The Heir's Secret Bride

"Maeve, do you really think I would agree to such an unreasonalde request?" Byron's gaze darkened, his tone icy as he questioned her. "Unreasonable?" Maeve smiled. "Why is it only reasonable when Jm the one doing everything?"

She wasn't his actual maid. She had taken on these tasks out of gratitude for his letting her stay, but that didn't mean he should treat her like she was hired help. A flicker of

of sadness crossed Maeve's eyes, but she said nothing more, lowering her head to continue eating her pasta

In her haste, she ended up swallowing too quickly and started choking.

Maeve coughed so hard that tears sprang to her eyes as she fumbled for a tissue.

Byron pushed the tissue box toward her, frowning as he watched her struggle, her nose now red from crying.

He thought. Is she really this upset just because I won't help with the housework?

"Enough," Byron said, his voice firm. "It's just housework. Are you really going to cry over something so trivial?"

He

thought,

"What a ridiculous woman.

не

Maeve fina finally managed to catch her breath, missing most of what he had said. All she caught was, "It's just housework She amed to him. "So, are you going to help or not?" Byron glanced at her tear-streaked face and scoffed. "If I say no, are you going to stop cooking?"

Til still cook," Maeve said, sniffling, but only for myself." Byron was left t speechless.

Finishing her pasta, Maeve stood up. Seeing the cold expression on Byron's face, she deliberately asked. "Are you still planning to eat dinner? If you are, you can wash the dishes tonight. If not, I'll head to my room." He didn't respond.

She picked up

empty plate and started to walk away. She had taken several steps when a low, cold voice came from behind her. "Don't think you can just brush me off with a plate of pasta." Maeve's eyes twinkled with amusement, barely holding back a smile. He actually agreed.

Since he was willing to cooperate, Maeve decided to be generous and made him a full meal: two dishes and a soup.

After dinner, Byron rolled up his sleeves with a displeased expression and headed into the kitchen.

He had never washed a dish in his life, thinking, 'Maeve certainly has some nerve.

"Wear gloves and use warm water," Maeve advised as she walked over, handing him a pair of gloves. "Your right hand just healed, so it's better to avoid cold water-it could make your bones ache." She had already washed most of the dishes, and there weren't many left, so it shouldn't be too difficult.

Byron took the gloves with a frosty expression. "Leave."

Maeve shrugged and left the kitchen.

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But barely two minutes later, she heard a loud crash from the kitchen. A plate had shattered.

Maeve quickly grabbed a broom, only to hear the sound of more dishes breaking.

"Mr. Medaniel, are you washing dishes or smashing them?"

She hurried over and found the floor littered with broken shards with just one plate left in the sink.

Maeve's mouth twitched. This wouldn't happen to be... your first time washing dishes, would it?"

Byron standing at the sink turned slightly, his expression unreadable as he looked at her. "What do you think?

Maeve was momentarily speechless.

She thought,

So, how has he managed to live on his own all these years? Does he eat out every single day?

As she watched him pick up the last remaining plate in the sink, Maeve was about to warn him to be careful. The next second, that plate, too, shattered in his hands.

Byron glanced down at the shards at his feet, his brows furrowing. "It's too slippery."

Maeve couldn't help but laugh in exasperation, thinking, "What a wasteful man.

"Mr. Mcdaniel, why don't you step out? I'll clean up the mess."

Byron's expression lightened as he quickly pulled off the gloves and made his way out of the kitchen. Maeve then said, "Can Sure,

you water the plants on the balcony for me? The watering can is on the flower stand."

Byron replied lazily.

I Maeve mess in kitchen.

She thought. Was he really washing dishes, or just smashing them? Watering the plants seems simple enough-definitely more suited to him. After all, he can't just do nothing"Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

Once she finished tidying up, Maeve couldn't shake her worry and decided to check on the balcony.

The sight t that greeted her was shocking. All the plants looked like they'd been hit by a flood, completely drenched.

And there he was, holding the

Mr. Mcdaniell Maeve rushed over and snatched the watering casu by texting with the other, not even noticing the poor, waterlogged green onions bending under the weight of all that water.

can from him, distressed. "You're drowning my plants!"

She quickly tipped out the excess water from the pots, trying to salvage them.

Byron finally looked up from his phone, noticing the almost tearful expression on Maeve's face. His lips pressed into a thin line.

He suddenly remembered a few years ago when he had almost killed the roses in his courtyard by overwatering them. At that time, Archer had nervously suggested hiring someone to take care of the flowers. Since then, he hadn't bothered with those delicate roses.

Byron frowned slightly, thinking, 'Have 1 inherited my grandfather's notorious black thumb, killing everything he tried to grow?"

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"It's been dry lately. A little extra water is good for them. Byron said, trying to sound nonchalant. "They won't die."

He thought, "These vegetables can't be more delicate than my roses, right?

Maeve wasn't convinced. He couldn't even tell the difference between the plants.

But considering that he had at least tried to help, even if he didnt do it well, she didn't want to discourage him. By the time

me she

finished saving the plants on the balcony, it

t was quite late.

After a shower, feeling exhausted both physically and mentally, Maeve knocked on the door to the master bedroom.

Every night. Byron's knee and right hand needed to be massaged with medicinal oil, and since his discharge from the hospital. Maeve had been the one helping him with it. She had even watched tutorials to learn the proper technique. The overhead light in t in the master bedroom was off, leaving only the bedside lamps on, casting a warm, amber glow that gave the room a cozy, soft atmosphere. Maeve knelt i front of t of Byron, warming the oil in her the oil in her hands before gently massaging it into his still-bruised knee. only doing this because you helped me with with the dishes and the plants. Don't keep treating me like your maid," she muttered. Byron let out a low chuckle. "Does it really bother that much?"

I'm

you

Wouldn't it bother you if someone treated you like a maid?"

"It's for your own good," Byron said calmly. "The fewer people who know we were married, the safer you'll be after the divorce.

Being labeled as his maid might not sound great, but it was safer than being known as Mrs. Mcdaniel.

She thought, "Divorce. So he is already thinking about that!

Maeve felt a

t a tightness in her chest, her eyelashes fluttering as she forced a smile, "What, am I in danger of being hunted down by your enemies?" Byron didn't deny it

Maeve bit her lip, feeling as if a heavy weight was pressing on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

After a long silence, she finally spoke softly, "Since we're going to get divorced eventually, Mr. Mcdaniel, it's probably best if you stop kissing me like you did before."

Byron narrowed his dark eyes, thinking. 'We aren't even divorced yet, and she is already eager to keep herself pure for that young man with the Ferrari? How many men is she stringing along?" "Fine," Byron replied carelessly.

But despite getting the answer she wanted, Maeve found that she wasn't as happy about it as she thought she'd be.