The Heir's Secret Bride

Even Maeve, who almost never lost her composure, felt a surge of anger boiling up inside her.

Why does helping him always come back to bite me? Is kindness really just a mistake?' she thought, her eyes burning with frustration.

All Maeve could feel was the sting on her lips. The moment Byron pulled away from that degrading kiss, her hand flew up. instinctively ready to slap him.

But Byron caught her wrist effortlessly, a mocking grin spreading across his face as he met her furious gaze. "What? Want another kiss?"

Maeve's cheeks flushed bright red as she yanked her hand away. You **d! Why do people like you even exist? Every time I try to help, you just turn it into shit!" Her voice shook with rage, barely keeping her frustration in check. Byron straightened up, his eyes cold as ice as he stared her down. "If you know I'm just gonna let you down, then stay the hell out of my way. Don't think I don't see through your little games."

She was so furious she could barely get the words out; her anger was reaching a boiling point. She should never have been so soft-hearted even if he dropped dead from that fever, it wouldn't have been her problem.

"Fine! If I ever give a damn about you again, I'll be the biggest fool on earth!" Maeve snapped, her face tight with anger as she stormed our of the room.

That night, Maeve would have gladly crashed on the couch rather than share a bed with Byron. But with the chilly autumn air and the unheated living room, it wasn't a real option. She'd probably end up with a cold by morning if she stayed out there..

As it got closer to eleven, and Byron was supposed to be asleep, Maeve slipped back into the bedroom. Wait a minute-this is my place. Why am I sneaking around?'

With that thought, she dropped the pretense and marched straight to the closet to grab a blanket.

of pain caught her ear. She bit her lip, trying to ignore it, grabbing the blanket and heading for the

light from the bedside lamp highlighted Byron's face,

his usually sharp, cold features softened into an expression of discomfort. His lips were flushed red, his face pale and drawn, his brows furrowed tightly.

a fever? Maeve wondered, torn between checking on him and remembering his past rotten behavior. "Maybe it's best to just leave him

the blanket tightly as she quietly slipped out of

off the worry gnawing at her,

day. If he tried anything

hesitation

didn't flinch or even bat an eyelid, as if he was

the thermometer-it read nearly 102 degrees Fahrenheit. With a fever that high, he'd definitely need a hospital. But then she

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a basin with warm water and began wiping his body down to help lower his temperature You better not blame me when you wake up, she muttered, taking advantage of Byron's unconscious state to speak her mind. "I didn't mean to touch you, but if I don't do something, you might end up with brain damage and turn into a vegetable. Then I'd really be

an hour later, Maeve checked

set an alarm to wake herself every two hours for another check. She kept this up until morning. when sheer exhaustion finally

wasn't as fierce as it had been the night before. He noticed his abdominal wound had been re-dressed, and it felt much better, with no real discomfort. He rubbed his temple and turned his head to see Maeve sleeping beside the bed, her

woman who had vowed to stop caring about him, yet