<h4>Chapter 76: His Vow</h4>


    Anna’s POV


    Children. Marriage. Prenups. The words swirled in my head like debris in a tornado. Not even twenty-five years old, and already I’d been through a divorce, nearly died in a suspicious "ident," and now faced a second marriage proposal. Most people my age were still figuring out their career paths or enjoying carefree rtionships. Instead, I was running a corporation, navigating treacherous business deals, and apparently collecting marriage proposals like some people collected shoes.


    I drew in a deep breath, wincing as the movement sent fresh pain through my shoulders.


    "Logan," I began gently, "thank you for valuing me so highly, but I can’t ept your feelings."


    His expression didn’t change. "Why not?"


    The simple question deserved an honest answer. "Because I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you. A marriage without love wouldn’t be fair to you."


    "I don’t need fair," he insisted, leaning forward in his chair. "I told you, I just want to take care of you, make sure you’re never alone when things get difficult."


    I shook my head, careful not to disturb my injuries. "I can’t ept that. You have your parents, the entire Porter family. Call me selfish, but I don’t want to be indebted to anyone."


    Logan’s expression darkened. "Is it because of Jack Simpson?"


    "No," I said firmly. "That’s over."


    "Then is it Marcus Murphy? Or Samuel Griffin?" His tone carried an usatory edge that made my stomach clench.


    My brow furrowed involuntarily. I didn’t appreciate the implication that I was somehow collecting men, or that my refusal had to be because of another man. The suggestion stung more than I expected.


    Logan must have noticed my expression because he immediately backtracked. "I’m sorry, Anna. I didn’t mean it like that."


    "I don’t me you," I replied tly, knowing the conversation had reached an impasse. The tension in the room was palpable, making the antiseptic smell seem even more suffocating.


    Logan stood up, his expression a mixture of disappointment and resignation. "I’ll check on youter.


    Get some rest."


    The door had barely closed behind him when it swung open again. I looked up, expecting a nurse or perhaps my mother, only to find Marcus Murphy standing in the doorway. My heart performed an unexpected somersault in my chest.


    "Uncle Marcus?" I blinked in surprise.


    "What are you doing here?"


    His prating gaze swept over me, taking in the medical equipment, the braces stabilizing my shoulders, and probably the lingering distress on my face from my conversation with Logan.


    "What happened?" he demanded, stepping fully into the room. "Tell me everything."


    "It’s nothing serious, just muscle strain," I said dismissively, suddenly feeling exhausted by the parade of visitors and their intense emotions. My shoulders screamed in protest, making a mockery of my casual tone.


    Marcus turned to Rachel, who had appeared silently behind him. "You tell me."


    I cut in before Rachel could speak.


    "Didn’t Catherine already tell you I was injured? Didn’t she exin what happened?"


    "She didn’t have time to exin in detail," Marcus replied coolly. "This wasn’t an ident, was it?"


    His question hung in the air, heavy with implication. Rachel and Peter exchanged nces before Rachel cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should step outside for a moment."


    Once they left, closing the door behind them, Marcus turned his attention fully on me. "What did Logan Porter want?"


    I chose silence, unwilling to navigate yet another emotionally charged conversation.


    "Did he confess to you?" Marcus pressed, his tone shifting to something harder.


    I maintained my silence, but I could feel my emotions beginning to build, a pressure behind my eyes that threatened to spill over.


    Marcus’s face darkened. "I told you from the beginning that I would help you. You don’t need to partner with anyone, don’t need to y these dangerous games with these people.


    It’s just a piece ofnd, and you’d rather put yourself in danger than work with me. Is working with me really that repulsive to you?"


    His words hit me like a physical blow.


    I looked up sharply, tears welling in my eyes despite my best efforts to control them. Marcus had never spoken to me so harshly before, and thebination of physical pain, emotional exhaustion, and now his evident frustration was almost too much to bear.


    I blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. My fingers clutched at the thin hospital nket, knuckles turning white with the effort of maintainingposure. In the sterile silence of the hospital room, my vulnerability felt magnified a hundredfold, though I tried desperately to hide it.


    Marcus stood tall beside my bed, his powerful presence filling the entire room. His face was aplex mixture of anger and concern as he watched me struggle against my emotions. I felt caught between gratitude for his obvious worry and resistance to depending on anyone, even him.


    Marcus’s POV


    I watched as tears welled up in Anna’s eyes, her fingers clutching the thin hospital nket until her knuckles turned white. The sterile hospital room suddenly felt too small, too suffocating.


    The sight of her-normally soposed and confident-reduced to this vulnerable state because of my harsh words made something twist painfully in my chest.


    What the hell was I doing?


    When Catherine called to tell me about Anna’s "ident," I’d dropped everything and flown back immediately. By the time I’dnded in Skyview City, my imagination had conjured images of Anna broken beyond repair.


    Seeing her alive, bruised but whole, should have been a relief. Instead, walking into the hospital and finding Logan Porter exiting her room with that defeated expression had ignited something dark and possessive inside me. All my carefully maintained control had crumbled.


    And now she was fighting back tears, refusing to let me see her cry.


    "I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that," I said, my voice dropping to a gentleness that surprised even me. "My attitude was inappropriate."


    She looked up, clearly caught off-guard by my sudden change in tone. The surprise in her eyes made me realize how rarely I showed this side of myself to anyone, let alone to her.


    "You were worried," she replied, her voice slightly hoarse. "I understand."


    I moved closer to her bed, carefully lowering myself to sit beside her without disturbing her injured shoulders.


    "That’s no excuse for talking to you that way," I admitted.


    In one smooth motion, I reached out and gently pulled her against my chest, mindful of her injuries. I felt her stiffen instinctively, her body tense with surprise, but I didn’t let go. She needed this-needed to feel protected, even if she’d never admit it.


    "Are you scared?" I asked quietly, my lips close to her ear.


    For a long moment, she was silent.


    Then, so softly I almost missed it:


    "Terrified."


    The single word, spoken with such raw honesty, pierced through me like a knife. Anna Shaw, who faced down business rivals and family drama without flinching, was admitting fear.


    The significance of this wasn’t lost on me.


    My hand moved to stroke her hair gently, an instinctive gesture offort. "Give me three days," I promised, my voice hardening with determination. "I’ll find who did this to you."