Meave had wanted to endure the pain a little longer, hoping it would subside. However, it intensified with each passing moment. Within minutes, her pajamas were soaked with sweat. Dazed by the pain, she was suddenly reminded of a childhood incident.

"It's just a little cold," Valda had said. "Why are you making such a fuss? Why do you need your father and me? You can recover if you just lie in bed. Do you think you're some rich, pampered miss?" Meave had a 39-degree fever. Valda, preoccupied with playing cards, ignored her, even locking Meave in her room. Feeling terrible, Meave thought she might die.

The memory lingered as she lay under the covers. Then, a low voice echoed in her mind: "I thought you'd rather die than ask for help."

Meave bit her lip, closed her eyes, then opened them, enduring the pain as she reached for her phone.

Meanwhile, in a luxurious private room, an elegant man at the head of a long table saw the incoming call. His thin lips curled into a smirk. He answered, his voice deep, "What's up?"

"Mr. McDaniel..." Meave's voice was weak, her teeth chattering. "My stomach... hurts..."

The weakness in her voice caused Byron to frown. "Where are you?"

"Home..." The word exhausted her. She fainted from the agonizing abdominal pain.

"Meave?" Receiving no reply, Byron's expression changed dramatically.

The people around him asked cautiously, "Mr. McDaniel, why aren't you eating? Don't you like the food?"

Byron's eyes darkened. He stood up. "Something urgent has come up. My treat tonight. Enjoy your meal."

He left abruptly. Archer quickly retrieved Byron's jacket and followed. "Mr. McDaniel?"

"Contact the dean of First Hospital," Byron instructed coldly. "Prepare a medical team and a ward. I'll be bringing Maeve soon."

"Yes, sir." Archer pulled out his phone.

The Muse was a ten-minute drive from the Retro Apartment. Byron found Maeve unconscious on the carpet. His pupils constricted.

He picked her up, touched her forehead, and found her temperature alarmingly low. His eyes darkened, his lips pursed.

At First Hospital, the waiting doctors immediately performed a full examination. With the intimidating Byron observing, everyone worked meticulously, fearful of making mistakes.

Finally, they reached a diagnosis. "Mr. McDaniel," the dean said, wiping his brow, "the patient likely has an intestinal virus from contaminated food, causing abdominal pain. We've started an IV drip. She'll be fine."

The dean admitted he was unnerved, not just by the illness, but by Byron's chilling demeanor, which made him fear a far more serious condition.

Byron, recalling Maeve's moans, frowned. "Can't you alleviate her pain?"

The dean replied diplomatically, "Her abdominal pain is subsiding, so we don't recommend painkillers. It's best for her body."

Byron nodded. "Understood. Thank you."

"You're welcome," the dean said, smiling. "It's an honor to serve you." The McDaniel Group's investment heavily supported the hospital's resources.

After the dean left, Archer said, "Mr. McDaniel, I'll handle things here. There's an impromptu meeting..."

"Postpone it until tomorrow," Byron said calmly, entering the ward.

Archer was stunned, wondering who Maeve was to warrant such a drastic change in Byron's schedule.

Maeve had awakened. Hearing voices, she turned. Her pale face was half-buried in the pillow, brows furrowed, forehead glistening with sweat. She looked frail and vulnerable. "Mr. McDaniel," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "What's wrong with me?"

Byron frowned at her appearance. "What rubbish have you been eating? How could you get an intestinal virus?" His tone was cold and sharp.

Maeve's fingertips curled. Already ill, she was overwhelmed by his harsh words, and tears welled up. "It wasn't intentional. I couldn't help it."

Seeing her distress, Byron felt a pang of remorse. "I saw a drink in your room. Did you drink it before the stomachache?" he asked softly.

Maeve struggled to recall. "I think so. But I also ate hot dogs from a street vendor. It might not have been the drink..."

Byron nearly snorted at her attempt to excuse her favorite drink. "You're not allowed to bring such trashy drinks home again. Don't let me see you drink them, or I'll throw you out."

Maeve's eyes widened. "Why? This was an accident. I..."

"Are you not hurting anymore?" Byron's gaze was cold.

Meave wilted under his intensity. Without proof, she couldn't convince him.

Seeing her honesty, Byron softened slightly. "Does it still hurt?"

Maeve subconsciously wanted to shake her head, but remembering his swift response to her call, she confessed, "It hurts. I'm also on my period. My abdomen aches terribly, it's almost numb. The doctor doesn't recommend painkillers. I have to endure it."

Byron pursed his lips. "Let me know if you need anything."

Understanding, Maeve asked tentatively, "Can you bring me a heating pad? The warmth would help."

Byron grunted and texted on his phone.

Soon, Archer arrived with a heating pack and a warm drink, leaving them after placing the items down.

Byron had been hospitalized before; Maeve remembered Archer as a colleague assisting him.

Byron picked up the heating pack, lifting the blanket to apply it, revealing her abdomen. His eyes darkened, momentarily captivated by her flawless skin and belly button. He quickly lowered her top, his fingertips brushing her incredibly soft skin. Sensing his touch, Maeve sucked in her stomach, her ears turning red.