Chapter 968

That single sentence completely choked the life out of Maeve's performance. In the past, if she suffered so much as a papercut, Layne would look absolutely

devastated, wishing he could absorb the pain himself. Now, she had a massive, swollen handprint across her face from his servant, and he casually told her not to make a mountain out of a molehill.

Who exactly was exaggerating here? The old hag clearly assaulted her on purpose with that ridiculous bug excuse.

Maeve was absolutely dying to throw a massive fit, but the way Layne was looking at her lacked its usual blinding affection. Unable to read his mind, she didn't dare push her luck. Instead, she choked out a pathetic, trembling response: "Fine, I'm not trying to be dramatic over a little pain. I just couldn't find the medicine upstairs anyway. Ice will have to do."

Layne nodded calmly. "I'll have the family doctor drop off a prescription."

Maeve sat there, waiting for him to comfort her further, but Layne simply lowered his head and focused entirely on his food.

Furious and out of options, Maeve took three tiny bites before slamming her silverware onto the table in a passive-aggressive huff.

"I'm full. I'm going upstairs."

Layne didn't look up. "Wait for me up there."

The dismissal made Maeve's blood boil. He wasn't even going to follow her? Was this old woman's cooking seriously that phenomenal? She had swallowed so much rage that she hadn't even tasted a single bite of her meal.

Having already declared she was full, her pride refused to let her pick the fork back up. She stood, maintaining her frail, delicate posture as she slowly ascended the stairs. The absolute second she crossed the threshold and was out of his line of sight, her speed tripled as she stormed furiously into the bedroom.

The moment the door clicked shut, Maeve glared at the luxurious decor, wanting nothing more than to smash every vase in the room. But any loud crash would instantly alert Layne. Instead, she aggressively ripped the decorative pillows off the bed and the reading chair, hurling them against the floor to vent her fury.

Still seething, she grabbed the expensive designer gifts Layne had bought her, threw them onto the rug, and violently stomped on them, muttering vicious curses under her breath.

Layne had just reached the top of the stairs. Through the slightly ajar bedroom door, he watched her psychotic tantrum. His hand froze on the doorknob.

Was this the real Maeve? Was the sweet, understanding girl who had soothed his deepest traumas for the past two years nothing but a perfectly executed illusion?

He refused to let himself spiral into panic. Before he came up, Mrs. Shannon had stopped him in the hallway with a single, chilling warning.

“Sir, that woman is nowhere near as innocent as she plays. You need to watch your back."

Layne waited in the hallway until Maeve had completely exhausted her rage before pushing the door open By the time he walked in she had already arranged her features into a mask of sweet vulnerability. Layne's face betrayed nothing.

Seeing him enter, she offered a pitiful pout, leaning her face up for him to inspect.

Layne analyzed the mark. Mrs. Shannon had definitely put her weight into it. The right side of her face was noticeably inflamed and he assumed it had looked even worse before he got home.

"The doctor is on his way, but it's just a little swelling. I picked up some ointment

from the pharmacy on my way back."

Maeve narrowed her eyes. "How did you know to buy ointment?"

Layne lightly tapped her nose. "Mrs. Shannon texted me. She said she swatted a bug on your face and hit you too hard, She

ascidentally hit you too hard

didn't realize your skin was so

delicate that it would bruise, so she

asked me to grab something."