The Heir's Secret Bride

Chapter

18

He shot a glance at the scruffy brown pup, then turned back to Maeve, eyebrows raised, clearly questioning her bizarre. anties.

Maeve's anger vanished in an instant. She pulled back the hand she'd been waving at the dog, her face flushing as a wave of heat spread across her cheeks and ears, turning them a deep shade of red. "I-I wasn't arguing with it," she stammered, her voice shaky. "I was just... reasoning with it."

Byron had just come from a negotiation, still carrying the scent of alcohol and a lingering bad mood. But when Maeve offered her ridiculously naive explanation, a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. That amusement quickly faded when his eyes fell on the torn collar of her shirt. His expression darkened, and he asked, "What the hell happened to your clothes?"

His gaze moved from her collar to the red marks on her neck, and his frown deepened. "Get in the car."

Maeve's checks cooled as she nodded and slipped into the passenger seat. As she fastened her seatbelt, she glanced around at the sleek, luxurious interior and asked, "Is this your boss's car? Are you even allowed to be driving it?" eah. Byron replied nonchalantly.

Maeve's eyes widened. She recognized this was a Maybach-definitely a sign that Byron's boss was someone important. Even the license plate, with its elite number, was enough to make that clear. She wondered if the earlier chase had something to do with his boss. She frowned, thinking to herself. Must be rough working for someone that high up.

Byron noticed her awkwardly trying to cover her torn collar, her attempts doing little to hide the smooth skin underneath.

Without looking directly at her, he shrugged off his coat and draped it over her lap. "Put this on."

Maeve looked down at the coat, then back up at him with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."

The coat still carried the warmth of of Byron's body, and since Maeve was petite, it nearly reached her calves, enveloping her in its warmth. Byron nodded odded briefly, started the engine, and drove off.

After they had driven for a while, Byron asked, "How'd you hurt your hand?"

Maeve's

"If

fingers paused as she

as she adjusted her slee

clenching. She wasn't sure how

on't want to t to talk about it, that's fine," Byron said. "Tissues are there if

her thanks and began searching for the

a hidden latch.

felt like a total country bumpkin. This car is really high-tech," she remarked

wandered. She had no regrets about stabbing Jeff-if she hadn't acted, she would have

Iris control f forever.

fear took hold. 'With the Graves family's influence, if Jeff seeks revenge, could

the furtremble in her fingers and frowned, falling silent. The rest

Marve immediately grabbed some clothes

instructing him to find out where Maeve had been and

private room where Maeve had been. The rich guys hadn't

watched the video, his initial detachment slowly shifting to a stern, intense focus. As Maeve drove the knife into Jeff's hand, a flash of surprise

I'm

done

ahead now," Maeve's soft voice came through, with

it." Byron replied, his eyes still locked on the screen as he rewound the video, replaying the

had played for the third time, Byron opened the chat box and sent a message to Archer. [Handle the aftermath and also help Nestor secure the Yruhsall project.] Archer's

Securing the

closing off any opportunity for Jeff to challenge him for control of the company Maeve called out

had occurred when she accidentally injured herself while stabbing Jeff. Since the wound

up in surprise to find him. standing in the living room. With his arms crossed and

gaze.

cotton swab she was holding fell to the floor. As she bent to

her skin, raising an eyebrow in silent observation. He didn't offer to help, simply watched her with a

increasingly flustered under his gaze. Her unfamiliarity with using her left hand made her movements shaky and clumsy. Frustration mounting, she finally turned to him

a loss for words, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. It was clear to her

on her own, never considering asking for help. Byron knew exactly how to push her buttons, and he seemed to take a twisted pleasure in doing it-forcing her to ask for help just

both annoyed and amused by his strange

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