<h4>Chapter 88: First Snow, Last Hope</h4>


    Anna’s POV


    Nora’s eyes flickered briefly before she took a deliberate sip of her wine. The crystal ss caught the light, casting ruby shadows across the pristine tablecloth.


    "About two years ago, we met at an industry cocktail event," she said, her voice unnervingly calm. "Kieran slipped something into my drink."


    My stomach clenched as though I’d swallowed ice. I recognized the t affect in her voice-the protective numbness thates from retelling a trauma you’ve learned to package neatly for others.


    "A woman like me can’t survive among these powerful men without some form of protection," Nora continued, absently tracing the rim of her ss. "I recorded everything-his behavior, his words, his... attempts. All of it."


    "Wasn’t that dangerous?" I whispered, my appetite suddenly gone.


    Nora’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Of course it was. I understand these aren’t people I can afford to antagonize. The recording is just insurance, not a weapon. I never thought it would actually help someone else." She looked at me directly. "Until today."


    My chest tightened with empathy.


    "Won’t Kieran retaliate against you for this?"


    Nora shook her head, her eyes hardening with conviction. "For two years, I’ve pretended not to recognize him whenever we cross paths. Once he approves your application, he knows I won’t threaten him with the video again. Kieran married into his wealth—his father-inw gave him


    everything. He won’t risk losing it all."


    "Good," I said, rxing slightly. But inside, I felt a mixture of emotions swirling like oil and water. How many men like Kieran existed in Skyview City’s elite circles, hiding predatory behavior behind respected positions?


    The thought of his family-man image in media interviews made my skin crawl with disgust.


    Three dayster, my loan application was approved. I knew this gamble was essentially betting everything mortgaging all our assets including the historical building that had belonged to my family for generations. Jack was right; I was taking an enormous risk.


    But in business, ying it safe rarely yields rewards. My natural response to advice has always been selective-from people I care about, I’ll listen to anything; from those I don’t, their words might as well be white noise.


    Shaw Corp’s annual celebration was in full swing. Watching my employees enjoy the bonuses and perks l’d arranged gave me a sense of


    satisfaction amid my personal turmoil.


    When executives approached with champagne toasts, I politely declined, letting Sean handle the social obligations.


    I noticed the subtle nces some cast between Sean and me, their eyes carrying unspoken spection. I didn’t care. Office gossip was the least of my concerns.


    "Ms. Shaw, to Shaw Estate or Goldenleaf Manor?" Rachel asked as we prepared to leave early.


    "Goldenleaf Manor. Everyone should be asleep by now," I replied after a moment’s consideration.


    As the car started, Rachel suddenly announced, "Ms. Shaw, it’s snowing."


    I looked up through the window to see delicate kes drifting down, illuminated by the streetlights. Skyview City had been unusually dry this season, the snow arrivingter than usual. By the time we reached home, a substantial nket of white covered the grounds, awakening an unexpected mncholy in me.


    I rarely took photos—too busy with work to indulge in such things. But tonight, somethingpelled me to pull out my phone and capture several images of the snow-coveredndscape.


    I even took a selfie, snow dusting my hair, my face illuminated by the ethereal glow of winter. I posted them to Instagram with the caption "First snow brings good fortune."


    After my shower, I checked my phone to find over three hundred likes and two pages ofments. But the one name I searched for wasn’t among them.


    I opened my messaging thread with Marcus-filled with my unanswered texts. I dialed his number again.


    "Ms. Shaw, Marcus is... still unable to take your call today." Peter Reed’s voice carried the same rehearsed regret I’d heard daily for weeks.


    Painnced through my chest, but I swallowed it. "Is Uncle Marcus feeling any better?"


    "He’s improving. Please don’t worry, Ms. Shaw."


    "Good," I replied simply before hanging up, a hollow ache spreading beneath my ribs.


    ---


    Christmas arrived, and I’d arranged a week’s vacation. When I showed my grandmother Margaret the airline tickets I’d purchased, she waved her hand dismissively. "No, no, my old bones can’t handle that flight. Take your mother traveling instead."


    Elizabeth was equally resistant.


    "What’s there to see abroad that I haven’t already seen? You young people go enjoy yourselves. Your grandmother and I will have a traditional Christmas at home-attend midnight mass, enjoy some peace and quiet. And pray the Lord blesses our family with prosperity in theing year."


    No amount of persuasion would change their minds. I spent Christmas Eve with them, enjoying avish holiday dinner, before departing with Rachel the following day.


    Secretly, I’d altered our itinerary.


    Instead of the nned resort destination, we were headed to the European country where Marcus was supposedly recuperating. Deep down, I knew I needed confirmation, face-to-face, even if it meant humiliation.


    After settling into our luxury suite, I told Rachel she was free to make her own arrangements.


    "Ms. Shaw, I’m not an outsider.


    Whatever you need to do, I won’t interfere or gossip," she said carefully.


    I smiled faintly. "If I embarrass myself, just pretend you didn’t see anything. I have my pride too."


    "Of course, Ms. Shaw." Her response confirmed she understood my true purpose.


    ---


    At six o’clock that evening, our car stopped outside a castle-like estate.


    Rachel returned from the door with bewildering news.


    "Ms. Shaw, are you certain Marcus lives here?" Her expression was troubled.


    "What happened?" I looked up sharply.


    "The housekeeper says Marcus isn’t home. They won’t let us in. What’s stranger is that she imed Marcus recovered ages ago."


    "Recovered ages ago?" I doubted Rachel heard correctly. "Are you sure?"


    "If Marcus lives here, then I’m certain of what I heard. The housekeeper was quite cold and threatened to call security if we didn’t leave."


    I dialed Marcus’s number immediately.


    Once again, Peter answered: "Ms. Shaw, Marcus is much better today, but he’s still unavable to speak with you."


    Suppressing my rising fury and hurt, I kept my voice deliberately neutral. "Is that so? Then let Marcus rest." After hanging up, my expression darkened.


    "The housekeeper says he’s not home?"


    "Yes," Rachel confirmed.


    "Then we’ll wait," I decided, unease and suspicion growing by the minute.


    Six hourster, a ck Bentley glided past. Though I didn’t see Marcus, I spotted Peter Reed in the passenger seat. After the car disappeared through the estate gates, I instructed Rachel:


    "Take the gifts from the trunk and deliver them. Just drop them off ande back."


    "Ms. Shaw, aren’t you going in?" Rachel asked, surprised.


    I closed my eyes, exhaustion and heartache overwhelming me. "I’m tired."