<h4>Chapter 66: The Wrong Matches</h4>


    Anna’s POV


    "If you like the first gentleman, you can simply meet the second one briefly," Elizabeth exined with self-satisfaction. "And if you don’t like the first one, then you can focus on the second. It won’t take too much of your time."


    I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, maintaining a polite smile that felt stered to my face. "I’m really busy these days. I’m still young. Is this really necessary right now?"


    My mother immediately patted my back, her touch gentle but insistent.


    "We’re starting the search now because who knows how long it might take to find the right person? The more people you meet, the higher the probability of finding someone you like."


    A sense of futility washed over me.


    "There aren’t more than these three, right?"


    "All of my card-ying friends say they want to introduce you to someone," my mother replied, dashing myst hope of escape.


    I felt cornered, trapped by these well-intentioned but suffocating expectations. The more they pushed, the more appealing Catherine’s outrageous suggestion became.


    --


    The coffee shop was upscale and discreet, with soft jazz ying in the background and enough space between tables to ensure privacy. I’d arrived early, positioning myself at a corner table that gave me a clear view of the entrance while allowing Rachel to sit nearby, close enough to intervene if necessary.


    Rachel ced a single rose on the table, the gesture making me wince internally. "Boss, with your qualifications, why do you need arranged dates? Is your mother that eager for grandchildren?"


    I sighed, scrolling through emails on my tablet to distract myself. "They’re spooked. This phase will pass." But even as I said it, I knew it was wishful thinking. The weight of family expectation hung heavily around my neck, and Catherine’s outrageous suggestion kept reying in my mind.


    The coffee shop door opened, and Rachel subtly nodded toward the entrance. I looked up to see a man in his mid-thirties scanning the room, a rose identical to mine clutched awkwardly in his hand.


    "I’m so sorry I’mte," he said as he approached, looking genuinely fustered. His tailored suit was slightly rumpled, suggesting he’d rushed over from somewhere important.


    I nced at the time on my tablet and offered my well-practiced professional smile. "No problem, perfect timing."


    I couldn’t help but notice how his eyes widened slightly upon seeing me up close. The subtle ego boost improved my mood somewhat. I had to admit, Mother’s card-ying friends had at least found someone presentable. He was undeniably handsome-tall with sharp features and intelligent eyes-certainly pleasant enough to look at over coffee.


    Heunched into his well-rehearsed introduction, covering all the expected bases: Ivy League education, family background in finance, five-year career n. The conversation flowed easily enough, and I found myself almost enjoying the practiced dance of it all.


    But then came the inevitable turn.


    "My mother doesn’t mind that you’re divorced," he said with a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring butnded somewhere closer to condescending. "But she hopes that after marriage, our families could integrate resources. My father thinks Shaw Corp’s property development division wouldplement our investment portfolio perfectly..."


    I immediately cut him off. "I’m sorry, but we’re not a good match."


    His confident expression crumbled into confusion. "Why not? We seem to be getting along well."


    "Because your family’s agenda is way too obvious," I replied bluntly, setting down my coffee cup with finality. "I’m not looking to merge business assets through marriage."


    The awkward silence that followed was mercifully brief. He recovered quickly, made some vaguement about "perhaps being too forward," and we parted ways politely but definitively.


    Rachel raised an eyebrow as she slid into the now-vacant seat across from me. "That was quick. Not even thirty minutes."


    "Efficiency is my specialty," I replied dryly.


    The second man early forties, he was dressed in what I recognized as a bespoke suit, with the subtle signs of wealth that weren’t meant to be noticed by the uninitiated.


    "Ms. Shaw, a pleasure," he said, his handshake firm but not aggressive. "I appreciate you making time in your busy schedule."


    Our conversation began with the expected pleasantries, but unlike the younger man, he dispensed with them quickly. I’d barely taken three sips of my wine when he leaned forward slightly.


    "We’ve both been divorced, so we know how things work," he said, his expression pragmatic rather than romantic.


    I offered a measured smile. "I don’t necessarily know what you mean."


    "I know about Shaw Corp, and I’ve heard about you," he continued with unwavering confidence. "But business is still a man’s world. So if we get together, you could hire someone to manage Shaw Corp. Your main responsibility would be having children."


    I nearly choked on my wine.


    Undeterred by my reaction, he continued. "With ourbined family assets, we need heirs. One for your family, one for mine. So we need at least two kids. For your family, boy or girl is your call, but for my side, preferably a boy, since I’m the fourth


    generation only son..."


    He continued talking, outlining his vision of our future with such precision that it was clear he’d rehearsed this speech. I sat there, expression carefully neutral despite the anger bubbling inside me. This man— this stranger-was nning my reproductive schedule before we’d even finished our appetizers.


    As he finally paused for breath, I asked. "I understand you have a daughter already?"


    He looked momentarily surprised by the change in topic. "Yes, from my previous marriage."


    "And you don’t have custody?"


    His expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "My ex-wife requested full custody. It made more sense given my work schedule."


    I nodded. "I think we’ve learned everything we need to know about each other."


    "We’ve barely started," he protested.


    "Actually, we’re finished," I replied, standing and signaling to Rachel.


    "Thank you for your time."


    ---


    "I just don’t understand why men are so full of themselves," I said, stabbing at my steak while holding my phone to my ear with my shoulder.


    Catherine’sughter filtered through the phone. "Two strikes in one day.


    Your mother’s going to be disappointed."


    "I checked, and this guy’s worth is barely over a hundred million,’ " I continued, feeling the ridiculousness of even making such a statement. "What gives him the right to expect me to give up my career to have his children? And specifically a son? Give me a break!"


    Rachel silently refilled my wine ss, her expression sympathetic.


    "And you know what’s even funnier?


    He has a daughter already, but when he got divorced, he gave up custody to his ex-wife. Unbelievable." The cold fury in my voice surprised even me.


    Catherine made a disapproving sound.


    "Well, you’ve certainly discovered another fascinating specimen of mankind."


    I set down my fork, appetite gone.


    "I’m cancelling tomorrow’s date. I think your suggestion might actually work." The idea that had seemed so oundish a few days ago was beginning to feel like the most rational option avable.


    Catherine’s voice turned unexpectedly serious. "Are you really going to have a child on your own? Doesn’t Uncle Marcus have any chance?"


    The question hung between us, charged with unspokenplexities. I felt a familiar tightness in my chest at the mention of Marcus Murphy.


    "It’s not about age differences. I’m not concerned that he’s Jack’s uncle," I said quietly.


    Marcus’s image formed in my mind unbidden—his intense dark eyes, the quiet dignity in his bearing, the way hemanded a room without trying.


    Catherine was right—he was exactly my type. Mature, intelligent, decisive.


    Someone who made me feel safe, protected. Someone I could trust.


    But thereiny the problem.


    "It’s my own issue," I continued, my voice dropping to nearly a whisper. "I honestly don’t think I have the capacity to love someone wholeheartedly again. Besides, Uncle Marcus’s business is in Europe. We live inpletely different worlds.


    Forcing ourselves together would probably just make us another unhappy couple."


    The silence stretched between us, heavy with understanding. Catherine knew my history, knew how deeply the betrayal with Jack had scarred me.


    She also knew how fiercely independent I’d be as a result.


    Finally, she sighed deeply. "Fine, this is thest time I’ll try to convince you.


    Whatever you decide to do, I’m here for you."


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