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Chapter 14
Even Maeve, who almost never lost her composure, felt a surge of anger boiling up inside her.
Why does helping him always come back to bite me? Is kindness really just a mistake? she thought, her eyes burning with frustration.
All Maeve could feel was the sting on her lips. The moment Byron pulled away from that degrading kiss, her hand flew instinctively ready to slap him.
- up.
But Byron caught her wrist effortlessly, a mocking grin spreading across his face as he met her furious gaze. “What? Want another kiss?”
Maeve’s cheeks flushed bright red as she yanked her hand away. You bastard! Why do people like you even exist? Every time I try to help, you just turn it into shit!” Her voice shook with rage barely keeping her frustration in check.
Byron straightened up, his eyes icy as he locked onto hers. “If you think I’m just gonna let you down, then do us both a favor and stay the hell out of my way. Don’t think I’m blind to your little games.”
She was so furious she could barely get the words out; her anger was reaching a boiling point. She should never have been so soft–hearted–even if he dropped dead from that fever, it wouldn’t have been her problem.
“Fine! If I ever give a damn about you again, I’ll be the biggest fool on earth!” Maeve snapped, her face tight with anger as she stormed out of the room.
That night, Maeve would have gladly crashed on the couch rather than share a bed with Byron. But with the chilly autumn air and the unheated living room, it wasn’t a real option. She’d probably end up with a cold by morning if she stayed out there.
As it got closer to eleven, and Byron was supposed to be asleep, Maeve slipped back into the bedroom. Wait a minute–this is my place. Why am I sneaking around?‘
With that thought, she dropped the pretense and marched straight to the closet to grab a blanket.
As she rummaged through the closet, a faint groan of pain caught her ear. She bit her lip, trying to ignore it, grabbing the blanket and heading for the door.
But just as she was about to
the dim light from the bedside lamp highlighted Byron’s face, contorted in pain.
He lay there quietly, his usually sharp, cold features softened into an expression of discomfort. His lips were flushed red, his
tightly knitted together. There wasn’t a trace of peace on his face. face pale and drawn, and his brows
‘Is he running a fever?‘ Maeve wondered, torn between checking on him and remembering his past rotten behavior. ‘Maybe it’s best to just leave him be. I’d be asking for trouble otherwise.
She bit her lower lip, clutchin
the blanket tightly as she quietly slipped room.
out of the
Less than five minutes later, unable to shake off the worry gnawing at her, Maeve returned with a thermometer, her face a
mix of reluctant concern and dete
She told herself it was just her good deed for the day. If he tried anything funny again, she’d make sure to fight back without hesitation.
But Byron didn’t move completely out of it.
an inch
temperature.
He didn’t flinch or even bat an eyelid, as if he was
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