Chapter 967

"You're home."

Maeve rushed toward him, fully intending to throw herself into his arms, but Layne stopped her with a subtle, warning glance toward Mrs. Shannon. Maeve froze in her tracks.

This was exactly why she despised having staff. Every single action felt heavily monitored. It was more invasive than the hidden cameras she had planted herself.

She reluctantly pulled back, muttering under her breath.

"I told you we didn't need a housekeeper."

Layne completely ignored the complaint, pulling her gently against his chest and stroking her hair.

"Isn't it nice having someone to take care of you? My family has been through hell recently, and I absolutely refuse to let you end up hurt like Leonie. I wouldn't survive it if anything happened to you. Maeve, you are my entire life, do you understand?"

Maeve's eyes flickered with intense calculation. "If I died, would you follow me to the grave?"

She asked it with dead seriousness. Layne's eyes flooded with profound devotion as he tipped her chin up. "What about you? If I died, would you live on without me?"

The bastard had flipped the psychological trap right back onto her. Maeve masked her hesitation. "Of course not. But what about you?"

She demanded absolute certainty.

Layne nodded without a second of hesitation. “I would. If you were gone, I'd follow you in a heartbeat. I wouldn't live a day longer."

Satisfied, Maeve threw caution to the wind and buried herself in his embrace, no longer caring that Mrs. Shannon was in the room.

They lingered on the sofa until Mrs. Shannon walked out, instantly averting her eyes to give them privacy before announcing, "Sir, lunch is served. The table is set."

Layne and Maeve separated, Layne taking her hand to lead her into the dining

room.

It wasn't until she sat across from him under the bright chandelier that Layne seemed to notice the vivid, swollen handprint marring the side of her face.

His brow furrowed. "What happened to your cheek?"

Maeve shot a fleeting, victorious look at the maid, a faint, melancholic smile playing on her lips.

"It's nothing. Mrs. Shannon saw a mosquito on my face and slapped it away for me. She just used a bit too much force. I don't even know how bad it looks."

Layne's eyes turned visibly glacial. Mrs. Shannon didn't flinch. Maeve waited eagerly, fully expecting Layne to tear the woman apart. Instead, Mrs. Shannon simply stepped up to the table.

"Sir, Ms. Sterling is entirely correct. That is exactly what happened."

Layne's voice was flat. "I see."

He looked back at Maeve. "Come upstairs with me after you eat. It's swelling. I'll put some ointment on it."

Maeve immediately played the forgiving saint, casting her eyes downward. "There's no need, it's just a minor scratch. I suppose Mrs. Shannon is used to heavy labor so. to her, a crushing blow is just swatting a bug."

"But you know how delicate my complexion is. Layne, I just hope that if another mosquito lands on mosque me, Mrs Shannon Shannen could be slightly more gentle. I really don't think my fragile constitution could handle another brutal slap."

The accusation was as subtle as a sledgehammer. Layne's expression grew even darker.

Mrs. Shannon stood quietly to the side like a reprimanded child, waiting silently for Layne's judgment. But Layne merely picked up a piece of glazed meat and placed it on Maeve's plate.

"Mrs. Shannon is a veteran

employee of our family. She

wouldn't cross the line maliciously it

was clearly a misunderstanding.

Just at your lunch

check the

Braise upstairs, but if it's nothing

serious, let's not make a mountain out of a molehill."