Byron seemed oblivious to the situation. As he watched her, her eyes closed, long lashes fluttering gently like a butterfly's wings. Her pale cheeks were tinged with a soft blush; her small, delicate lips were pressed together in a shy expression.

His eyes darkened as he leaned closer, whispering in Maeve's ear, "Maeve, if you sweet-talk me a little, I might just let you take a peek." Maeve was taken aback.

"Who wants to look at you?" Maeve's face flushed crimson as she snapped, frustrated, "Do you feel out of sorts if you don't flirt with me for a day?" [The promotional text has been removed.]

Her skin was so delicate that such comments always sent a blush spreading from her face to her neck and shoulders, a lovely cherry blossom pink. Normally an eight, in these moments she was a perfect ten. Byron's gaze lingered on her soft, slender neck before he casually looked away.

After they left the bathroom, Maeve became curious. "Mr. McDaniel, what are you going to do about the bathroom when I'm at work?" she asked. Since he disliked being touched by others, she doubted he'd let a nurse help. She thought, So, what is he going to do? "Then I'll just have to manage on my own," he answered.

Byron picked up a magazine, his long fingers flipping through it leisurely, as if unconcerned.

Annoyed, Maeve asked, "Then why did you need me to help just now?"

Without looking up, Byron replied, "Why should I struggle when I have someone to help?"

Maeve was speechless. He had her there. Just then, her phone buzzed on the couch.

Maeve saw a message from her landlord at Pinehurst Apartments. The landlord said a package had arrived a couple of days ago and would be discarded if unclaimed.

Maeve was puzzled. She'd collected all her packages from that address and updated her information. How could something still be sent there? But the landlord sent a photo; it was addressed to her. The sender's details were blurry.

Since Pinehurst Apartments wasn't far, Maeve went to pick it up. Fifteen minutes later, she returned with the package, opening it as she walked. "I don't even remember ordering this. How did it end up at my old apartment?" she said. Byron, reviewing documents, heard her; something clicked. His expression turned instantly cold.

"Maeve," he began to warn her, but she had already opened the package. A pile of photos spilled out, scattering across the floor.

At first, Maeve thought she was mistaken, but a closer look confirmed it. The explicit photos were of her. The background was her old apartment's living room. Maeve's mind went blank; her face drained of color, her hands trembling as she tried to gather them. She had no memory of ever being photographed like this. She would never undress in the living room, let alone be so exposed. She thought, But if Jeff could secretly hide cameras in my dolls, it wasn't impossible that he drugged me and took these photos without my knowledge. She frantically scrambled to gather the photos, desperate to keep Byron from seeing them. In her haste, she accidentally grabbed a small knife from the package, cutting her hand.

But Maeve didn't notice; she was consumed by shock. "Maeve, calm down!"

Byron got out of bed, gritting his teeth against the pain from his wounds as he half-knelt to ease the pressure on his injured knee. He grabbed her wrist, noticing the bleeding. Frustration and anger flickered in his eyes.

"These photos are fake. Look closely!"

Maeve clung to the photos, oblivious to her pain. It wasn't until Byron spoke that the emptiness in her eyes cleared.

"Fake?"

"Don't tell me you don't recognize your own body?" Byron's voice was assertive. "Look closely. The only thing real in these photos is your face; the rest is all fake."

She thought, Only my face is real… Maeve stared at his stern expression, then snapped out of her daze and examined the photos. She had been too panicked; with Jeff's history, she'd immediately feared the worst. As she examined them more closely, she couldn't spot obvious signs of editing, but she knew her own body. Her waist was slimmer, her shoulders more delicate than those in the photos. Most importantly, the woman in the photos had a mole on her lower back—something she didn't have. Noticing these inconsistencies, Maeve's mind settled, and she regained her composure.

She looked up to speak to Byron, only to realize he'd gotten out of bed. Her expression changed. "Mr. McDaniel, you shouldn't be getting out of bed with your injuries!" She quickly helped him back onto the bed, checking his injuries. "How do your knee and right hand feel? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?" Getting out of bed had clearly caused him pain. And after seeing her cut hand, he'd taken extra steps, further straining his knee.

But he showed no discomfort, except for a slightly pale face. "I'm fine. Don't make a fuss."

"But your face…"

Byron calmly cut her off. "Pick up all those photos and put them in a bag. They're an eyesore."

Maeve gathered the photos, carefully checking the area. Even if doctored, if they got out, they could seriously damage her reputation. After stuffing them into a black bag, Maeve turned to Byron. "Mr. McDaniel, I'm going to throw these out."

She looked down at her hand and saw the blood had smeared. "I'll burn them when I get back to the apartment."

Byron glanced at her bloodied hand, his brow furrowing. "Do you not feel any pain?"

Maeve hadn't noticed, but now she felt a sharp, throbbing pain. Luckily, they were in a hospital; a nurse treated and bandaged her wound.

After the nurse left, Maeve stared at her hand, hesitating before speaking. "Mr. McDaniel, how did you know those photos were fake?"

He'd figured it out faster than she did. It was as if he'd known from the moment he saw them. And the way he'd called out to her before she opened the package was also strange.