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 how

talk about it, that's fine," Byron said. "Tissues are there

began searching for the tissue box, but it

hidden

remarked with an awkward laugh,

wandered. She had no regrets about stabbing Jeff-if she hadn't

Iris control f forever.

Graves

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

home, Marve immediately grabbed some clothes and headed to the

room, pulled out his phone, and called Archer, instructing him to find out where Maeve had been and what she

later, Arch Archer sent over a video-surveillance footage from the private room where Maeve had

the knife into Jeff's hand, a flash of surprise darkened his

McDaniel. I'm

done

soft voice came through, with a

screen as he rewound the video, replaying the

to Archer. [Handle the aftermath and

Securing the

Jeff to challenge him for control of the company Maeve called out to Byron once, then

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

long do you plan to struggle with that?" Byron asked, his voice casual. Maeve looked up in surprise to find him. standing in the living room. With his arms crossed and leaning casually against the

gaze.

hand shook, and the cotton swab she was holding fell to the floor. As

across her skin, raising an eyebrow in silent observation.

initially unfazed, grew 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 with a beseeching look. "Could you give me a hand?" Byron let out

beneath the surface. It was clear to her now-he was definitely doing this

lavishing attention on her younger brother, which instilled in her a strong 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

annoyed and amused

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