At the apartment, Maeve took a short afternoon nap. After waking, she submitted some design drafts and checked her email for updates. Still no replies to her resumes. Even the notification of her final payment couldn't lift her spirits. Freelance work was just a side hustle; her real passion was design. But she worried, "At this rate, will I ever land a full-time job?" With a sigh, she glanced at the clock and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

That afternoon, she'd used some of her freelance earnings to buy high-quality ingredients, planning a nice meal for Byron. But even after the food grew cold, he hadn't come home. When the doorbell finally rang, Maeve rushed to answer it, only to find a drink delivery. She took the drinks to the table, muttering, "If he's working late, he could at least let me know." She'd put a lot of effort into this dinner.

After eating alone, Maeve rested before heading out for her nightly run. This area was far from her old apartment, so even a persistent stalker would have difficulty following her. Still, she remained cautious, sticking to well-lit, populated routes.

Meanwhile, in his car, Archer glanced at the heavy traffic and turned to Byron in the backseat. "Mr. McDaniel, this road gets jammed at night. We'll be stuck for a while." A last-minute international video conference had kept them at the office. Otherwise, they could have avoided rush hour.

"Okay," Byron responded, leaning against the window, staring out disinterestedly.

"Mr. McDaniel, you haven't had dinner. Should I book a table at your usual restaurant?" Archer asked.

Without looking up, Byron replied, "No need. I'll eat at home."

"Understood."

Then, he saw a familiar figure jogging past—Maeve's unmistakable swaying black ponytail. Raising an eyebrow, Byron told the driver and Archer to return without him. He got out and walked toward her. Both the driver and Archer were puzzled, wondering if Mr. McDaniel really chose to walk home to avoid traffic.

Maeve, distracted by a fast-food restaurant, slowed down and stared.

"What are you doing out here?" A low, familiar voice startled her. She turned to see Byron. "Mr. McDaniel, you're done with work?"

"Yeah." With one hand in his pocket, Byron glanced at the nearby fast-food stalls, his expression disapproving. "Don't tell me you're planning to eat this."

"What do you mean, 'this'? It's delicious!" Maeve retorted. She bought two small pizzas and handed him one.

"I don't want it," Byron flatly refused. "I'm not hungry."

Maeve shrugged and took a bite of both. "More for me. It's so good!" She smiled contentedly.

Byron scoffed. "You always reward yourself with junk food after a run. Are you exercising for fitness or to indulge afterward?" Maeve's smile faded. The pizzas suddenly felt heavy.

Frustrated, she pouted. "Why do you always rain on my parade? Can't you wait until I'm done eating?" She wanted to pretend she didn't know better.

Byron shook his head, about to speak, when he noticed something in a nearby store window's reflection: a group of shady-looking men, possibly concealing weapons, watching them.

His gaze turned icy. Are these men after me or Maeve? he thought.

"Maeve," he said seriously.

She looked up, confused. "What is it?"

"Stop eating. We're being followed."

Startled, Maeve began to turn. Byron quickly put a hand on her head, saying softly but firmly, "Don't look. Run. Now." He grabbed her hand and led her swiftly through the crowd.

The men followed. The street was crowded, but as they neared the end, the crowd thinned. Maeve had lost her pizza. Dragged along by Byron, she wasn't sure how far they'd run. Her lungs burned; she was gasping for air, already exhausted from her run.

"Wait... Mr. McDaniel... can't... keep going..."

Byron's brow furrowed. "Troublesome." The men were closing in; a dead-end fence blocked their path. Byron stopped, scooped Maeve into his arms, and vaulted the fence, landing smoothly on the other side. Maeve clung to him. The men hesitated at the height and detoured. Byron's long legs were advantageous. Even with Maeve, he easily outpaced them, finding cover behind a flowerbed. Maeve was about to climb down when he pressed a hand on her shoulder, whispering, "Stay still." She heard the men approaching, muttering angrily. "Damn it, we almost had them." "Enough whining! We need to find that woman and report back to Mr. Graves."

Maeve thought, Mr. Graves? Could they mean Jeff? Her eyes widened. Are these men sent by Jeff to capture me? What could he possibly want now? She stiffened in Byron's arms, pressing closer. He could smell her hair—the same scent as his shampoo. His eyes darkened.

Maeve, oblivious, waited for the men to leave. As she turned to ask if it was safe, her lips brushed against his. Her eyes flew open in shock. Byron was taken aback; his irritation flared. Sensing she was pulling away, he firmly pressed her head back. His eyes were dark and intense.

"Maeve, do you just enjoy getting under my skin?" His deep voice was dangerous. He captured her lips in a forceful, dominating kiss.

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