Byron avoided Karen's hand. Flis gaze was sharp. "Karen, don't make us enemies."

These words pierced Karen's heart. She couldn't believe it. She thought, "He clearly has feelings for me. Otherwise, of all the women vying for his attention, why am I the only one who can stay by his side? Even if I'm just a secretary—the only female secretary in the office." Karen's eyes were red as she clenched her fists, fighting back tears. "Got it. I'll leave now, Mr. McDaniel."

Byron nodded casually and returned to his documents.

Karen walked out of the office in her high heels, finding a quiet place to compose herself. She called Ms. Reese. "Ms. Reese, this is Karen."

Maeve's workday had been surprisingly smooth, perhaps due to the absence of Byron's usual sarcasm. She'd nearly finished the two prototypes; only details remained.

Before leaving work, she received Karen's call.

"Ms. Reese, you're Byron's housekeeper. You know about his wife, right?" Karen rushed on. "I need to know who she is and where she's from." Maeve frowned. "Ms. Booth, you should ask Mr. McDaniel."

Karen only knew Byron was married, meaning he'd deliberately hidden it. It was best if Maeve remained silent.

Karen continued, "This is crucial to me. I don't understand why Byron refused to tell me, dismissing it as a 'small matter.' But how can I not care? Please, do this as a favor. If Byron asks, say I forced you. He won't do anything to you." Maeve felt a pang of sympathy. "I'm sorry. I can't help you. You should ask someone else." She took a deep breath and hung up.

Maeve stood there, dazed, before gathering her things and leaving.

When Maeve arrived home, the apartment was dark, a surprise. Byron wasn't back yet.

She switched on the lights, put away the groceries, and checked on her vegetables. She'd feared they wouldn't survive a day without attention.

Surprisingly, they looked much better than that morning, vibrant and revitalized. She touched them in wonder. "You're so strong!" They'd survived being submerged and weren't as delicate as Byron claimed. They should recover fully in a few days.

Her mood lifted, Maeve carried the groceries to the kitchen. She called Byron to see if he was coming home for dinner.

The call connected, revealing a noisy background. Then, Byron's deep voice: "I'm not coming home tonight. I'm still busy."

"Overtime?" Maeve listened to the commotion; it sounded like a crowded place, she even heard champagne popping.

"Yes," Byron said casually. "I'm at a cocktail party."

"You worked so hard," Maeve wrinkled her nose. "Then you're unlucky tonight. I planned seafood stew."

Byron nodded to someone speaking to him, then moved to a quieter balcony. He leaned on the railing and chuckled. "Oh! A feast while I'm away?"

Maeve immediately denied it. "Of course not! There's plenty of delicious food at your party, including great desserts. My stew isn't a 'feast,' is it?"

"Yes, so much food I'm sick of it." Byron gazed at the city lights below. "By the way, your vegetables..."

"I was just going to tell you!" Maeve exclaimed. "They've miraculously revived! They're not as delicate as you said. Aren't they strong?"

Byron sneered inwardly. Strong? Three gardeners worked all day to save her delicate vegetables. They're as difficult as their owner!

"It's good they're alive," Byron glanced back at the party. "I have to go."

Maeve nodded. "Be careful. Don't let anyone put you on the spot." "Sure."

After hanging up, Maeve smiled and carried the stew to the table.

Late at night, silence reigned. The apartment door opened, revealing Byron's slender figure. He casually switched on the light, massaging his temples to ease the alcohol-induced discomfort. He'd had a bit too much at the cocktail party, but wasn't drunk. Still, he felt unwell, his headache prominent.

As he reached the sofa, he stopped. Maeve was asleep, wrapped in a blanket.

Byron set down his keys and a paper bag, gently nudging her shoulder. "Maeve, wake up."

"Huh?" Maeve stirred, opening her eyes to Byron's handsome face. She sat up, leaning on the sofa. "Mr. McDaniel, you're back?" "Why are you sleeping here?" Byron's slightly slurred voice was husky.

"I was waiting for you." Maeve yawned, rubbing her eyes. "I thought your boss might make you drink. You'd feel terrible afterward. I made you soup; it's still warm. Drink some."

Byron stared at her tousled hair and sleepy appearance. She wasn't conventionally pretty, but her sleepy eyes held an unexpected gentleness. "What if I don't drink it?" Byron's eyes darkened. "Wouldn't your efforts be wasted?"

"It's even better if you don't," Maeve said casually. "I made it just in case. Maybe you don't even need it."

She'd simply worried about him waking with a headache. That's why she'd waited.

Byron's gaze locked onto her soft face; he chuckled. Regardless of her reason, her actions pleased him.

Maeve was about to question his laughter when he lifted her. She yelped, eyes widening. He carried her, blanket and all, to the guest bedroom, placing her on the bed. "Mr. McDaniel?" Maeve asked, still wrapped in the blanket. Before she could look up, lips carrying the scent of wine brushed her head—so quickly, she almost thought she'd imagined it.