Byron sat on the living room sofa, a computer on his lap, reviewing documents. When Maeve spoke, he didn't look up, replying calmly, "No."

"Oh, okay," Maeve frowned, walking to the trash can. A worried look crossed her face. "Did I accidentally throw it away?" Not finding it, she returned to the sofa. Byron, seemingly annoyed, muttered, "I have burn ointment in my room. Get it yourself. Don't disturb me."

"Oh, okay!" Maeve hurried to his room, retrieved the ointment, and went to the bathroom. She remained there for over half an hour.

Byron's typing slowed. He squinted at the screen, glancing sideways at the bathroom. A few minutes later, he stood and knocked on the bathroom door. "Maeve, are you done?"

Maeve, still struggling with the ointment, was sweating profusely. "I'll be done soon."

Byron, expressionless, said, "I can't wait. Come out."

Maeve, aggrieved, got dressed and opened the door, ointment in hand. Byron passed her, closing the door behind him. Maeve waited, needing to wash her hands after applying the ointment. Applying it to her back would take a long time. Byron emerged quickly.

Hesitantly, seeing him about to leave, she softly called, "Mr. McDaniel, can I ask you a favor?"

He stopped, looking at her emotionlessly.

"I can't reach my back. Can you help me apply the ointment?" Her ears burned as she spoke. She would never have asked before, but the alternative was further hand cramping.

Byron snorted. "And I thought you'd rather die than ask for help."

Maeve felt chastised. He didn't continue to mock her. "Go to the living room," he said, heading there himself.

Maeve followed and sat on the sofa. Byron picked up the ointment. As he rolled up his sleeves, he watched her hesitantly. "Take off your top."

Shocked by his bluntness, Maeve blushed and turned, quickly removing her pajama top, hugging it to her chest for comfort. "I-I'm done," she whispered.

Byron curled his lips, pushing her hair aside. His gaze lingered on her delicate back; her slight trembling suggested nervousness. Her back looked fragile and beautiful. His dark eyes darkened, but he simply applied the ointment, his warm fingertips a contrast to her cool skin. Maeve felt a strange heat.

"I heard from Karen you told her you're my wife?" Byron asked casually.

Maeve lowered her gaze. "I did," she said, her tone sharp. "She wanted to know our relationship, so I told the truth. Can't I? You're the one hiding our marriage, but I never promised to cooperate, right?"

Byron raised an eyebrow. "Maeve, why are you angry?"

Maeve froze. "What am I angry about, Mr. McDaniel? I should ask you that, shouldn't I? What did you do that night when you were drunk? Don't tell me you've forgotten."

Byron's eyes deepened. "I remember. So?" He hadn't wanted to embarrass her, but she'd brought it up.

Maeve's eyelashes fluttered. "Mr. McDaniel, I'm not a tool for you to vent your desires. We're not close enough. Please don't treat me like that again, drunk or not." She didn't hate his touch, but being treated that way when she didn't know who he thought she was felt demeaning.

Her voice trembled. Byron's expression was mocking. He wondered who she preferred. His smile vanished. "If I weren't drunk, I wouldn't be attracted to you," he said coldly. He finished applying the ointment, tossed it aside, and left.

His touch had been forceful, causing Maeve to gasp in pain. She watched him go, her heart clenching. She didn't care about being a substitute.

She carefully put on her top. The burn felt cool and comfortable, unlike earlier. She examined the ointment; it was in a foreign language. A strange feeling washed over her, but she dismissed it and went to bed.

The next morning, Leah asked Maeve for the revised sample clothes. Upon inspection, Leah's expression soured. The clothes were as flawed as before. "Maeve, this is the trash you made again?" Leah mocked.

Maeve wasn't surprised. "Ms. Mason, I can confirm someone tampered with my samples."

"Still shirking responsibility? Admitting your mistake would be better," Leah disbelieved her.

"I have proof," Maeve produced her old phone. "The studio's cameras were off before 8 a.m., so I left my phone recording. Around 7 a.m., I caught something." She played a video showing a dark figure entering the studio, going to Maeve's samples, cutting them, and leaving. The lighting was too dim to see the person's face clearly.

The other designers were initially skeptical, but the video surprised them.

Leah asked, "Who arrived first this morning?" Everyone denied it.

Alex entered, asking about the commotion. Leah explained. Alex watched the video. "Whoever did this knows clothing-making well, targeting weak points. It was probably one of us."

Ava countered, "But Mr. Brown, it's too dark to see anyone. Who knows if this person even exists?"