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.

faint groan of pain caught her ear. She bit her lip, trying to ignore

about to leave, the dim light from the bedside lamp highlighted Byron's face, contorted in

into an expression of discomfort. His lips were flushed red, his face pale and drawn, his brows furrowed tightly. There wasn't a hint of peace on his

him and remembering his past

lower lip, clutching the blanket tightly as she quietly

at her, Maeve returned with a thermometer, her face a mix

the day. If he tried anything funny again, she'd make sure

hesitation

move an inch as Maeve took his temperature. He didn't flinch or even bat an eyelid, as

a fever that high, he'd definitely need a hospital. But then she remembered how much Byron hated hospitals, and there

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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

hour later, Maeve

herself every two hours for another check. She

still there, but it wasn't as fierce as it had been the night before. He noticed his abdominal wound had been re-dressed,

stop caring about him, yet she had spent the entire night tending to