Chapter 491

Clem placed a handkerchief on the table. "A little kid gave this to me. Take a look."

Byron glanced at it casually, noticing the familiar daisy embroidery in the bottom left corner. He frowned, looking at Maeve's profile. She even gave this man a handkerchief? he thought.

Maeve was also startled by the old handkerchief. The clumsy embroidery was remarkably similar to her own early attempts, but she wasn't sure. Then she saw it—the rose's branches and leaves subtly framed the letters J and S. Only she would hide her initials so childishly in the pattern. But why is my handkerchief in Clem's hands? she wondered.

"Clem, who gave you this?" Maeve asked.

Clem swallowed his fish, thinking for a moment. "I fell on campus during my third year of university, and a little girl gave it to me. She's the person I mentioned wanting to find. Does she live at 25 Bluemoon Alley?"

"You even guessed that? You're sharp," Clem said, smiling.

Maeve held her breath, avoiding Byron's gaze. Her lips moved. "Clem, it's been so long, but I don't think I've asked… Which university did you attend?"

"Kleymond University. I went overseas to study in my third year."

Maeve vaguely heard Byron's low "Heh," and her heart trembled. It can't be. It shouldn't be this coincidental. I've known Clem for so long. If he were my high school crush, I'd remember him. It must be a coincidence, she thought. Maeve gulped. "Clem, are you close to that little girl? Did you come looking for her this time?"

Rarely so interested in his affairs, Clem didn't hide anything. He looked at the vase and told her everything.

A few years ago, Clem didn't remember clearly. He'd befriended a small, thin girl who looked like a middle schooler. She always had handmade gifts that surprised him, so he remembered her well. He even considered sponsoring her.

When she heard Clem describe the girl as thin and fond of handicrafts, Maeve felt a chill. In high school, lacking money but possessing a creative spirit, she'd made small, inexpensive handicrafts. And because she was poor, she was malnourished, often mistaken for a junior high student. She knew then that Clem was talking about her. She never expected she'd been so bold as to write him a love letter.

Clem glanced at her, catching her excited reaction. He was puzzled but didn't ask.

"It was for me. Only when she said goodbye and gave me the letter did I realize her feelings," he said. Clem sighed. "I couldn't have any other thoughts about a junior high student. I rejected her, told her to study hard, not overthink things."

He'd treated her like a younger sister, even pitied her, keeping the handkerchief as a reminder of that pitiful, cute girl who'd brought him brief joy.

He shouldn't have explained. Maeve was dumbfounded. Her long-sought crush was Clem. She'd liked him in high school, even aimed for Kleymond University because of him. And she'd been rejected, just as the note described. It wasn't a coincidence.

But… why Clem? she thought.

Maeve wanted to bury her head. She'd considered Clem a good friend, and he her. How could this be?

She suddenly regretted calling Byron. If he hadn't come, she could have digested this over dinner, pretended nothing happened. Clem hadn't recognized her. But now…

"Heh," Byron snorted again, the cold air around him almost palpable. His calm demeanor hinted at simmering rage. A spark could ignite a wildfire.

Maeve’s heart trembled. The pork ribs were tasteless. She wanted to escape.

After dinner, after saying goodbye to Clem, Maeve was pulled into Byron’s car before she could defend herself.

She felt a sudden chill. The zipper on her dress was pulled down, her dress falling to her feet.

Maeve quickly pressed on Byron's wrist. "Wait… let me explain. I only found out tonight it was Clem. I never suspected it before."

"You keep calling him Clem, so intimately," Byron bit her shoulder. His eyes were dark and gloomy. "You exchanged gifts, a love letter. Do you think I’ll believe nothing happened between you?"

Maeve shrank back, but the car door was behind her. His body pressed against hers, leaving no room to struggle. She tried to explain, but he bit her lip, silencing her.

The car's temperature rose, the air thick and unbearable. Fog condensed on the window, reflecting two intertwined shadows in the dim light. Their breaths were hot, igniting the atmosphere. They lost control.

Maeve's skirt was piled at her ankles. Her hands were in Byron’s arm. Her eyes were half-closed, her frantic heartbeat slowing after its peak. Her red face looked pitiful, but Byron wouldn't let go.

"Byron McDaniel," Maeve’s voice was hoarse, almost a growl. "Get out!"

Byron kissed her ear. His eyes were lustful, but unyielding. "What's your relationship with Clem?"

"I told you, we're friends," Maeve’s eyelashes fluttered, her voice trembling. "If there was anything, would I have asked you to dinner, asked him about his past in front of you?" She dared do it because she had a clear conscience.