Chapter 13
Byron impatiently shook Macve’s hand off, his face darkening with irritation.
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Maeve’s cheeks burned with a mix of anger and embarrassment. I just finished cooking and was about to call you to eat. I didn’t know you’d fallen asleep and looked so pale. I was worried you had a fever, so I checked. That’s all–no big deal.”
Maybe she had crossed a line. Byron obviously hated being touched, even on his forehead. Since he was still recovering, Maeve figured it was better to back off and respect his space.
“You’re making too much of it,” Byron snapped, rising to his feet though he winced slightly as a headache throbbed behind
his eyes.
Despite the discomfort, he refused to show any sign of weakness, especially after brushing off Maeve’s concern.
“Let’s eat. You must be hungry too,” Maeve suggested, trying to ease the tension.
At the dining table, a steaming pot of creamy chicken soup took center stage, surrounded by four other dishes. The rich aroma filled the room, making their mouths water.
As Byron settled into his seat, a nagging feeling tugged at him, like something was off, but he couldn’t quite figure out what.
Maeve quickly ladled out a bowl of soup and set it in front of him with a smile. “Try this. I added a ton of herbs–bet you’ll love it.”
Byron took a sip of the chicken soup, the rich and warming flavor spreading through him. But then his eyes narrowed as realization hit him.
He shot Maeve a cold, suspicious look. “Did you screw with my breakfast on purpose this morning?”
The soup was fantastic, a clear sign that Maeve knew her way around a kitchen. But that god–awful breakfast this morning had been deliberate.
Maeve froze for a moment, her mind going blank under Byron’s icy stare. A chill ran down her spine as she stammered, “That was an accident. My cooking is hit or miss; sometimes things just don’t turn out right.”
“Maeve, don’t push your luck,” Byron warned, his expression turning icy.
Maeve looked up at him, her lashes fluttering slightly. “You were the one who insulted me first yesterday. I just played a little prank to get back at you. Compared to the people who’ve actually hurt you, all I did was serve you a shitty breakfast. Is that really so unforgivable?”
Her voice was calm, almost gentle, despite the sharpness of her words. But beneath that calm exterior, there was a simmering anger in every word she spoke.
Byron’s frustration, which had been boiling over moments ago, started to simmer down.
The tension at the dinner table hung in the air like a storm cloud only beginning to lift when they finally got up to head for the showers.
Maeve handed Byron a waterproof bandage, then retreated to the living room, giving him the bathroom first.
She settled down on the carpet beside the sofa, finishing up her resume on her laptop. Once done, she saved it and closed the lid. Her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
She glanced at the screen and saw it was her father, Scott, calling She ignored the call, watching as a series of texts from him appeared instead.
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21:48 Thu, Dec 26
Chapter 13
Scott: [Come home tomorrow.]
Scott: [Forget about Jeff for now. We need to know how you really feel.]
Maeve was taken aback by the uncharacteristically gentle tone of Scott’s messages.
‘Maybe now that I’m married to someone else, they’re willing to set aside their anger and actually hear me out, she mused.
Maeve replied: [Fine.]
She checked the time–Byron had been in the bathroom for nearly an hour.
Despite the awkward dinner, he was still recovering and might be running a fever.
Worry tugged at her, and she hesitated before walking over to the bathroom door. She knocked softly. “Mr. McDaniel, are you okay in there?”
When she knocked several more times and still got no response her concern deepened. She knocked harder, and just as she was about to knock again, the door suddenly swung open.
Byron stood there, wrapped in a silk bathrobe. His damp brown hair clung to his forehead, and his tired eyes made him seem distant and unreachable. His face was pale, his expression pinched with irritation.
“What the hell do you want?” he rasped, his voice rough and edged with annoyance.
Maeve’s eyes unintentionally drifted to his partially exposed, sun–kissed chest, and she quickly looked away, her face flushing. She took a step back, stumbling over her words, “I–I thought you might have fainted or something.”
Byron’s temples throbbed with pain, and his abdominal wound still ached. His patience was running thin. When Maeve stepped closer again, whether intentionally or not, he snapped.
He grabbed her arm and pushed her against the wall, his brown eyes flashing with a cold mockery. “So, you’re saying this time it wasn’t on purpose? You were actually worried about me?”
A wave of panic surged through Maeve. “Mr. McDaniel…”
“What the hell are you so afraid of?” Byron’s fingers tightened around her chin, his voice cold and mocking. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Fine, I’ll give it to you.”
Before Maeve could pull away, Byron’s head swooped down. His lips were hot and insistent as they crashed against hers with brutal force. He bit down on her lower lip, his kiss harsh and punishing, like he was determined to make her pay.
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The heat of his mouth burned against her cool skin, like molten lava pouring over ice, the sensation almost unbearable.
Maeve winced at the pain, her hands balled into fists as she used every bit of strength to push him away. But he was like a brick wall–unmoving and unbreakable.
21:48 Thu, Dec 26
