Hearing Jeff's words, Maeve smiled and said, "Yes. Although you only have four dollars on your card, your shamelessness is indeed more impressive than Byron's!" Byron watched her with interest, intrigued by her sharp tongue. He suddenly remembered a video he'd seen a fortnight ago: Maeve, bullied by Jeff and a group of people, terrified but still daring to stab a knife into Jeff's hand, even threatening to perish with her attackers. It was a ruthlessness inherent in her nature.

From their first meeting, Byron knew she wasn't gentle, but he found her sharp tongue refreshing when directed at outsiders. Jeff, nearly beside himself with anger, almost left, but didn't. He couldn't believe Maeve had such poor taste—preferring a driver to him. "In what way am I inferior to a driver? Perhaps it's as Scott said—this driver is an actor she found!" he thought.

Maeve hadn't expected Jeff to endure. He'd just lost a bet with Byron and lost face; yet, he controlled his anger, remaining to chat and laugh with her parents. Perhaps, he didn't believe she and Byron were truly married.

Secretly pulling Byron into the bathroom, she whispered, "Mr. McDaniel, don't you think Jeff doesn't believe we're husband and wife? Otherwise, why would he stay? Isn't he embarrassed?" He looked at her and replied, "Maybe he hasn't given up on you?"

After lunch, Byron looked down at Maeve. It wasn't difficult to predict Jeff's plan. If he could be the heir, he wouldn't willingly be a powerless man. Even that sickly Neville tried several times to oust me as CEO of the McDaniel Group, Byron thought. Even though I look down on a small family like the Graves, the benefits are appealing.

Maeve, extremely depressed, said, "It's not that he hasn't given up on me, it's that he hasn't given up on inheriting his company. How can he stop pestering me?" Byron saw something out of the corner of his eye, smiled ambiguously, and said calmly, "I have a way to make him retreat. It depends on whether you're willing to cooperate." Maeve's eyes lit up, and she hurriedly nodded. "Of course I am! What—"

Before she finished, Byron kissed her. Maeve's eyes widened; she instinctively tried to pull away, but Byron held the back of her head, forcing her forward. There were blueberries from the dessert; while Byron was questioned by Scott and Valda, she secretly ate many. Her mouth was filled with their sweet, slightly tart fragrance, inexplicably addictive to Byron. He wanted more.

Jeff angrily smashed his phone. Two thousand dollars? What the hell? His assets had shrunk significantly since his last gambling spree with Ray. Accustomed to extravagance, he'd never imagined not having enough money. He never thought Wallace would be so heartless as to cut off his income. Unlike his elder brother, Nestor, who could invest and conduct business, Jeff relied solely on family money; he couldn't even gather four thousand dollars. If he hadn't bought flowers and gifts to harass Maeve, he might have had more. He hadn't expected this outcome; he remained in the dining room, so everyone heard his assistant's words. Scott and Valda were shocked. Wallace was cruel; two thousand dollars a month wasn't enough for Jeff, let alone for giving them money. He's been abandoned by Wallace, they thought, quickly weighing their options and realizing Jeff might not be as wealthy as Byron.

Maeve didn't care about Jeff's expression. She said directly, "Jeff, do you still want to continue competing? Sum all the money in your account and compete with my husband." Jeff looked at her gloomily, "Don't be smug. As long as I'm in the Graves family for a day, I'm a hundred times better than your husband!"

It was as if he wanted to plunder all the sweetness from her mouth before stopping. Maeve's head was deprived of oxygen, her body going limp. She kept retreating until her back was against the cold bathroom door, facing his tall, unmoving body. She was a lamb caught in a wolf's mouth.

Finally, Byron let her breathe. She pushed him away. He held her wrist, whispering, "Jeff's there. Don't you want him to believe we're really husband and wife?" Maeve stiffened, glancing out from the corner of her eye. Sure enough, Jeff stood behind a potted plant. No wonder Byron suddenly kissed her—he'd seen Jeff peeking.

Suppressing strange feelings, Maeve softly asked, "We've been kissing for so long. He should believe it, right?"

"He hasn't left yet. Do you want to ask?" Byron said.

"I don't think so," Maeve said.

A faint smile touched Byron's eyes. "Then hug my waist tightly."

Maeve guessed his plan. Her face burned, but she endured the embarrassment and hugged his waist. As she drew closer, she smelled his faint fragrance. This time, he didn't kiss her lips, but slowly kissed her forehead, eyes, and ears—much more reserved than before. Maeve clenched her fists. She knew he was feigning intimacy to dispel Jeff's suspicions, but her heart still skipped a beat. Her earlobe was sensitive; when Byron's lips touched it, her body tensed. Her cheek pressed against his chest, burning. "Mr. McDaniel, hasn't he left yet?" she whispered, trembling.

Byron didn't look. "No."

Maeve pursed her lips, enduring, pretending to feel nothing. But Byron saw her behavior. He raised her chin with his long fingers, rubbing it gently, staring at her. Maeve's heart skipped a beat; she wanted to retreat.

"Hold on tight. Didn't you eat your fill just now?" Byron reminded her casually, looking like a gentleman. But his kiss was domineering and frightening.

Before Maeve could speak, she was kissed again.

(The extraneous promotional material at the end has been removed.)