Chapter 521

Maeve’s blood ran cold. “He wants to break off the engagement?” she whispered, her face ashen. Byron’s profile was stark, unyielding. She felt lost, adrift in a sea of confusion. He hadn’t actually decided, she realized, but the pain was too raw to process.

Closing her eyes, she swallowed the lump in her throat. "I understand," she said, each word precise. Byron’s thin lips tightened. He turned, only to see a blur of movement— someone rushing into the bathroom— and then he was gone, striding from the bedroom, his back rigid with coldness.

Downstairs, Byron was absent. He usually sent her to the studio first. He’s probably just pretending now that he’s breaking things off, she mused, stabbing listlessly at her breakfast. Even the twins’ milk-drinking antics couldn’t lift her spirits. Will, normally a milk-hater, was bravely downing his, determined not to let Theo surpass him in height. He secretly stuck out his tongue afterward, like it was bitter medicine.

He sensed Maeve’s unhappiness. He wanted to cheer her up, but feared making things worse. He poked Theo. Theo, mid-gulp, sprayed milk across the table in surprise.

Maeve erupted in laughter. "Theo! What are you doing, spraying milk everywhere?" She wiped his milk-stained face, her smile teasing.

Theo glared at Will. "Mommy, Will attacked me! He’s disrespectful! He's challenging my leadership!" He puffed out his chest. "I'm four! If my kindergarten buddies find out I sprayed milk, my authority is ruined!"

Will looked innocent. "I was just pointing out something on your face. I didn't expect the milk explosion."

"Why didn't you just say it?!" Theo slammed his fist on the table.

"Because I wanted to wipe it for you. It's hard with a bun in your hand," Will replied, his sincerity evident.

"Oh, okay. Forgive you," Theo conceded, surprisingly easily.

"Thank you, Theo," Will blinked, utterly earnest.

Maeve chuckled, watching the two “kittens” spar— one scratching, the other sitting on its tail. Her gloom lifted. Turning, she saw Damian entering with a delivery box— another letter from the boys' pen pal.

In this digital age, it was rare. Maeve watched the twins, their heads together, absorbed in the letter. For the first time, she felt curious about this mysterious correspondent. He must be quite old to maintain such a traditional connection.

"Mommy, can Will and I meet him this weekend?" Theo asked, holding up the letter. "Our friend is sick. He's writing less. I'll cheer him up…and he'll keep praising me!" Maeve sweat; hopefully, their pen pal couldn’t hear that.

"Ask him if he wants to. If so, I'll arrange it.”

"Okay!"

Will subtly grinned, noticing Theo’s successful distraction. After dropping the boys off, Maeve went to pack for work. Damian intercepted her. "Ms. Reese, your pumpkin and silver fungus soup is ready. It’s going to rain; your umbrella and jacket are here."

"Thank you," Maeve replied. "You're so thoughtful."

"It's my duty, Ms. Reese," Damian said humbly. "Mr. McDaniel specifically instructed me. I couldn’t be negligent."

Maeve stopped, surprised. "Byron? He never mentioned it."

Damian smiled. "Maybe he didn’t think it was important. Didn’t you notice he pre-warms your soup every morning?"

"You mean…he's been making my soup?" Maeve asked, disbelieving.

"Yes, ma'am."

She stood there, stunned. Byron, the incredibly busy Byron, who rarely cooked, had been personally preparing her soup. She remembered the times she hadn’t finished it, leaving a lot in her thermos, and how she’d been finishing it all recently. It must have been since he started making it. It reminded her of when he made her drinks in France. Stubborn, but undeniably tender.

In the car, watching the landscape blur past, Maeve questioned herself. Was he really pretending? We’ve been together so long…how could I be so wrong? Molly was a huge issue, but it didn't negate his kindness. She didn't believe he actually wanted to break up.

Taking a deep breath, she said to the driver, "Please take me to the McDaniel Group."

Ten minutes later, she was leaving the McDaniel Group, instructing the driver to go to a different address: the Rose Pavilion, where Byron was in a private business meeting. It was a lavish venue, partially open to the public, a subtle display of the owner’s wealth.