The Heir's Secret Bride

Maeve's shoulders trembled slightly, and it took her a moment to gather her thoughts. "I was afraid you'd be angry...

Byron let out a low, cold laugh. "You think hiding it would keep me from being mad?"

Maeve lowered her eyes, her mouth tasting bitter. 'It was an accident. I'm panicking inside, so scared I don't know what to do."

Ever since she found out she was pregnant, there hadn't been a single moment of calm.

Fear, confusion, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness hit her all at once, as if she had tasted a hundred different emotions in a single day.

She had originally planned to hide it from him for a while longer, but she hadn't expected him to find out so quickly.

Looking at her panicked expression, Byron's anger began to subside, though his voice remained cold and harsh. "So you stressed yourself out to the point of getting gastritis? Impressive. Maeve nodded numbly, listening, but something suddenly struck her as off. 'Gastritis?"

Byron unfolded the report in his hand and gave a derisive snort. "Did you think I wouldn't find out if you kept it hidden? Try drinking alcohol around me again, and we'll see."

He'd suspected something that night when she was so violently ill. He just hadn't thought it was this.

Maeve, still bewildered, blinked at him until her eyes landed on the words on the report.

Then it hit her. She had gone to the gastroenterologist before her gynecological exam!

The pregnancy had shocked her so much that she'd forgotten about the earlier diagnosis entirely.

Realizing this, she flushed with embarrassment, thinking Byron had caught her about the pregnancy when it was really just the gastritis.

Maeve exhaled deeply, her heart, which had been racing, slowly settling back in her chest.

"It's just gastritis. It can be treated. Don't be so angry," she said.

At that, Byron's eyes darkened further. "Just gastritis?"

Maeve shrank back slightly. "Don't you have stomach problems yourself? Yours still hasn't healed...

"Say that again?" Byron reached out, his hand gripping the back of her neck lightly. The cool touch sent shivers down her spine, making her instinctively want to step back, Terrified, Maeve raised her hands in surrender. "I swear I won't drink again! If I do, I'll be a puppy!"

Byron's expression grew colder and more withdrawn.

It was true that he also had stomach problems.

But he couldn't stand watching her neglect hers.

It was unknown if he had thought of something unpleasant in the past, but his eyes were filled with coldness and gloom.

Maeve thought he was still mad at her for hiding the stomach bug. She dwelled on it for a moment, then took a chance and kissed him on his cool lips.

Her kissing skills werent the same anymore,

Even the slowest of rabbits can learn from being petted and kissed by a lion every day.

And Maeve was smart enough to pick up a few things.

She followed Byron's lead each time he kissed her, licking and kissing his bottom lip, sucking on it like a lollipop until his breaths gradually fell out of rhythm.

Then she pried open his teeth, letting the tip of her tongue slip.

Byron's eyes darkened, and the long arms around her waist tightened like cast iron.

It was the first time Maeve had taken the initiative to kiss him.

Her checks flushed as red as roses, and her eyelashes fluttered, as if she were trying desperately to hide her blush. She mimicked the moves he usually used to tease her, attempting to please him in return, though her effort was adorably clumsy Byron's heart suddenly felt as though something was tickling it a soft, tingling sensation.

The look in his eyes lost its innocence.

Maeve quickly lost the upper hand and was pressed deeper into the couch, his kisses growing fierce and intense, barely giving her room to breathe.

His scorching kisses trailed over her face, easily stirring a storm of sensations in Maeve, who trembled beneath him, sensitive to every touch.

Byron's grip became heavier, leaving red marks on her waist.

Tsk," his voice was low and hoarse, "do you even have any bones?"

She was so soft, he worried he might pinch her too hard.

Maeve's face flushed even deeper, her watery eyes glaring at him. "Of course I do! You don't need to check so thoroughly!

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Remembering the pregnancy test, Maeve snapped back to her senses and hurriedly grabbed his hand. "Wait! My period hasn't ended yet!" Byron's expression remained unchanged. "I didn't forget."

"Then... then let go of me?" Maeve said.

"Not now." Byron smirked at her. "You dared to tease me even though you're still on your cycle. Wouldn't it be a waste if I didn't collect some interest?" Maeve stifled her frustration, pouting as she closed her eyes, resigned to whatever he was going to do.

Once one lost sight, the other senses became even sharper-sometimes unbearably so.

In the end. Maeve, who hadn't moved much, was drenched in sweat, as if she'd just run a marathon.

Byron carried her back to the master bedroom and laid her down on the bed.

Looking at his expressionless face, Maeve felt a little uneasy. "Byron, are you still angry?"

Byron lifted his eyelids, his voice low and cold. "You realize you made me angry?"

Maeve smiled awkwardly. I didn't want to get sick either. I promise I won't touch alcohol again."

"Come back to the manor with me. Byron suddenly said.

"What?" Maeve was surprised.

"Dr. Foster is an expert. It'll be easier for you to recover if you stay there." Byron's tone was calm but left no room for argument

Maeve instantly tensed up.

She had witnessed Harold's skills before-an expert in both traditional and modern medicine.

If he saw Maeve, he might figure out her pregnancy in an instant.

"I don't want to stay there," Maeve said, lowering her eyes, resisting the idea. "I can take care of myself. There's no need to bother Dr. Foster."

Byron's dark eyes locked on her. "You don't trust his medical expertise?"

"Of course I do!" Maeve said.

Then give me a reason, Byron said.

Maeve furrowed her brow, her mind racing.

"What excuse could possibly convince Byron not to take me back to the manor? she thought.

But she couldn't think of anything, and her face was slightly pale as discomfort stirred in her stomach.

Byron's expression tightened as he watched her unease.

Is my manor really that repulsive to her? Or is it... he thought.

"Maeve," Byron said quietly, 'do you still think it would be better to marry a chauffeur than to marry me?"

Whether it was never asking him for gifts, never turning to him when work became difficult, or treating his manor like a hotel she could leave as soon as she felt better-all of it pointed to one thing: she couldn't get past the difference in their social status, which was why she was so clear with him.

Maeve froze at his question, her fingers gripping the corner of the quilt.

If he'd asked her two months ago, her answer would have been clear.

Marrying a chauffeur would have been much simpler than marrying the heir to a grand estate.

But now....

"I don't know," Maeve admitted, shaking her head. Then, under Byron's sudden, icy stare, she added playfully, "I guess I wouldn't know the difference unless I married a chauffeur in my second marriage, would I?"