After Alex finished speaking, Marve saw Byron's face instantly stiffen. She immediately felt a bad premonition. Just as she was about to speak, Byron suddenly pulled her close and, tilting his head slightly, kissed her demandingly. Maeve's eyes widened in disbelief; her heart skipped a beat. "Has he gone mad? To do this on such an occasion?"

She hurriedly tried to push Byron away, but she couldn't move him an inch. Instead, a sharp pain shot through her lower lip. The next second, he pulled away, leaving only a slight chill and a trace of blood on her lips. Byron didn't look at her; his cold gaze fell on Alex. "I don't need her permission."

Then, Byron wrapped his arm around Maeve's waist and forcefully pulled her away. Alex remained where he stood, pale and frowning.

After a while, a message appeared on his phone. It was from Maeve: "I'm sorry about what happened today. You see, he's not my uncle. I'll explain when I have the chance. But thank you for keeping me company tod…" The message was unfinished, likely sent before she could complete it—as if her phone had been snatched away.

This was indeed the case. Alex didn't know Byron's true identity and had always believed him to be Maeve's uncle. Seeing the scene, his worldview likely crumbled.

Maeve, taking advantage of Byron's movement to the other side of the car, grabbed her phone to send Alex a message of explanation. Before she could finish, however, Byron snatched her phone. She accidentally hit send.

"Give me back my phone!" Maeve's face flushed with anger. She reached for his raised hand, but Byron grabbed her hand, pinning her down. He glanced at the still-lit phone screen, the message clearly visible.

Soon, a new message appeared. Alex replied: "Maeve, are you okay? If you need my help, please tell me. I'm worried about you. Also, I meant every word I said to you just now. I hope you can consider it." His words held a unique gentleness.

Reading this, Byron's face grew sinister and cold. "Maeve, have I been too soft on you recently?"

His voice was so cold that Maeve shuddered. "I only refused to go back with you. What's there to be angry about? I didn't even argue when you treated me so roughly—in front of an acquaintance, no less!" The thought made her want to disappear.

"If you don't want to go back with me, then where do you want to go?" A mocking smile played on Byron's lips. "Stay and accept that man's proposal?" Byron couldn't accept Maeve even considering another man while he was still alive. Maeve's eyes widened in shock. "Oh, that's rich. You're so full of yourself. Did you kiss me just now to threaten Alex?"

"So what if I did?" Byron's tone was firm. "He dares to covet my woman?"

Maeve was furious. "Byron, you're going too far. He only confessed; he didn't do anything. Even if he was rejected, I should be the one to do it. What right do you have to do that for me, and in that way?"

Byron narrowed his eyes. "Maeve, are you protecting him? Have you forgotten who you are?"

"I'm not," Maeve looked up stubbornly. "I'm afraid you're the one who forgot. I'm only your wife in name, not your pet! I have my own private space. What right do you have to interfere?"

His anger ignited. Maeve opened the car door to leave, but Byron's strong arms pulled her back, pinning her against the seat. "Byron!" she frowned angrily. "Let go of me!"

Byron sneered, saying nothing. His palm circled the back of her neck, pinching her chin to force her head to turn. Then, he kissed her, almost ravaging her lips, as if this was the only way to alleviate his hostility.

Maeve's back was pressed against his chest; her position was locked, leaving no room to struggle. She was so angry she wanted to curse, but only intermittent whimpers escaped her lips. (The next paragraph is a redundant repetition and has been removed.)

Maeve suddenly felt a chill and closed her eyes weakly. She knew Byron was angry, but he had no feelings for her, not even for their child. It was odd, then, that he was upset about Alex's confession.

Perhaps, in Byron's eyes, Maeve was a pet—a plaything to tease and deceive when happy, to discard when angry. He was a dictator.

'Who am I to him? A concubine? A sex doll?'

Various emotions overwhelmed Maeve, causing nausea and stomach pain. Her angry red face paled. She pushed Byron away, grabbing the car seat to retch. "Urgh…" The lust in Byron's eyes faded into endless coldness. "Very good, Maeve." Maeve knew he misunderstood, but her stomach churned. She retched for a long time, but couldn't vomit. She felt worse. After a while, she weakly explained, "My stomach doesn't feel good."

Byron coldly released her wrist, mockingly saying, "It seems that gynecologist is not quite the expert, huh?"

Maeve tidied her clothes and sat calmly. "Stop disrespecting his medical expertise. My appetite is low; I haven't eaten much lately. That's why I'm like this."

"Why? Don't you have to cherish something?"

"I lost my appetite because of a certain man who's always playing the Cold War," Maeve retorted without hesitation.

Byron narrowed his eyes. "Maeve, who do you think is playing the Cold War?"

"Did I stutter?" Maeve's temper flared. She looked straight at him and asked, "Who is the person who leaves me aside every time there's an argument? It can't be me, right?"

Frustrated, Maeve hit the car dashboard. "Oh, but I forgot. You're a nobleman. You can't tolerate others being impudent. You give people the cold shoulder as you please and feel entitled to everything. I expect nothing less from a pampered, tone-deaf man like you. After all, we commoners are nothing but tools, right?"

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