<h4>Chapter 101: Two Heartbeats</h4>


    Anna’s POV


    The woman standing beside Catherine in our living room looked like she’d stepped out of a medical journal— crisp linen shirt tucked into tailored pants, not a single blonde hair out of ce in her tight bun. Her posture screamed professional discipline.


    "Elizabeth, I heard you were looking for a nutritionist. I’ve brought someone for you to meet," Catherine announced proudly. "This is Betty."


    My mother and I exchanged nces as Catherine continued with Betty’s impressive resume. When she mentioned that Betty had just returned from Europe where she’d been caring for actual royalty, my eyebrows shot up involuntarily.


    "You cared for royal family members?"


    I couldn’t hide my surprise.


    Betty nodded modestly. "Yes, though I’m bound by confidentiality agreements regarding specifics."


    Mom’s face lit up like Christmas morning. "This is wonderful! "


    I watched Mom circle Betty, peppering her with questions about prenatal nutrition and childhood development.


    Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself rxing. If she could handle royalty, my twin pregnancy should be manageable.


    "We’d be delighted to have you join us," I said finally, extending my hand.


    The decision felt right, especially seeing Mom’s obvious approval.


    After finalizing arrangements, Catherine offered to walk me back to my room, her arm linked supportively with mine as we stepped into the elevator.


    Her eyes kept drifting to my still-t stomach. "Twins! That position must have been magical. What was it?"


    I shot her a withering re.


    "Seriously?"


    Catherine’s eyes widened with sudden horror. "Wait—they can’t understand yet, right?" She leaned closer to my belly, whispering, "Sorry, babies."


    I rolled my eyes. "Can we discuss the nutritionist? She just happened to return from Europe right when we needed one? That’s quite convenient."


    The elevator doors opened, and we continued down the hallway toward my bedroom.


    Catherine’s face glowed with self-satisfaction. "Pure coincidence! Betty came back to visit her mother’s grave.


    I heard someone mention her credentials and practically ambushed her before she could make other ns."


    "And she agreed to put her life on hold for a year just like that?" I pressed, suspicious.


    "Money talks," Catherine replied with a shameless grin. "Her book on prenatal nutrition is quite sessful.


    She’s truly an expert with pregnant women and newborns."


    I couldn’t help but smile. "Of course you threw money at the problem. Very on-brand."


    Catherine suddenly leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice despite the empty hallway. "Do you know why George Simpson invited my parents to dinner recently?"


    "Why?"


    "I finally got it out of my mom. George Simpson wanted my parents to help convince you to remarry Jack."


    I stopped abruptly, my hand instinctively moving to protect my belly. "What? That’s insane."


    "My parents thought so too. They shut it down immediately," Catherine assured me.


    My brain struggled to process this information. "But Mary already brought Lucy back. That makes no sense."


    Catherine’sugh was sharp and bitter.


    "That’s the most twisted part. Lucy apparently agreed to stay at the Simpson house without any official status. George Simpson wants his son to have both of you—one as the respectable wife, one as the mistress behind closed doors."


    The audacity left me speechless. So this was their game they couldn’t stand losing Skke District and would use me to get it back if possible.


    "And Mary’s fine with sharing her precious son?" I finally managed, voice dripping with sarcasm.


    "She doesn’t actually care about Lucy," Catherine exined. "Lucy’s just there to tter her and be her emotional punching bag. Mary keeps her around because she’s easy to control."


    Catherine’s face flushed with indignation. "These people are living in the neenth century! Keeping a mistress in the family home?


    Disgusting. My parents tore into them.


    Now I’m just waiting to see if they’ll actually marry Lucy like Mary’s been insisting."


    As Catherine continued her tirade, a strange sense of detachment washed over me. I gently caressed my stomach, feeling oddly at peace. Jack Simpson, Lucy Taylor, the entire Simpson family’s drama-none of it mattered anymore.


    "You know what?" I interrupted softly.


    "I don’t care anymore. I have two babies to focus on and money to make.


    Jack and Lucy can do whatever they want."


    Marcus’s POV


    The damp night air hit my face as I stepped out of the car, my suit instantly absorbing the squalid odors of this part of town. I finally found him. Enough was enough.


    "Sir, are you sure we should go in?


    Maybe we should reconsider, this feels too risky." Peter Reed’s voice carried unmistakable concern as he fell into step beside me.


    I didn’t answer immediately. Fatigue crawled up my spine like a persistent insect, but the bone-deep irritation I felt toward Doyle overpowered it. The man was a cockroach that refused to die-not just disgusting, but requiring constant vignce.


    <fnfd7d> For original chapters go to find[?]ovel</fnfd7d>


    "We’re going in," I replied curtly, striding toward the bar entrance without breaking pace.


    Peter leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. "Sir, this ce isn’t secure."


    "There’s nothing insecure about it," I said coldly. "No matter who they are, they’re nothing but insects to us."


    I kicked the door open without ceremony. The lighting inside was abysmal, the air a noxious mixture of cheap tobo and stale alcohol.


    Several pairs of eyes turned in our direction-along with the barrels of at least four guns. I felt a momentary tension ripple through my body, but it dissolved into contempt. Did these people really think a few guns would intimidate Marcus Murphy?


    Peter stepped forward, his tone dropping to something menacing and primordial. "Tell that piece of garbage Doyle to show himself. Everyone else who doesn’t want to die, get out of the way."


    No one moved. The air seemed to solidify, pressing against my skin. I could feel my heartbeat quicken but maintained my cial expression. This was a battle of wills-whoever showed weakness first would lose.


    I nodded slightly. Peter understood immediately and signaled with his hand. One of our men promptly threw a travel bag onto the floor. Itnded with a dull thud that echoed through the silent bar.


    The golden-bearded man nearest to the bag stared at the bundles of cash that spilled out. I watched greed rece hostility in his eyes. Indeed, there was no problem in the world money couldn’t solve-and if there was, it simply meant you hadn’t offered enough.


    Within minutes, the thugs were scrambling to divide the cash, their loyalty to Doyle evaporating like cheap whiskey.


    "Thud!"


    Peter threw Doyle at my feet like garbage, his mouth stuffed with a rag, his hands tightly bound.