The Heir's Secret Bride

Q 89%

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After the kiss, Maeve could feel the heat radiating off Byron even more intensely. Bryon's breath was a searing breeze, like a gust of summer wind that could scorch the skin with its heat. She even wondered if that glass of wine was testing him, or torturing her.

Byron's hot lips traced her earlobe, and after the kiss, his voice came out like a flame licking at her skin. "Admit defeat now, and I'll show you just how much I can endure with you." Maeve's throat was dry from the way he nuzzled her, and she nearly choked on his words.

She wondered, "He still remembers the bet at this point?'

"No." She replied decisively. "Why would I give up when I'm in a position to win? You'd better hold it together. If you can't, it just means you're completely lost in lust."

Byron fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his words seemed to be forced through clenched teeth. "So you think I'll lose?"

Maeve blinked, the realization dawning on her. If she won and he lost... that meant he wouldn't be able to hold on until the effects of the drug wore off, right?

What was the difference between this and her openly inviting him to Netflix and chill?novelbin

Her neck tingled, and suddenly her confidence faltered. "No, I believe you'll win. You just need to trust yourself." Byron's tone turned cold. "You'd better start praying my tolerance holds out longer than the medicine."

Maeve didn't say another word. She curled into the blanket, feeling the heat building between them. She didn't even complain about how hot it was anymore.

But this kind of close embrace... it didn't feel pleasant. Especially since Byron wasn't just holding her; he was fighting to contain his growing desire, even through the thin blanket between them.

Several times, Maeve felt his control slipping. Her heart trembled, but he never lifted the blanket to act on it.

Maeve thought, 'This man is ruthless with others, but even more so with himself.

Maeve finally saw it for herself.

Maybe it was the years of restraint before, the way he'd been holding himself back, that caused everything to come crashing down now. Desire surged within him like an unquenchable wildfire, always hungry, consuming everything in its path, never satisfied, never resting. His desire stretched out before her like an endless abyss, deep and uncharted.

And yet, Byron clung to her, refusing to let go, even when he was clearly reaching his limit. She didn't understand it.

Maeve stood in front of Bryon, her presence so magnetic that he had to summon every from crossing the line between desire and restraint.

ounce

of control to keep himself

However, he only hugged the meat bun and did not do anything

He was serious about this bet.

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Maeve's thoughts were clouded with confusion. Was he really holding out just to make her believe he'd been drugged, or

manipulated? Was it worth all this?

Did it even matter whether she believed him, considering he had slept with Molly?

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The sound of her shallow breaths filled the air, a constant rhyth, and Maeve felt like her insides were being set on fire, the heat unbearable.

Her head grew heavy, and she found herself growing drowsy, despite the intense situation.

Time passed, she wasn't sure how long, and she was jolted awake by the faint, metallic scent of blood in the air.

The drug's effects had worn off. Byron's eyes were closed, his breath even. But there was a patch of crimson staining the middle of his pale lips. It was blood from where he had bitten his tongue.

It was strangely seductive, like something out of a dream.

Maeve's gaze softened, and she gently parted his lips, seeing the bloodied inside. It was clear now how hard he had fought to hold back while she slept.

Maybe the most touching thing in the world wasn't what one couldn't do, but what one could do, yet chose not to

One could hold back their desires, fighting against their instincts, just for you.

She couldn't help but be moved by that.

Even though she still hadn't come to terms with what happened between him and Molly.

At that moment, though, Maeve saw his sincerity. And for the first time, she believed that perhaps he had been forced to cross that line.

It didn't change anything, but it made her feel a little better.

Maeve stepped out, grabbed her bag, and applied a thin layer of Theo's powder to the inside of Byron's lip to prevent any infection.

Afterward, she stared at the man lying in bed, still exuding an undeniable presence even in sleep. She turned and quietly left the room.

To avoid another mishap, she locked the door behind her, ensuring it could only be opened from the inside before she left.

The manager, who had been planning to report on the employee's failure, saw Maeve moving quickly and decided to let it

go

for now.

Maeve quietly disappeared from Kleymond.

She had already sent her two children to the Mcdaniel family's old residence to stay with Gilbert, saying she would be off on a vacation. Then, she vanished. Byron sent people to comb through Kleymond, but it was as if she had evaporated from existence.

She didn't take her phone, wallet, or suitcase. She only carried her ID card.

And she left no trace behind for Byron.

It was her silent protest, her way of punishing him.

During her absence, Byron's insomnia, something that had improved since they'd been together returned, worse than ever, on a stormy night.

Far from Kleymond, in the southern town by the river....

Maeve glided across a clear lake in a small boat, the gentle rhythm of the oars lapping against the water.

Every now and then, a white goose would spread its wings and soar to the shore, looking for scraps from the tourists. The old man rowing the boat hummed a local tune, the kind only heard in mountain towns, strangely melodic and soothing to the ear. She hadn't brought any luggage with her, just a little bit of change. She'd bought some paintbrushes and paper when she arrived. When money ran low, she'd sit by the street corner and sketch portraits for passersby to earn a bit of pocket change. This trip had been impulsive, an unplanned escape, and she hadn't even brought her two clingy children with her this time.

But Maeve didn't regret it.

As she stepped off the boat, she lifted her skirt, smiling at the old man as she thanked him. The cool breeze kissed her skin, and she watched a group of plump geese swim by. Unable to resist, she crouched down and fed them some bean cakes. Lost in the moment, she didn't realize how far she was leaning over the edge. One misstep and she could easily tumble into the lake.

Suddenly, a strong hand gripped her arm and yanked her backward.

Maeve stumbled, sitting down on the ground in surprise. She blinked up, her eyes wide, and found herself looking at a man, tall, refined, and with a sharp look in his eyes. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, his lips pursed in a tight line. "W... What's the matter?" Maeve stammered in confusion.

"Miss, be careful," the man's voice came through. His voice was like a soft breeze on a cold night, comforting yet far enough to keep him just out of reach. "The shore's slippery. You were leaning too far out earlier, could've easily lost your footing and fallen into the water." Only then did Maeve realize that her actions just now were too dangerous. She patted her skirt in embarrassment and stood up. "Thank you. I was so focused on feeding the fat goose that I didn't notice. I'm really sorry."

"No need," he replied, nodding lightly. He let go of her arm and began to walk away.

"Wait," Maeve called after him. "Um, can I draw you a sketch as a thank-you gift? I appreciate you stopping me earlier."

She had no money to buy him a meal, but she could offer her art instead.

The man paused, turning back to meet her eyes. After a few seconds, he gave a small nod. "Alright."

"Would you prefer to sit by the lake, or would you rather move to the bridge?" Maeve asked, already gathering her sketchbook.

Not wanting to be a burden, he casually sat down on a nearby wooden bench. "Here is fine."