<h4>Chapter 45: He Knew</h4>


    Anna’s POV


    I’m not afraid of being the subject of gossip. Over the years, I’ve collected enough rumors and whispers to fill a small library, and I’ve developed a thick skin as a result. Standing in the grand hall of the Olympus Club, I could feel eyes on me from every direction, but none of it could shake me.


    My mind drifted to a scene from a few years back—a wealthy Skyview City socialite had mistaken me for her husband’s mistress and burst into Shaw Tower with security in tow. The man had somehow obtained photos of me, causing his wife to seek me out. In the end, I sued him for sexual harassment and won a million-dor settlement. I split the money evenly, sharing half with the employees who had helped me through the ordeal, while treating myself to several limited-edition handbags with the remainder. This was one of the many reasons Mary Simpson disapproved of me-in her eyes, a "proper" society woman shouldn’t be so assertive.


    My thoughts were interrupted as Marcus Murphy returned to the party with me. His presence immediately became the focal point of the room; all conversation paused momentarily before erupting into more fervent whispers.


    "Well, if it isn’t Mr. Murphy! We meet again." Samuel Griffin greeted him with exaggerated enthusiasm, calction gleaming in his eyes. His gaze shifted between Marcus and me, a mocking smile ying at the corners of his mouth.


    Marcuspletely ignored him, turning to me instead. "Go ahead and attend to your guests. I’ll just find a ce to sit for a while." His voice was calm, yet somehow instilled in me an inexplicable sense of security.


    I watched as he made his way to a sofa in the corner. People immediately flocked around him with offers: "Mr. Murphy, please sit here." "Sir, what would you like to drink?"


    Someone remarked with thinly veiled sarcasm: "Ms. Shaw certainly has influence, even Mr. Murphy hase to show his support."


    Before I could respond, Catherine jumped in: "Is there something wrong with my uncleing to pick me up?" Her tone carried obvious displeasure.


    Samuel persisted: "Of course not, but that jacket Ms. Shaw is wearing—it certainly doesn’t look like yours, does it?" He fixed me with a pointed look, his eyes full of insinuation.


    I felt a tightening in my chest, knowing he was testing me.


    Catherine shot back without hesitation:


    "Mr. Griffin, don’t your many female admirers find your meddling tiresome?"


    I decided to take control of the situation, deliberately adjusting Marcus’s jacket to reveal my bandaged arm. With a practiced air of resignation, I said: "When I heard Mr. Murphy had arrived, I went out to greet him and unfortunately took a fall." I let out a small sigh, infusing my voice with a touch of pain. "It hurts terribly. Mr. Murphy lent me his jacket—otherwise, I wouldn’t be presentable at all."


    Catherine asked in surprise: "How did you manage to fall so badly? Since when did you be so delicate?"


    Thanks a lot, I mentally rolled my eyes. Looking around, I noticed everyone staring at my arm. Jack had even stood up, seemingly intending toe check on my injury. Oscar and Logan were already approaching, with Oscar beginning his customary stream of concern.


    Only Samuel maintained his knowing smile, eyes fixed on me. I was absolutely certain he knew exactly how I’d gotten hurt. This sent a wave of unease through me, though I couldn’t let it show.


    "You need to go to the hospital," Oscar insisted, his doctor’s instincts taking over. "That doesn’t look like a simple scrape."


    I tried to refuse, but Oscar was adamant about taking me to the hospital. Eventually, Catherine suggested that Marcus drive us.


    Sitting in the back seat of Marcus’s luxury sedan, I could sense Oscar’s displeasure. I actually wanted to speak with Marcus privately about Samuel, but Oscar’s presence forced me to change the subject.


    "It’s just a minor injury, no need for such a fuss," I said impatiently to Oscar, trying to mask my nervousness.


    "I organized this party, and now the host is leaving in the middle of it— how does that look?"


    Oscar retorted indignantly: "You shouldn’t have thrown that kind of party in the first ce. Do you know what they’re saying about you behind your back?" His tone wasden with protectiveness.


    I feigned indifference: "What could they possibly say? Just the usual clichés-damaged goods, ball-buster, seductress, shameless... They hate me yet want to be me—it’s love and hate intertwined." On the surface, I appeared nonchnt, but there was a tinge of bitterness inside. Over the years, I’d grown ustomed to idle gossip, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t still hurt.


    Oscar remained silent for a moment, then suddenly apuded. "Brilliant and spot-on. That’s so you, Annie." His eyes reflected both admiration and concern.


    Throughout all this, Marcus maintained his silence. But I could feel


    his gaze asionally resting on me, giving me an inexplicable sense of calm.


    At the emergency room, I removed the jacket, and both Marcus and Oscar’s expressions immediately changed. My injuries were worse than I’d let on— blood had seeped through the temporary bandages.


    "Anna, are you insane? You’re bleeding through and you didn’t say anything?" Oscar’s voice carried both anger and worry. He quickly removed his suit jacket, tossing it to Rachel, then grabbed a white coat from a rack and put it on, expertly retrieving a mask from a nearby drawer.


    Faced with the attending physician’s bewildered expression, I could only exin awkwardly: "Sorry, he’s a doctor too—upational hazard."


    As Oscar tended to my wounds, he muttered curses under his breath, though his touch remained exceptionally gentle. I kept my eyes closed, not daring to look, gripping Rachel’s hand so tightly I was likely leaving marks.


    When the bandaging was finallyplete, Oscar removed his mask and looked down at me, his eyes filled with suspicion: "A fall? You jumped from a building, didn’t you? How else could you possibly end up like this?"


    Anna’s POV


    I exhaled deeply, deciding to be honest with Oscar. "You’re right. I actually did fall from a building."


    Oscar’s face immediately transformed, his expression hardening with concern.


    "What the hell, Anna? Are you out of your mind? What did you do this time?"


    I couldn’t stand his motherly fussing.


    "Nothing," I said dismissively. "I’m kidding. It was just a fall." His skeptical expression amused me, but I didn’t feel like exining. I nced around the room, suddenly noticing someone was missing. "Where’s Uncle Marcus? I don’t see him."


    Oscar let out a cold snort. "Your uncle dropped you off and disappeared.


    Probably left already."


    The attending physician prescribed an anti-inmmatory spray, and was about to write a prescription for scar removal cream when Oscar intercepted. "We don’t need that. I have some at home."


    The doctor smiled at me. "When your boyfriend is a doctor, why evene to the hospital? He could’ve treated you at home."


    Oscar jumped up as if his tail had been stepped on. "No, no, no! I am not her boyfriend."


    I nodded, adding very seriously, "And I could definitely do better than him."


    Rachel drove me back to Rosa Vi, where I declined Oscar’s offer to stay and help with my wounds.


    Back at Rosa Vi, I still didn’t see Marcus anywhere. I guessed he had probably returned to the Murphy estate.


    Since I couldn’t shower with my injuries, I had Rachel help me clean up with a damp towel, her movements gentle yet efficient.


    "Ms. Shaw, you should rest. Your body needs time to recover," she advised.


    I nodded, settling back against the pillows.


    My phone rang—it was Sean. I picked up, putting it on speaker so Rachel could hear.


    "Ms. Shaw, the party has ended. After you left, I continued monitoring the situation," he began. "You should know that shortly after your departure, Mr. Griffin went to a private room for drinks with Logan Porter and Mr. Simpson. I don’t know what they discussed specifically."


    After hanging up, Rachel brought me some pain medication and a ss of water.


    "Try to get some sleep, Ms. Shaw. I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything."


    I nodded gratefully, though I doubted sleep woulde easily. After Rachel closed the door, I was left alone with my thoughts. I reyed recent events in my mind, bing increasingly suspicious of Samuel Griffin.


    Iy in bed, unable to sleep. Every inch of my body felt like it was on fire, the pain from my wounds refusing to let me rest. Just then, a knock sounded at my bedroom door.


    "Come in," I called, assuming it was Rachel.


    The door opened, and to my surprise, Marcus Murphy stepped into the dim room. My eyes widened. "Uncle Marcus?"


    Feeling it improper to receive him while lying down, I quickly tried to sit up, but the sudden movement pulled at my shoulder wound. "Oww!" I gasped, copsing back onto the pillow.


    Marcus set down whatever he was carrying and crossed the room in a few long strides. With one fluid movement, he slipped his arm behind me and gently pulled me upright. His voice carried an edge of urgency and worry. "Did you tear your wound?"


    I felt suddenly self-conscious, acutely aware of how practiced his movements seemed. As if he’d done this before.


    "Does it hurt?" Marcus frowned deeply, "Let me take a look."


    I frozepletely. Take a look? Where exactly was he nning to look?


    Before I could process that thought, Marcus was already gently pulling aside the strap of my nightgown. I felt my entire body temperature skyrocket, certain I now resembled a thoroughly cooked lobster, bright red and radiating heat.


    Marcus had juste in from outside, and his fingers were slightly cool.


    When they made contact with my skin, I couldn’t help but shiver. He carefully pulled down my gown just enough to reveal the shoulder wound. The bandage had a bright spot of fresh blood.


    "You’re bleeding," he said, his voice dropping to a deep rumble.


    I quickly pulled my gown back up and grabbed the robe lying nearby, wrapping it around myself. "It’s fine.


    Doesn’t hurt." The embarrassment was overwhelming; I wished I could disappear into the mattress.


    Thankfully, Marcus stood and retrieved what he’d brought with him. Desserts, of all things.


    "Uncle Marcus, where did you get these?" I asked, surprised.


    Marcus answered simply: "I bought them."


    He took out a small cake from the paper bag and handed it to me. I happily epted it. "Thank you, Uncle Marcus." A sweet treat was exactly what I needed right now.


    As I took the cake, a familiar aroma of milk and chocte wafted up to my nose. I paused for a second, though I thought that particr shop had probably closed years ago.


    I scooped up a small bite with the provided spoon and put it in my mouth. The melt-in-your-mouth cream and slightly caramelized chocte instantly awakened memories that had been dormant for years. I stared at Marcus in shock. "Uncle Marcus, where did you buy this dessert?"


    Marcus looked down at me from his imposing height. "A little-known dessert shop. It’s quite far from here, which is why I’mte."


    "This... this..." I was too shocked to form aplete sentence. "Uncle Marcus, is this ce called I’s Bakery?"


    Marcus nodded. "Yes."


    My surprise intensified as I looked at him incredulously. "Uncle Marcus, how did you know about this bakery? How did you know I like their desserts?"


    Marcus just regarded me silently, offering no exnation. Instead, he asked, "Are you still in pain?"


    My heart was racing, my mind filled with questions. The story behind I’s Bakery was special-the owner had once been a pastry chef for the Shaw family, whoter left to open her own cake shop. My father frequently bought me treats from there. Those desserts had been my emotional anchor during difficult times. After my father passed away, the shop suddenly changed hands, and I’d spent a long time searching for it without sess.


    Even my mother probably didn’t remember this detail. How could Marcus possibly know?


    I barely slept that night, and was up early the next morning. As I made my way downstairs, I saw Peter Reeding in from outside, one arm in a sling. When he spotted me, he clearly wanted to retreat but wasn’t quick enough.


    My expression darkened. "You’re injured?"


    "M-Miss Shaw," Peter actually stuttered, "I-I took a fall, and then..."


    I had no patience for his fabricated story and cut him off. "Did someone attack Uncle Marcus against night?


    Is that why he came back sote?"


    Concern and anger surged through me simultaneously. Marcus had not only risked himself to buy my favorite dessert but had likely encountered danger on his way. This realization made my chest tighten with both gratitude and distress.


    "Tell me what happened," I demanded, stepping closer to Peter.