Applying the medicine to her back was inconvenient, and it took Maeve a long time to apply it evenly. Afterward, she dressed and left the bathroom. Byron wasn't in the living room; he must have returned to the bedroom.

Without further thought, she went to the balcony to pick vegetables, then to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. As she was clearing the table after breakfast, Byron stood before her, arms crossed. She froze.

He glanced at her single-portion breakfast and lazily asked, "Where's mine?"

Maeve knew what he meant but didn't answer. Silently, she wiped the table, took her dishes to the kitchen, and returned. As she passed Byron, he grabbed her wrist. "Maeve," he said coldly, his voice deep, "Talk."

Maeve pursed her lips, meeting his gaze. "You didn't help with the vegetables or anything else. Why should I make your breakfast? Isn't there a café downstairs?" She couldn't believe he'd treated her so poorly and still expected breakfast.

Byron stared at her cold face. "There's no soup there."

"Whatever," Maeve said, shaking off his hand. Getting her bag from the sofa, she added calmly, "Ask Ms. Booth to make soup. She won't disgust you, and unlike me, she knows her place, right?" She thought, Since I'm so unbearable to him, there's no need for me to treat him well anymore. I'll only suffer.

A strange look crossed Byron's face; he raised an eyebrow. Her words hinted at jealousy. He wondered if she was jealous of Karen.

His dark eyes narrowed. Only as Maeve was leaving the living room did he slowly say, "That's not a bad suggestion. I'd probably prefer Karen's soup. Saves me trouble in the future."

Maeve pretended to be relieved and left the apartment, unaware that Byron's expression darkened and his aura turned icy.

At the company, Maeve was so busy in the studio she barely had time for a break. Next month's exhibition loomed; she needed to finish the sample clothes to avoid being late. The design of the "Morningstar" series was crucial to her future at the company, so she couldn't be careless.

Midway through, Ava called her out to sign for a delivery. A courier stood there with a large bouquet of red roses. "Ms. Reese, Mr. Graves sent these," he said. "Please sign."

Maeve's lips twitched. Is Jeff crazy? Who cares about his roses? Anything related to him belongs in the trash. "I'm sorry, this is a waste of your time. Please return it. I won't accept it," she said.

The courier looked troubled. "Mr. Graves said to throw it away if you don't sign."

Maeve's eyes were calm. "Then throw it away." It wasn't her money.

This was only the beginning. All day, Maeve was constantly called out to sign for deliveries: cakes, designer bags, even jewelry. Rumors spread across the floor. Leah called Maeve aside. "This is a company, not a playground. Your probation hasn't ended. Stop this behavior."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Mason," Maeve said, lowering her head. "I'll take care of it. Sorry to disturb everyone."

Leah nodded coldly. "Get back to work."

Maeve went to an empty corner, unblocked Jeff's number, and called him.

"Maeve, did you receive my gifts?" Jeff asked smoothly. "Do you like them?"

Maeve wanted to kill him. "Jeff, are you done? How long will you pester me?"

"Pestering? I'm pursuing you again, baby," Jeff smiled. "I want to make up for the past. I really regret it. Can you feel it?"

Maeve sneered. "You're only doing this for yourself. I'm not moved. Please don't send anything to my company. You've seriously affected my work. I'm furious and annoyed. Let me be clear: it's impossible between us. We can't even be friends. Don't waste your time."

She hung up, sighing gloomily. Jeff was hateful. She couldn't believe such a man existed—only concerned with his own goals, regardless of others' feelings. Somehow, she thought of Byron and felt a surge of tears, quickly suppressed.

"Maeve?" Alex's voice came from behind. "Why are you standing here in the wind?"

Maeve turned, shaking her head. "I came out for some air. By the way, I was in a hurry yesterday and didn't thank you for helping me change clothes and taking me home." Alex smiled warmly. "It's nothing. I'm glad you didn't catch a cold."

Both Jeff and Alex had gentle voices, but Jeff's was pretentious and sickening, while Alex's was courteous and refreshing, and proper. Maeve's eyes curved. "Thanks for the hot soup. Otherwise, I'd have been ill."

Alex nodded, then casually mentioned, "I heard someone's been sending you gifts today?"

Maeve was speechless.

"If it's inconvenient, forget I asked," Alex added quickly, seeing her discomfort.

"There's nothing I can't say," Maeve sighed. "My ex-boyfriend. Maybe he wants to make things difficult."

Maeve didn't believe Jeff was genuinely pursuing her; perhaps he wanted to upset her, or he still hoped for the company inheritance, thinking marriage to her offered a chance. Either way, she had no interest in cooperating.

Alex seemed to understand and gently comforted her. "I'll instruct the front desk to refuse any further deliveries from your ex-boyfriend. You don't need to worry."

Maeve's eyes lit up. "Is that okay?"

"Yes, of course," Alex said. "Just focus on your work."

"Thank you, Mr. Brown."

Alex laughed. "If you really want to thank me, come to my private studio when you're free. I have an idea to integrate crewelwork into a design and want your input."

Maeve readily agreed. "Message me when you need me."

"Okay." Alex's eyes were filled with joy.