<h4>Chapter 77: Beneath the Mask</h4>
Anna’s POV
"Thank you, Uncle Marcus," I finally said, regaining myposure and realizing how childish my emotional reaction had been. Marcus was right I’d rejected his help, then felt hurt when he pointed it out. I was behaving like a petnt teenager rather than the CEO of Shaw Corp.
Marcus returned to his chair, seeming about to say something before choosing silence instead. He always knew when to speak and when to remain quiet. I appreciated that sensitivity, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it.
---
"Marcus? You’re back again?" My mother’s voice carried notes of surprise and barely concealed wariness when she spotted him at my side as I was wheeled out of the hospital. She quickly pulled me aside, whispering urgently: "Shouldn’t you be staying in the hospital longer? Why is he here already? How did he even know you were being discharged today?"
"The hospital is too noisy, and I can recover just as well at home," I replied, already nning my return to work. I couldn’t possibly lie around in bed with these injuries; that wasn’t who I was.
Marcus exined politely: "I had some business matters to attend to, but when I heard Anna was hospitalized, I came to check on her." He made no move to enter the house, maintaining a respectful distance.
---
Inside, my mother’s concern was evident: "He’s not just back because of you, is he?" Her voice was filled with anxiety.
I had no answer, only feeling my headache intensify.
"Why is Marcus Murphy suddenly so interested in you?" Mother fretted, her brow furrowed with worry. "Anna, don’t you have any feelings for Logan?
Think about it—he risked his life to save yours. Where else could you find such a man?" Her tone became pleading, "The Porter family has already expressed interest in joining our families. Your grandmother and I both think it makes perfect sense.
What do you think?"
Faced with my mother’s marriage arrangements on top of everything else, my headache worsened considerably. "Mom, my arms hurt. I need to go to my room to rest," I used my injuries as an excuse to escape this ufortable conversation.
---
That afternoon, Oscar Porter visited.
He’d been assisting the police with their investigation. "We’ve been reviewing the hotel surveince footage from the past week. Apart from Jack’s assistant Pax acting somewhat suspiciously, everything else looks normal," he said wearily, frustration written across his face. "The police are now certain this wasn’t an ident.
Not only was the railing deliberately damaged, but the carpet that tripped you was also tampered with. And we found something strange."
My heart sank as I cautiously asked, "What?"
"While looking for evidence, the police discovered something odd about the wax used on the hotel stairs. Without carpeting, women in high heels would easily slip," Oscar exined.
I frowned in confusion. "But what does that have to do with me? You said there was carpet on the stairs."
Oscar shrugged, equally puzzled: "Not sure. One investigator just mentioned it casually. He said that type of wax isn’t typically used in hotels. This is a high-end establishment,parable to Sapphire Sky Hotel. They shouldn’t make mistakes like that. We just can’t find the connection, so it seems strange."
He handed me a card: "Compensation from the hotel."
Without hesitation, I passed the card to Rachel. "Use this to buy some gifts for Ms. Price." I smiled slightly. "The hotel is quite unfortunate in this situation."
Oscar made a skeptical sound.
"Unfortunate? The police say, the cleaner the job, the moreplex the attempt. They left no traces. I’m almost certain the hotel is involved— possibly with inside help."
Hearing all this, I felt lucky to be alive.
While I knew little about the investigation, it was clear someone wanted to harm me, and that knowledge sent chills down my spine.
Oscar yawned, having stayed up all night reviewing surveince footage:
"I’m exhausted. By the way, how’s your ex-husband doing?"
"You’re the doctor, not me." I couldn’t help wanting to kick him, though warmth spread through my chest. This was how we interacted-jokes masking deep friendship.
Mother smiled: "Oscar, go rest in the guest room. You’re too tired to drive safely."
Watching Oscar casually walk toward the guest room brought a wave of nostalgia. As children, the three of us had been inseparable. The Porter parents were strict, so Logan and Oscar often stayed at our house, spending more than half their time with us.
"How nice it would be if everything could remain that simple," I thought, watching Oscar’s figure disappear down the hallway, longing for those uplicated times.
Pax’s POV
I stood in the corner of the Simpson family’s study, head bowed low, wishing I could dissolve into the expensive woodwork and disappear.
The air in the room felt electrified with tension as Jack’s shouting match with his father escted by the second.
Their voices echoed off the high ceilings, making each usation sound twice as damning.
"You actually suspect your own father?
Have you lost your mind, Jack?" I risked a nce upward, watching George Simpson’s face turn an rming shade of crimson as he snatched the pen holder from his desk and hurled it against the floor. The Mont nc pens scattered across the polished surface like expensive pickup sticks.
"Get out! Get the hell out of my sight!"
George roared, his voice reverberating through the cavernous study.
Jack’s expression darkened to something I’d rarely seen in my decade working for him—a cold, calcted fury that made my blood run cold.
"I know you were hedging your bets," Jack said, his voice dangerously quiet.
"Don’t bother denying it. I just want to know one thing did you give Pax instructions behind my back?"
At the mention of my name, my heart nearly stopped. I lowered my head further, feeling Jack’s gaze cutting into me like a scalpel.
George exhaled heavily, seeming to dete slightly. "Yes, I had contingency ns. I instructed you to reconcile with Anna while having Pax keep tabs on her movements. What choice did I have? You couldn’t even win back your ex-wife. The future of Simpson Group might depend on this partnership!"
Jack’s attention shifted fully to me, his eyes boring into mine with such intensity I had to suppress a flinch.
"Was Anna’s fall your doing?"
My throat constricted, panic rising in my chest as I hurried to exin.
"Absolutely not, Mr. Simpson. Your father only asked me to monitor Ms. Shaw and Mr. Griffin’s interactions.
When I saw Samuel Griffin heading to the terrace, I instructed someone to listen in if Ms. Shaw followed. I would never-*never*-do anything to harm anyone."
By the end, my voice had diminished to barely more than a whisper. In my heart, I knew the truth didn’t matter anymore. After this, Jack would never trust me again. Ten years of loyal service, evaporated in an instant.
---
Jack stormed out of the study, and I followed at a safe distance, my future crumbling with each step. In the hallway, Mary Simpson waited anxiously, her perfectly manicured hands fidgeting with her pearl ne. She opened her mouth to speak to Jack, but something in his expression made her think better of it.
Instead, she turned to me, catching my sleeve as l passed.
"Pax, what happened in there?" she whispered urgently.
I forced my features into something resembling a professional smile, though it felt more like a grimace.
"Mrs. Simpson, Mr. Simpson and Mr. George just had a minor disagreement about business strategy. Nothing serious."
*Nothing serious for them, perhaps.
But catastrophic for me.*
Ten years of unwavering loyalty. From the day I graduated Princeton, I’d followed Jack Simpson, working my way up from a standard assistant to his right-hand man. I’d been the most trusted person in his inner circle, with a future as bright as the chandeliers hanging in the Simpson mansion. And now it was all gone, Jack’s parting words making it clear I should clean out my desk by morning.