<h4>Chapter 67: Shadows of Marcus</h4>


    Catherine’s POV


    The line went dead as Anna hung up.


    "What the hell was I thinking?" I muttered to myself, running a hand through my hair.


    Anna had been through enough already—a failed marriage, business betrayals, family pressures. Now she was considering having a child just to appease her mother and grandmother.


    And I had encouraged her, even suggested an hical way to do it.


    I grabbed my phone again, scrolling to Uncle Marcus’s contact. My thumb hovered over the call button as I considered my approach. Uncle Marcus wasn’t exactly the warm, fuzzy type who responded well to emotional appeals or matchmaking schemes.


    _Just be casual. Keep it subtle._


    After three rings, his deep voice answered with characteristic brevity: "Speak."


    I rolled my eyes instinctively. _No wonder he’s still single. That voice could freeze hell itself._


    "Uncle Marcus, I wanted to discuss something with you," I said, keeping my tone light and conversational.


    "Go on." His responses were always economic, almost painfully so.


    I took a deep breath, mentally rehearsing my indirect approach. "So I have this friend who’s facing pressure from her family about marriage and having children. She doesn’t want to get married but is considering having a child, and I was wondering—"


    "The Shaws are pressuring Anna about marriage and children?" he interrupted, his voice suddenly sharp with interest.


    My jaw dropped. I hadn’t even mentioned Anna’s name-hadn’t evene close to describing her specific situation—and he’d immediately


    connected the dots. How closely was he following Anna’s life?


    "What? Uncle Marcus, what are you talking about?" I stammered, trying to recover. "I didn’t say anything about Anna Shaw, this is about my friend—"


    The line went dead. He’d hung up on me.


    I stared at my phone in disbelief.


    "What just happened?"


    I flopped back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. "Anna, I’m so sorry. I think I might have just made things worse."


    The more I thought about it, the more worried I became. What if Uncle Marcus confronted Anna because of my careless hint? She’d immediately know I’d been meddling, and she hated when people interfered in her life.


    I needed to do damage control, and fast.


    Grabbing my phone again, I browsed through photos of several designer handbags from thetest collection that had just been released. I quickly selected the most exclusive ones and sent them to Anna with the message:


    "New collection just dropped. Pick one as a New Year’s gift."


    Anna’s response came almost immediately: "?? What’s going on?"


    I feigned impatience: "Do you want one or not? If not, forget it."


    The three dots appeared as she typed, then: "Thanks bestie, love you!" with a circle around the most expensive bag in the lineup.


    I couldn’t help but smile. At least that crisis was temporarily averted.


    Anna’s POV


    It was past eleven when I finally walked out of Shaw Corp’s main entrance, massaging my aching shoulders while stifling a yawn. The winter night’s cold instantly attacked my exposed skin, making me regret not bringing a heavier coat. I’d been so focused on the uing board presentation that I’d lost track of time, again.


    When I nced up and spotted that unmistakable tall figure under the streetlight, my entire body froze mid-step. Marcus Murphy. My heart immediately kicked into overdrive, sending adrenaline rushing through my veins.


    Why is he here?


    The thought hit me like a lightning bolt-Catherine must have told him about my arranged dates. Why else would he suddenly appear outside my office at this hour? There was no other exnation.


    Feigning surprise, I called out, "Uncle Marcus? When did you get back?"


    He stood there, wrapped in a ck wool coat that made him look even more imposing against the night backdrop. I noticed Peter Reed behind him holding a leather case they must havee straight from the airport.


    Marcus merely gave me a prating look without responding, then turned and started walking away.


    I hesitated for a beat before following him, surprising myself with my actions. He didn’t ask me toe along. Why am I following? But my feet didn’t stop. Deep down, I wanted to discover the real reason behind his sudden return to Skyview City.


    Rachel appeared at my side, concern etched across her features. "Ms. Shaw, should I bring the car around?"


    "No," I replied, my eyes fixed on Marcus’s retreating figure. "Follow us at a distance."


    The cold streets were nearly empty, with only asional workaholics hurrying to catchte-night


    transportation. Marcus walked with sure, confident strides, while I followed behind, not even asking where we were headed. Peter and Rachel each drove their cars behind us, forming the strangest procession. Looking at this scene, I almostughed out loud —it was too much like those awkward


    scenes in romance dramas where silence between characters speaks volumes.


    The ufortable atmosphere finallypelled me to speak. "Uncle Marcus, where are we going?"


    He didn’t answer, instead quickening his pace. I had to half-jog to keep up, feeling both frustrated and inexplicably excited by the mystery.


    We eventually arrived at a hidden bar just two blocks from Shaw Corp. The ce was surprisingly quiet, with private booths and barely any customers. There wasn’t even background music. Marcus clearly knew the ce well, walking directly to a window seat.


    No sooner had we sat down than a man who looked like the owner approached with an expression of delighted surprise. "Mr. Murphy!


    When did you get back?"


    He gestured to a waitress and whispered some instructions. Marcus answered tly, "Just arrived."


    The man could barely contain his excitement. "Sir, it’s been too long— you look even more handsome than before." Then he turned to me: "And this must be Ms. Shaw. You two make such a perfect match."


    I was taken aback. Was I really that well-known?


    Marcus introduced him: "This is Ryan White. He used to work with Peter until he was injured and returned to America."


    Ryan immediately jumped in enthusiastically: "Though I’m stateside now, I’d go back to work for you in a heartbeat, sir. Running this bar is boring as hell." He turned to exin to me: "After I was injured, Mr. Murphy gave me enough money to open this ce, but I’d much rather be back working for him. Ms. Shaw, let me tell you, he’s honestly the most dependable man you could ever_"


    "Enough," Marcus’s expression darkened. "Go."


    "Yes, sir," Ryan grinned as a waitress brought over a table full of drinks and appetizers. "Enjoy. I’ll be over there chatting with Peter if you need anything."


    As Ryan walked away, I noticed his uneven gait—his leg was clearly problematic. Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, "Uncle Marcus, how did Ryan get injured?"


    The bar’s dim lighting couldn’t hide the intensity in Marcus’s deep eyes as he studied my face.


    "Someone tried to kill me. He and Peter protected me. Nerve damage. Not fully repairable," he exined so casually, as if discussing the weather forecast.


    I inhaled sharply, my mind shing with images of what must have been a terrifying situation. For Ryan to still be walking with nerve damage meant he had been extremely fortunate.


    Looking at the outwardly cold man sitting across from me, I found myself filled with questions. Who exactly was Marcus Murphy? How much about his past did I not know? Why did he bring me here to see Ryan?