Chapter 12
Valda stared in disbelief. “What the hell did he just say? Maeve, you need to explain what’s going on with right now!”
you
and this guy
Maeve’s shoulders shook slightly, but she forced herself to stay composed, recalling Valda’s carlier harshness. Taking a deep breath, she clutched Byron’s arm, her eyes a mix of anxiety and determination. “He’s my husband. We’re legally married- papers and all.”
Byron glanced at her hand gripping his arin. Her slender fingers trembled, betraying the fear she was trying to mask. He noticed but didn’t pull away, standing firm beside her.
“Have you completely lost it?” Valda’s face twisted with rage. She lunged forward, trying to slap some sense into Maeve.
Maeve quickly stepped behind Byron, using him as a shield, her voice firm. “I’m married now. There’s no way I’m marrying Jeff. Return the Graves family’s engagement gifts. From now on, I’m staying away from Jeff. This is my marriage, my life, and I’ll make my own decisions.”
Valda’s face flushed with fury, her lips quivering. “Fine, ignore me all you want. You’ll regret this!” With one last furious glare, she stormed out.
Maeve stood there, feeling an unexpected wave of relief wash over her. Saying “no” to Valda hadn’t been as terrifying as she’d imagined; the hardest part was just summoning the courage to do it.
Once they were in the elevator, Maeve realized she was still gripping Byron’s arm. Embarrassed, she quickly let go and flashed an apologetic smile. “Sorry for dragging you into this mess.”
Byron casually slid his hand into his pocket, his tone cool. “Was that your mother?”
Maeve nodded, hesitating before adding, “My dad owed the Graves family a favor, so they’ve always expected me to marry my ex.”
Byron made a noncommittal sound, but his mind wandered back to their earlier visit to city hall. ‘So, her family pushed her into this, and that’s why she came to me? The timing seems a bit too perfect. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Until he could figure out whether Maeve showing up that night was just a coincidence or something more calculated, he wasn’t about to trust her blindly.
The elevator dinged at the tenth floor, and once inside the apartment, Maeve headed straight to the kitchen with the groceries.
Tying an apron around her waist, she glanced over at Byron. “I’m making soup tonight–it’ll help with your recovery. Good for your injury.”
Byron’s expression flickered slightly as he remembered the breakfast she had made earlier. ‘Can she even make soup that’s edible?‘ he wondered.
“No need,” Byron said flatly. “I’m not a fan of soup.”
Maeve’s voice was soft but persistent. “Is there anything you actually like?”
Byron didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “Even if you cook it, I’m not touching it.”
Maeve just smiled, undeterred. “So, should I just throw everything in and hope for the best?”
Byron let out a sigh, too exhausted to argue with her stubbornness. He made his way to the sofa, collapsed into it, crossed his legs, and began rubbing his temples. Right then, his phone rang.
21:48 Thu, Dec 262 a
