<h4>Chapter 51: Still the Queen</h4>


    Rachel’s POV


    I stood in the hospital room watching Samuel Griffin. The doctors had treated the aphrodisiac in his system.


    His face was no longer red, his breathing normal, but fury filled his eyes.


    "Your boss made a mistake," Samuel said, ring at me from the bed. "Tell Anna Shaw I won’t forget tonight."


    I met his gaze. "Mr. Griffin, the doctors say you’ll recover fully. This ended well for everyone."


    His jaw clenched. "I can’t have sex for a month. Do you know what that means for someone like me?"


    "Medical advice should be taken seriously," I replied. "Ms. Shaw brought you to the hospital immediately. You should thank her."


    I picked up my purse. "We did what anyone would do. No need for thanks."


    Thement silenced him. I turned, and walked to the door.


    I crossed the parking lot. Ms. Shaw waited in her car near the entrance.


    When I opened the door, she reclined in the driver’s seat with eyes closed.


    "Let’s go," she said without looking.


    "I’m dead tired."


    I got in, studying her face. The g had exhausted her-shadows showed under her makeup.


    "Rosa Vi is closer," I suggested. "We could stay there tonight."


    Ms. Shaw opened her eyes, frowned, then nodded. "Fine."


    She didn’t ask about Samuel, and I didn’t say anything. The drive to Rosa Vi was silent.


    The house was dark when we arrived.


    No one had been here since Mr. Murphy left, but the management service kept it clean.


    "T’ll prepare the bedroom," I said.


    "Want something to eat?"


    "No." She headed upstairs. "Just a shower and sleep."


    Ms. Shaw emerged from the bathroom in a robe. Iid out pajamas from the emergency bag I keep in the car.


    "Get the scar cream from my purse," she said. "Oscar said apply it every night."


    I got the cream as shey on her stomach, robe pulled down to expose her back. Red marks from her jump at Olympus Club stood out against her skin.


    As I applied cream to the wounds, she tensed beneath my fingers.


    "Samuel will recover," I said. "Though he can’t have sex for a month."


    Ms. Shaw made a sound like a suppressedugh. "That’s torture for someone with his reputation."


    "He was displeased," I said, applying cream to a scrape on her shoulder.


    "Will he seek revenge on you?"


    Anna’s POV


    The few sses of champagne I’d had at the charity g had left me with a pleasant buzz but no desire to sleep.


    Restless, I reached for my phone on the nightstand. Before I could think better of it, my fingers were already typing a message to the mysterious man from room 3303 at Sapphire Sky Hotel.


    [Meet up?)


    The directness of my own message surprised me. I stared at the screen, my heartbeat quickening as I waited for his response. It came just secondster, a single word:


    [No.]


    "Typical," I muttered, tossing my phone onto the duvet beside me. A sh of irritation surged through me.


    During our brief encounters, he’d made his interest in me painfully obvious. And now that I was actually reaching out, he dismissed me with a single word?


    I grabbed a pillow and pressed it over my face, trying to smother the conflicting emotions bubbling inside me. Then my phone lit up again. I snatched it up, half-expecting some lengthy exnation.


    Instead, there was just one more word:


    [Busy.)


    I raised an eyebrow, feeling oddly vindicated by this addition. At least he felt the need to exin his refusal. The irritation began to dissolve, reced by a reluctant understanding. Considering his physique and...other qualities, I supposed I could forgive this one instance. After all, Mr. 3303 had earned some grace with his performance.


    I ced the phone face down on the nightstand and pulled the covers up.


    This time, sleep came more easily.


    Hearing Rachel’s words, I sighed, "Samuel is a vindictive bastard, but I’m prepared. Make sure you keep that video I sent you."


    "Understood," Rachel nodded, her eyes reflecting trust in me.


    "I wonder who drugged him tonight," I murmured, more thinking aloud than asking.


    Rachel pondered for a moment before saying, "Recently, I haven’t heard of Samuel being close to anyone except the Simpson family. But since Samuel is already in contact with the Simpson family, surely they wouldn’t do something like this right now?"


    "That’s not necessarily true. George and Samuel are cut from the same cloth-equally ruthless in their methods," I replied with sarcasm and mockery. This was the first time I’d spoken so candidly about my former father-inw. Before, no matter what I thought, I would never easily reveal my opinions about him, but now, all pretense and respect had vanished.


    "Ms. Shaw, we have a situation."


    Rachel’s voice, tinged with unusual concern, interrupted my morning skincare ritual.


    "What happened?" I asked casually.


    "You’re trending online."


    I shrugged. "That’s nothing new. My evening gown fromst night must have created quite a stir." My dress had been a calcted choice elegant yet daring, designed to make a statement without appearing desperate for attention.


    Rachel shifted her weight, clutching her tablet tightly. "Your gown did trend, yes, but there’s something else— rumors about you and Samuel."


    That got my attention. "Samuel and me?" I turned to face her directly.


    "What kind of rumors?"


    She handed me her tablet without a word. The screen disyed a series of photographs taken atst night’s g —all featuring Samuel and me leaving together. While only our backs were visible in most shots, my distinctive dress made me immediately identifiable.


    "The initial trending topic was about your stunning appearance," Rachel exined, "but these rtionship rumors just surfaced. I suspect someone paid to promote them." She pointed to several details in the photos. "Moreover, all press had left thetter half of the g-they weren’t allowed to stay. From the image quality, these were definitely taken with a smartphone."


    I nodded, quickly following her reasoning. "So you’re suggesting whoever took these photos and pushed the story is the same person, and likely someone who has a grudge against me?"


    "Precisely. And I have a strong suspicion about who it might be."


    "Who?" Although I already had my own suspicions.


    "Lucy."


    Anna’s POV


    At the mention of Lucy’s name, I took the tablet from Rachel’s hands and carefully scrolled through the photos again. The angles were deliberately misleading—in one, Samuel appeared to be whispering intimately in my ear; in another, a dismissive nce I’d thrown his way had been captured in a way that made it look like a coy smile.


    "It must be her," I agreed, a coldugh escaping my lips. "Look at these camera angles—in this one, Samuel’s face is practically pressed against mine.


    And this one? I never smiled at him like that. That was clearly a dismissive smirk."


    I scrolled through thements, each one more vicious than thest. They spected wildly about my "rtionship" with Samuel, suggesting I was desperate to align myself with Heritage Group. Some even implied I’d orchestrated my divorce from Jack to pursue wealthier, more powerful men.


    Thements made my blood boil, but I refused to let it show. Instead, I exited that trending topic and clicked on the one about my appearance at the g.


    Here, the tone was entirely different.


    Users had posted multiple high-quality photos of me, captured by professional photographers before they’d been asked to leave. Thements were universally positive:


    [Anna is absolutely stunning! She should be on runways instead of in boardrooms—but we’re d she’s blessing the business world with her presence.]


    (Perfect figure, gorgeous face, impable style this woman has it all!]


    [Whoever started those other rumors is clearly just jealous of her. No question.]


    By the time I handed the tablet back to Rachel, my mood had miraculously stabilized. Compared to the genuine admiration I received for simply being myself, the manufactured scandal seemed insignificant.


    "Should I arrange for someone to check the security footage? If Lucy is behind this, she must have left some evidence," Rachel asked cautiously.


    I returned my attention to my skincare routine, pumping a small amount of moisturizer onto my fingertips. "Don’t bother. Do you really think I’m worried about rumors like this? If I dealt with every piece of gossip, I’d have time for nothing else."


    Just then, the doorbell downstairs rang frantically. Not knowing who it was, Rachel went down to check.


    I pulled out a soft gray knit dress and paired it with a camel-colored cardigan —perfect for the light rain currently falling outside.


    I had just taken off my pajamas when rapid footsteps approached my bedroom, apanied by Rachel’s urgent voice:


    "Mr. Simpson, you can’t go in there!


    Ms. Shaw isn’t receiving visitors right now."


    Hearing Jack’s name, my body instantly tensed. I hastily wrapped my robe around my half-dressed body and moved toward the door, ready to confront him.


    I reached the door just as it began to open, catching a glimpse of Jack’s determined expression. Without hesitation, I mmed it shut with enough force to make the wood frame shudder.


    I stared at the door I’d just mmed in Jack’s face, my heart racing. The nerve of that man, barging into Rosa Vi like he still had some im to me or this ce.


    "Anna, we need to talk," Jack called through the door, his voice muffled but still carrying thatmanding tone I’d grown to detest.


    "I’m changing," I replied coolly. "Wait downstairs if you must, but I’m not discussing anything with you half-dressed."


    Silence followed, then the sound of retreating footsteps. I exhaled slowly, my shoulders rxing as I moved away from the door.


    I slipped out of my robe and quickly dressed. As I stepped into a pair offortable ts, I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror.


    The woman staring back at me looked nothing like the polished, untouchable figure fromst night’s charity g.


    Gone was the sleek updo and statement jewelry, reced by soft waves and minimal makeup. This version of me looked more approachable.


    When I descended the stairs, I found Jack standing in the living room with Rachel hovering nearby, her posture tense and watchful. Jack’s eyes snapped to me immediately, tracking my movement as I reached the bottom step.


    "You’re going out," he stated, his tone somewhere between usation and disbelief.


    I deliberately maintained my distance, positioning myself near the entry table where I ced my purse. Rachel moved to stand slightly behind me, a silent ally.


    "I have a lunch appointment," I replied evenly, checking my watch with exaggerated care. A flicker of annoyance passed through me-why did he always feel entitled to exnations about my life? "If there’s nothing urgent, Mr. Simpson, I’d prefer if you said nothing at all."


    I knew him too well-the slight narrowing of his eyes, the tightening of his jaw. Even before he opened his mouth, I could predict his next words with depressing uracy.


    "With whom?" he demanded, that familiar possessive edge creeping into his voice.


    "How is that any of your business?" I asked, my voice dropping several degrees colder.


    Jack took a step closer, his expression hardening. "Is it Samuel?"


    Of course. He was still fixated on those ridiculous rumors. A sharp painnced through a tender spot in my heart—a ce that once held trust and hope, now housing only disappointment and hurt.


    I sighed beyond the point of exnations. "Think whatever you want, Jack."


    I turned toward the door, gesturing for Rachel to follow. "Lock up when you leave," I added without looking back, my hand already on the doorknob.


    "Anna—" he started, but I was already stepping outside, letting the door close firmly behind me.


    Once inside the car, Rachel turned to me with a curious expression. "Ms. Shaw, why didn’t you just tell Mr. Simpson the truth? About your lunch with Mr. William Murphy?"


    "Let him believe what he wants," I said softly, a barely perceptible note of sadness coloring my voice. "If his misunderstanding keeps him away, all the better."