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

hand instinctively clenching. She wasn't sure

it, that's fine,"

her thanks and began searching for the tissue box, but it wasn't where she

hidden latch.

like a total country bumpkin. This car is really high-tech," she remarked with an awkward laugh,

Jeff-if she hadn't acted,

Iris control f forever.

car, a new fear took hold. 'With the Graves family's influence, if Jeff seeks revenge, could Byron end up caught in the crossfire?'

her fingers and frowned, falling silent. The rest of the drive passed

grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom

instructing him to find out where Maeve had been and what she

short while later, Arch Archer sent over a video-surveillance footage from the private room where Maeve had been. The rich guys hadn't managed to destroy it

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

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

as he rewound the video, replaying the scene over and over with keen

aftermath and also help Nestor secure the Yruhsall project.] Archer's reply came almost immediately. [Got it. I'll take care

Securing the

to challenge him for control of the company Maeve called out

accidentally injured herself while stabbing Jeff. Since the wound was on her right

him. standing in the living room. With his arms crossed and leaning casually against

gaze.

was holding fell to the floor. As she bent to retrieve it, she replied softly, "I'm almost

of ointment smeared across her skin, raising an eyebrow in silent observation.

his gaze. Her unfamiliarity with using her left hand made her movements shaky and clumsy. Frustration mounting, she finally turned to him with a beseeching look. "Could you give me a hand?" Byron let out a soft

loss for words, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. It was clear to her now-he was definitely doing this on

sense of independence. She was accustomed to managing things 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 to see her

but be both annoyed and amused by his

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