<h4>Chapter 89: The Missed Chance</h4>


    Peter’s POV


    I epted the elegantly wrapped boxes from the security guard, examining the expensive health supplements and Christmas gifts with a skeptical eye.


    The packaging alone screamed luxury-handcrafted paper with embossed gold trim and a silk ribbon that probably cost more than what most people spend on an entire gift.


    "Mr. Murphy’s friend?" I asked, though I already had my suspicions.


    "What kind of friend?"


    The guard shrugged, his expression professionally nk. "Asian woman.


    Very professional, carried herself like someone important. Had an assistant with her."


    _Rachel Wilson_, I thought immediately. Not "Mr. Murphy’s friend" at all.


    I was still inspecting the gifts when the housekeeper rushed toward me, her typicallyposed demeanor reced with barely concealed rm.


    "Those twodies haven’t left yet?" she asked, wringing her hands nervously.


    "They’ve been waiting outside in their car for hours now."


    My body stiffened instantly. "They?


    Who came here?"


    "Twodies iming to be Mr. Murphy’s friends," she exined.


    "Their name was Shaw."


    The box in my hands crashed to the floor. The sound of something delicate shattering inside barely registered through the sudden roaring in my ears.


    "Shit!" I muttered, already turning to sprint up the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time.


    I burst into Marcus’s bedroom without knocking, something I’d never dared before. My heart hammered against my ribs as I fought to catch my breath.


    "Sir, we have a situation," I managed, my voice betraying more panic than I’d intended.


    Marcus was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt, preparing for his evening shower. At my entrance, his hands froze, then deliberately refastened the buttons he’d just undone. His movements were careful, measured—at odds with the sharpness that immediately entered his gaze.


    "What is it?" His voice remained level.


    "Ms. Shaw is here." The words hung in the air between us like a live grenade.


    I watched his face carefully, catching the momentary crack in hisposure —a Hash of somethingplex and unreadable darting across his features before disappearing behind his usual mask.


    "Ms. Shaw has been waiting outside for hours," I continued breathlessly.


    "That ck sedan that just left—it was probably hers."


    Marcus’s eyes narrowed to steel points.


    "Where is she now?"


    I pped my thigh in frustration before turning on my heel and bolting back down the corridor, my footsteps echoing off the marble floors.


    By the time I returned, panting and disheveled, Marcus had already dressed himself properly and was making his way downstairs. His movements were careful but determined, his face an imprable wall ofposure.


    "Sir, Ms. Shaw has already left," I reported, unable to mask my disappointment. My chest burned with self-recrimination. "She called me this afternoon, and I told her you were still recovering. She must have realized we were hiding something and left angry."


    Marcus stood utterly still at the foot of the grand staircase. The winter moonlight streaming through the tall windows cast half his face in shadow, making his expression even harder to read.


    "Should we send someone to find her?" I ventured cautiously, desperate to salvage the situation.


    "No." The word fell between us like a stone.


    "But..." I pressed, unable to let this opportunity slip away. "Ms. Shaw rarely shows initiative like this. She flew all the way from America during Christmas just to see you..."


    "Pretend she was never here," Marcus cut me off, his voice low and final.


    I fell silent, recognizing the futility of further argument. Given Marcus’s current circumstances, perhaps avoiding Ms. Shaw was the wisest course. But my heart ached at the missed opportunity. Ms. Shaw had taken an unprecedented step bying here, and now this chance was squandered.


    Back at the hotel suite, I found Rachel hunched over a pack of crackers, crumbs scattered across herp. The sight jolted me from my fog of disappointment-we’d both skipped dinner.


    "Hungry? Order room service," I said, my voice hollow as the emptiness spreading through my chest. "No need to survive on snacks."


    Rachel’s eyes lit up instantly. "Ms. Shaw, what would you like to eat?"


    I shook my head, every movement requiring effort I didn’t have. "I’m not hungry. Going to bed." My gaze drifted to the window, where lights from the unfamiliar European city blurred through the ss. "Book our flights.


    The earliest one to... just follow our original itinerary. Get everything arranged."


    I struggled to keep my voice steady, to hide how thoroughly Marcus’s deception had shattered me.


    Sleep offered no refuge. In my dreams, Jack Simpson’s face loomed over me, our wedding night ying out in excruciating detail-his indifference, my loneliness, the hollow feeling of realizing I’d married a stranger. I woke gasping for air, sheets twisted around my legs, my nightgown stered to my skin with sweat. My head throbbed mercilessly.


    I dragged myself to the bathroom, where the mirror reflected a stranger— eyes ssy with fever, skin ashen.


    _Perfect. Physical misery to match the emotional kind._


    Somehow I managed to shower and pull on a cashmere turtleneck, though each movement sent spikes of pain through my joints.


    "Ms. Shaw, breakfast arrived. We should leave for the airport soon," Rachel called through the door.


    When I emerged, her expression fell.


    "Ms. Shaw, you look terrible. Are you feeling ill?"


    "Let’s eat. Don’t want to miss our flight," I replied, my voice scraping like sandpaper.


    ーーー


    The hum of the private jet’s engines lulled me into a fitful sleep until Rachel’s touch on my shoulder startled me awake.


    "Ms. Shaw, you have a fever," she said, pressing a cool hand to my forehead.


    "How are you feeling?"


    "Water," I croaked, my throat burning as though I’d swallowed broken ss.


    Rachel quickly passed me a bottle.


    "You must have caught cold waiting in that car for hours. We should have left once you started feeling unwell."


    I swallowed the fever reducer she produced from somewhere, then surrendered again to sleep, grateful for the temporary escape from both physical difort and the relentless ache of Marcus’s rejection.


    ---


    Two days of fever-induced deliriumter, voices prated my cocoon of misery.


    "You’re here?" I mumbled I, struggling


    to focus on Catherine Murphy’s face swimming before me.


    Catherine dumped an assortment of medication onto the bed with theatrical ir. "Of course I’m here! Came specifically to bring you medicine!" She


    turned toward the door. "Oscar, get in here and check on her!"


    Anna’s POV


    Oscar Porter appeared, thrusting a thermometer at me. "Put this under your arm."


    "I’m already better," I lied, taking it anyway.


    After checking the reading, Oscar raised an eyebrow. "99.3. Somehow you managed to catch a cold in the Caribbean. That’s quite the achievement, Anna."


    I studied the unlikely pair, curiosity momentarily overshadowing my misery. "How did you two end up here together? Just to bring me medicine?"


    Catherineunched into an exnation, words tumbling out rapid-fire. "Uncle Marcus skipped Christmas in America again. Grandpa William was counting on seeing him and got really upset. None of us dared leave Murphy Estate-we’ve been stuck there keeping Grandpapany.


    When I called you, Rachel told me you’ve been sick for days. I figured Caribbean medicine couldn’tpare to what we could bring, so I begged Grandpa to let mee. Ran into Oscar at the airport—he wasing here for vacation anyway."


    "Meeting some friends here," Oscar added.


    I smiled weakly, genuinely touched by their concern. "It’s just a minor cold.


    Being on vacation, my body decided to fully rx by shutting downpletely." _The truth-that heartbreak had weakened my immune system-seemed too pathetic to admit._


    ---


    Later that evening, after a hot shower had restored some of my energy, I stepped onto the balcony to find Catherine locked in an embrace with a tall, blue-eyed stranger. Their lips met in a passionate kiss before they noticed me.


    "So much for bringing me medicine," I teased.


    Catherine linked one arm through her lover’s and the other through mine.


    "The medicine was absolutely the priority. Everything else was... coincidental."


    I rolled my eyes. "Right."


    Watching their easy affection, something impulsive and reckless surged through me—a desperate need to escape the shadow of Marcus Murphy.


    "Ask if your friend has any single buddies," I said, forcing lightness into my voice. "Preferably with blue eyes. I have a thing for blue eyes."


    Catherine froze, staring at me as if I’d grown a second head. "What the hell?


    What’s going on with you?"


    I feigned innocence. "What do you mean?"


    Her expression turned serious. "You know exactly what I mean. What about you and Uncle Marcus? Is it appropriate to be looking for men behind his back?"


    I stiffened, my fingers digging into the balcony railing until my knuckles turned white. The Caribbean breeze suddenly felt too cold against my fever-flushed skin.


    "We don’t have that kind of rtionship," I said, keeping my voice carefully t. "We never did."


    The words scraped my throat raw as they left my mouth. This was the defense I’d built for myself—a wall of indifference to protect the wounded part of me that had flown across an ocean only to be rejected.


    Catherine studied my face with unsettling intensity. "What happened?


    One minute you’re constantly asking Grandpa William about Uncle Marcus: injuries, and the next you’re acting like he means nothing to you."


    I curled up on the nearby lounge chair, clutching my water ss with both hands to hide their trembling. I couldn’t let anyone see how deeply Marcus’s rejection had cut me.


    "I just respect him as a family elder," I said after a deep breath. "Nothing more."


    I paused, then forced myself to continue. "He’s been good to me, and all I can offer in return is empty concern." The admission felt like swallowing shards of ss, but I pushed through to the conclusion I’d reached during my feverish nights:


    "We’re ultimately not traveling the same path. There’s no point in forcing it."


    Catherine said nothing, but her eyes reflected disbelief. She wasn’t buying it, but mercifully, she didn’t press further.


    The next evening, Catherine dragged me to a beach bonfire party. "The final celebration before we all head back to reality," she insisted.


    I’d switched my usual business attire for a simple white sundress that caught the breeze as I walked. The moment I stepped onto the sand, I felt dozens of eyes turn toward me. My skin prickled under the collective gaze.


    Oscar Porter materialized beside me, practically ripping off his Hawaiian shirt to drape it over my shoulders.


    "I swear I’m never having daughters," he muttered, eyeing the staring men with murderous intent. "I can’t stand all these guys looking at you like that.


    It’s driving me crazy."


    Iughed despite myself, adjusting the oversized shirt around my shoulders.


    "You’re worse than my father ever was."


    My smile vanished when Oscar suddenly tensed, tugging frantically at my sleeve.


    "Uh... my brother’s here," he whispered.


    My body went rigid, ice flooding my veins despite the tropical heat. "You told him?" I hissed through clenched teeth.


    "God, no!" Oscar’s hands flew up defensively. "I haven’t even called home. I have no idea how he found this ce."


    My eyes scanned the crowd until I spotted him. Logan sat at the beachside bar, looking absurdly out of ce in his button-down shirt and cks among the swimsuits and casual wear. He sipped whiskey, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that


    made my skin crawl.


    "I’m tired. I’m heading back," I murmured to Oscar, then grabbed Rachel’s arm and fled, leaving nothing but footprints in the sand behind us.


    I’ll Back at the hotel, I escaped into the bathroom, letting the hot shower wash away the beach sand and the unsettling feeling of being watched.


    When I emerged in my silk pajamas, the suite was eerily quiet.


    "Rachel?" I called out, hearing only the distant ssh of the pool outside our balcony.


    After drying my hair, I stepped out of the bedroom to investigate. Without warning, strong arms encircled me from behind. I felt the hard buttons of a suit jacket pressing against my back through the thin fabric of my nightwear. Before I could react, unfamiliar lips crushed against mine.


    For a disorienting second, my mind shed to that mysterious man from room 3303. But this was different— this kiss held no tenderness, only raw possession and control.


    I struggled violently, grabbing the first object my fingers found—a decorative vase-and smashed it against his head.


    When his grip loosened, I bolted toward the door.


    "Annie."


    That name-spoken in that voice-froze me in ce. I turned slowly, heart hammering against my ribs.


    Logan Porter stood in my hotel suite, blood trickling from his temple where the vase had connected. He’d removed his signature sses, his eyes burning with a disturbing cocktail of desire, anger, and obsession.


    Anna’s POV


    "How the hell did you get in here?" I demanded, clutching the sculpture tighter, its edge already smeared with his blood from when I’d instinctively swung it.


    "Swam across the pool and climbed up your balcony." He said it casually, as if breaking and entering was perfectly reasonable behavior. The Porter family heir crawling up balconies like some deranged stalker? The absurdity of it struck me even through my panic.


    Logan touched his forehead, examining the blood on his fingers with detached interest. "I’m bleeding."


    Only then did I fully register his injury. Blood snaked down his temple, staining his cor. His white button-down clung to his chest, translucent from pool water, crimson flowers blooming where the blood dripped.


    A sudden chill whispered across my skin. My silk nightgown-the water from his clothes had soaked through mine when he’d bumped into me. The thin fabric had be nearly transparent. No wonder his eyes kept drifting downward.


    "GET THE HELL OUT!" I snatched a pillow from the bed, holding it against my chest, shame and fury colliding inside me.


    Had Logan Porterpletely lost his mind? Breaking into my hotel room was criminal enough, but the way he stared at me made my skin crawl.


    He reached for a tissue, pressing it against his wound with infuriating nonchnce. "I heard you were sick, so I came to check on you."


    "Not needed," I replied, my voice sharper than broken ss. My mind raced through escape options.


    The suite door clicked open-Rachel returning with medicine. Her eyes widened at the scene.


    "Mr. Porter?" she positioned herself between us, a human shield.


    Logan remained eerily calm, as if bleeding in a woman’s hotel room at midnight was perfectly normal.


    "Ms. Shaw, are you alright?" Rachel asked, never turning her back to Logan.


    "I’m fine." My voice was ice despite the tropic heat. With Rachel here, I felt marginally safer.


    Three blood-soaked tissues already littered the floor around Logan.


    Despite everything, a flicker of concern tried to surface—1 squashed it immediately. I retreated to the bedroom, calling Oscar to collect his clearly unhinged brother.


    "Annie, you’re here? Feeling better?" William Murphy attempted a smile when I entered his study at Murphy Estate, but exhaustion clung to him like a shadow.


    I handed my Christmas gift to his butler, then moved to prepare tea—a habit ’a developed during my visits.


    "Completely recovered. Catherine mentioned you were feeling down, so I thought I’d check in on you."


    "It’s always our Annie who cares about this old man. Not like Marcus, that troublemaker who doesn’t even call his father." William’s piercing eyes seemed to search my soul. "Annie, have you been in contact with my youngest son?"


    I kept my eyes fixed on the teapot, my pulse quickening. "Yes, I have.


    Marcus’s injuries haven’t fully healed, so he can’t make it back for Christmas.


    Don’t be upset, I’m sure he’s thinking of you."


    The words tasted strange defending Marcus when he’d deceived me. My chest tightened with conflicting emotions.


    When the butler appeared with an exquisite pair of jade bracelets, rm bells rang in my head. These were clearly meant for Marcus’s future wife.


    "This is too precious, Mr. Murphy. I can’t ept it," I stammered, my palms suddenly damp.


    William’s face softened with paternal warmth. "If I’m giving it to you, just take it."


    Was he testing my feelings toward Marcus? Panic flooded through me, my heart pounding so loudly I was certain he could hear it. I couldn’t ept such a gift—it carried expectations I wasn’t prepared to fulfill.


    ---


    That evening, Elizabeth entered my bedroom at Shaw Estate, her expression serious beneath the warm glow of the bedsidemp. Outside, the first snow of winter drifted past my window.


    "Pastor Collins suggested you should get married and have children next year, or you’ll face challenges withte marriage and childbearing," she said carefully.


    I sighed internally while maintaining a neutral expression. "I’m still young, Mom. Shaw Corp is at its growth stage right now. There’s no rush."


    "But your grandmother is anxious."


    Elizabeth’s forehead creased with worry. "The pastor advised her to take care of her health. Between the lines, he seems to think there might be health issues in the next couple of years."


    Frustration bubbled up inside me.


    These pastoral predictions always sent them into spirals of worry.


    "Aren’t you taking his words too seriously? I should scheduleprehensive checkups for both of you."


    Mom shot me an irritated look. "Is this about medical checkups? We already have thorough examinations twice a year. Your grandmother is getting older, and some things are difficult to discuss. Look at Mr. Watson—he was in excellent health, even went winter swimming regrly, reportedly never even caught a cold, yet he passed away in his sleep." She paused meaningfully.


    "He was several years younger than your grandmother."


    Seeing the genuine concern in her eyes, my irritation melted away. She took my hand, her voice softening. "I know you’re under tremendous pressure, and I don’t want to push you. But our family only has you as the heir. When your grandmother and I are gone, you’ll be the only Shaw left. I’m just worried you won’t be able to handle everything by yourself."


    I nodded, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling inside me. "I understand. I’ll keep this in mind."


    After she left, I picked up my phone, staring at the contact simplybeled 3303." After several moments of hesitation, I texted him about continuing our "arrangement." His response came quickly—a simple rejection.


    I didn’t force it. I texted back that it was fine.