The Heir's Secret Bride

Valda stared in disbelief. "What the hell did he just say? Maeve, you need to explain what's going on with you and this guy right now!" Maeve's shoulders shook slightly, but she forced herself to stay composed, recalling Valda's earlier harshness.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed onto 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 arm. Her slender fingers were trembling, revealing the fear she was trying to hide. He noticed but didn't pull away. "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?"Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

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'ts 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 ring.

He answered it, his voice heavy with fatigue, "What is it?"

Π

A sharp cry of pain rang out from the other end, followed by Archer's voice. "Mr. McDaniel, we've got everyone involved in the attack. What's your call?"

The sounds of groaning and crying filled the background, but Byron's face remained cold, his voice disturbingly calm, as if he were chatting about the weather. "Break their hands and legs, then toss them in the sea. Let them cool off a bit." Archer replied with his usual efficiency, "Got it. Also, their accounts were clean, but we traced the funds back to someone working under Neville McDaniel"

Neville, the so-called second heir of the McDaniel family-a parasite living off the name-was nothing more than a joke to Byron.

Byron's eyes flashed with a trace of contempt. "He's like a pest after the harvest-barely hanging on. Send the company documents I haven't reviewed yet to Pinehurst Apartments, and make sure my meds are delivered too." "Understood. I'll handle it quietly, Archer confirmed.

"Good. Byron said, ending the call. He leaned back on the sofa, closing his eyes, letting the silence wash over him,

Despite still nursing his injuries, Byron found that taking the risky step of returning to the office was worth every second. The look of shock on those shareholders' faces was priceless, and it gave him the perfect chance to see which senior executives were backing which side. It was a gamble, but it paid off big time.

As the soup simmered and the rest of dinner came together, Maeve walked into the living room to call Byron for the meal. She found him sprawled on the sofa, fast asleep, arms crossed over his chest, and his head tilted slightly to the side.

His lips, usually pale, now had an unusual flush to them-almost like he was running a fever.

Worried, Maeve moved closer, reaching out to feel his forehead. But before her fingers could make contact, a strong hand shot out, grabbing her wrist hard enough to make her wince.

"S**t!" Maeve gasped, frowning in pain.

Byron's eyes flew open, his voice low and menacing. "Didn't I f***g tell you to stay the hell away from me?"