Byron's face instantly darkened, like storm clouds gathering in his eyes. Maeve noticed his displeasure and awkwardly scratched her cheek. "If it's a problem for you, I can always take the couch..."

"No need," Byron cut her off, his voice cold and firm. "We'll do it your way."

He reassured himself it was only for a few days. At least here, no one was breathing down his neck. He thought sharing a bed with her wasn't something he couldn't handle. Late at night, after a day of total chaos, Maeve finally relaxed as she sank into the soft bed, feeling her muscles slowly unwind.

Just as she was about to drift off, the mattress shifted slightly. She turned her head and found herself staring at Byron's handsome profile, her breath catching in her throat. 'How did he not notice how small my bed is?' she thought, suddenly aware of how cramped it felt. Even with a stuffed animal acting as a makeshift barrier, they were uncomfortably close—so close she could hear his slow, steady breathing.

"If you've got something on your mind, just spit it out," Byron said, sensing her eyes on him. His tone was flat, almost bored. Maeve, caught red-handed, felt her cheeks flush. But curiosity got the better of her. "Uh, can I ask... what do you do for a living?"

He'd been beaten up and was on the run from dangerous people. Today, he seemed to have been dumped by his fiancée, only to end up marrying her instead. His life looked like a mess, but he had skills. She was especially amazed at how quickly he had found the hidden camera inside her stuffed animal. Byron's eyes narrowed. 'Is she seriously playing dumb to get me to drop my guard?' he wondered.

"I drive," he said, shrugging.

Maeve let out a small sigh of relief. 'So he's a driver. That's not so bad. At least it's not something shady. And it kinda makes sense with the situation I'm in,' she thought.

Comforted by that idea, she closed her eyes and drifted off.

Byron, on the other hand, found it hard to relax. The bed was too small, the mattress wasn't soft, and the pillow felt like a rock. But what really bothered him was Maeve's hair. A few stray strands had drifted over to his side, brushing against his ear. He clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to touch it. His brow furrowed in frustration. 'Is she doing this on purpose?' he wondered.

The morning sunlight was gentle yet warm, spilling into the bedroom and casting a soft, golden glow over the bed. The two figures were tangled so closely there seemed to be no space between them. Byron's internal clock was precise. At seven sharp, he stirred, his eyes still half-closed. But something felt off—something warm and soft was pressed against him.

He glanced down and saw Maeve, who should have been on the other side of the bed, nestled in his arms. Her cheeks were tinged with a soft pink, resting against his chest; her arms were wrapped around him, and one leg was draped over his. She was sound asleep.

Byron's face darkened. He tried to push her away, but she clung to him so tightly he could barely move. Frustrated, he pinched her nose lightly. Within seconds, she jerked awake, gasping for air. Still groggy, Maeve blinked up at him in confusion, only to meet his cold, irritated glare.

"Maeve, get off me. Now!" Byron's voice was sharp, cutting through the last remnants of her sleep and sending a chill down her spine.

Her eyes widened as she realized how tightly she was wrapped around him. 'Oh shit! The soft, cozy thing I was hugging wasn't my stuffed animal—it's Byron!' Her face flushed crimson. She scrambled away, her movements frantic and awkward, trying to reach the edge of the bed. "I-I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I usually sleep so much better..." she stammered, her voice full of embarrassment.

Byron's frustration deepened as he listened to her babble. How many times has she said it wasn't on purpose since we got married? he thought darkly. Playing innocent while plotting her moves—just like the rest of the McDaniel family. He gave her a cold stare and snapped, "Stay the hell away from me." With that, he tossed off the covers, climbed out of bed, and stormed out of the room.

Maeve bit back the urge to blurt out, "I mistook you for a damn pillow!" Instead, she swallowed her words, feeling suffocated by his attitude.

Annoyed, she thought, 'Seriously? It's not like I did it on purpose. But he acts like I'm some seductress trying to make a move on him—what the hell does he think I am? I've got to get his room set up soon.'

Muttering under her breath, Maeve got out of bed to wash up. Afterward, she carefully changed Byron's bandages before heading to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Byron, now dressed in fresh clothes his bodyguard had dropped off the previous night, picked up his watch from the living room table and strapped it onto his wrist. He glanced over at the kitchen, where Maeve was busy prepping ingredients for two servings, and said coolly, "Don't bother making breakfast for me. I don't eat in the mornings."

"Skipping breakfast is bad for your stomach," Maeve replied without turning around. "I'll be done in a minute, and my cooking's not half bad. You might even like it."

"I said no..."

"Relax, I'm not charging you for it."

Byron was momentarily thrown off. He glanced at the clock—forty minutes until his morning meeting. He figured she was trying to win him over with food. 'If it were that damn easy, I'd have just married a chef,' he thought, annoyed.

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