when he's making inappropriate comments? "Fine! If you keep talking like this, I'll call the nurse!" she snapped.

Byron, never threatened like this before, was speechless. The room fell silent.

"Maeve," Byron finally said, "What I meant was, you've wiped everywhere except my abs. Are you avoiding them because you're nervous or embarrassed?"

Maeve's fingers twitched. "I already wiped them—you just didn't notice." "I'm injured, not paralyzed."

Maeve ignored him, thinking, I'm human, not made of stone. Faced with a physique straight out of a comic book, how can I not feel flustered? She was already avoiding certain areas, and yet he kept pushing.

Frustrated, she scrubbed his back more vigorously. Byron commented, in his annoyingly calm tone, "If you scrubbed my abs with this much effort, how could I not feel it?"

Maeve finally lost it and tossed the towel aside. "Can't feel anything with the towel, huh? How about I just use my hands and give you a dry rub?"

Before Byron could respond, she placed both hands on his abs and rubbed them vigorously. They both froze. She was shocked—his abs looked rock-hard but felt surprisingly soft. He was stunned, thinking, Did she actually just touch me like that? Is she out of her mind?

For a moment, neither moved. Maeve quickly pulled her hands away, pretending nothing happened, and picked up the towel. "There, all good now. Let me just finish wiping your back," she said.

Byron nearly laughed. After she finished, Maeve exhaled in relief. "All done."

"Done?" Byron smirked. "You only wash the top half when you shower?"

Maeve's hand shook, and the towel slipped into the basin. "You... you don't expect me to..."

Byron cut her off. "I was asking you to wring out the towel."

Realizing she had completely misunderstood, Maeve wanted to crawl into a hole. She kept her gaze down, too flustered to meet his eyes, and quickly wrung out the towel before handing it to him. She then turned around, waiting for him to return the towel so she could wring it out again. The towel felt like it was burning her hands.

After repeating the process several times, she finally heard Byron say, "That's enough." Maeve picked up a clean set of clothes to help him change. Just then, the door swung open.

"Byron, I heard you finally woke up..." Gilbert entered, tears of relief in his eyes, only to be greeted by a speechless scene: Byron shirtless in bed, Maeve beside him holding his clothes. Gilbert coughed awkwardly. "Looks like I walked in at a bad time..."

Maeve froze, realizing what Gilbert must be thinking, and almost dropped the clothes. In contrast to her panic, Byron remained composed.

"Grandpa, Maeve was just helping me change clothes," Byron explained. A sly grin crept onto his face. "Byron, you just woke up and aren't fully recovered yet. You really should avoid any strenuous activities."

Gilbert gave him a knowing look. He had originally thought Byron married Maeve to humor him, but now his hopes of a great-grandchild seemed less far-fetched. As soon as Gilbert made that comment, Maeve's face turned bright red.

"Mr. McDaniel, it's not what you think! I was really just helping Byron change clothes. We're not... we didn't..."

Gilbert nodded sagely. "Yes, yes, I understand. You young people do your thing. Anyway, I have some things to take care of, so I'll leave Byron in your capable hands, Maeve." He hurried out.

Maeve spun around to face Byron, frustrated. "Why didn't you explain things to him?"

"He thinks we have a great relationship, which works in my favor. Why would I correct him?" Byron raised an eyebrow.

Maeve blurted out, embarrassed and annoyed, "That's because it's not your reputation on the line! Now he definitely thinks I'm up to something with you!"

Byron remained unbothered. "What could you even do to me? And don't worry—I may be desperate, but I'm not that desperate. I wouldn't be interested in a little girl like you."

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