ã€ŠOne Night Stand With My Ex&#x27;s Uncleã€‹


 Chapter 1: The Night After Never

    <h4>Chapter 1: The Night After Never</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I tilted my head back, surrendering to the intoxicating rhythm of being lifted and dropped, over and over, in a frenzy that bordered on violent. The sensation was dizzying, decadent like falling without fear.

    In the haze of pleasure, a sharp truth sliced through me: I, Anna Shaw, who once swore Jack Simpson would be my first and only, was now tangled in sheets with a stranger I hadn¡¯t even asked the name of.

    And the most shocking part? I loved every second of it.

    He moved with skill confident and unrelenting. Each thrust was deliberate, hard and thick, like he was trying to break me apart just to reconstruct someone new. My thoughts blurred, except one: next time, maybe I¡¯ll pick someone gentler to fuck me.

    My nails sank into his shoulders, tracing the taut shift of muscle beneath his skin. The room spun as I let go, drowning in a tidal wave of pleasure I¡¯d denied myself for far too long. He drove into me harder, deeper, and my body clenched around him like he was the only thing anchoring me to earth. My release came sharp and sudden, so intense I nearly cked out.

    The shrill ring of my phone dragged me back to the present.

    I blinked at the ceiling unfamiliar, sterile, expensive.

    "Ms. Shaw, don¡¯t forget about the wine tasting this afternoon at three. The socialmittee will be expecting you," came Rachel¡¯s voice crisp, efficient, and far too awake.

    Of course, they¡¯d schedule something right after my divorce was finalized. Like vultures circling, eager for proof that Anna Shaw couldn¡¯t stand on her own. Predictable.

    "I¡¯ll be there," I said, ending the call with a sigh. One o¡¯clock. I¡¯d overslept.

    As I shifted to sit up, an arm looped tightly around my waist, drawing me against a bare chest. I froze.

    It was oddly intimate too intimate for daylight.

    "Let go," I said, my voice sharper than intended. I pushed his arm away, fingers brushing muscle that triggered a vivid sh ofst night. Those arms had hoisted me effortlessly, holding me midair as if gravity no longer mattered.

    Heat bloomed in my cheeks.

    I slipped out of bed.

    He remained asleep, half his face buried in the pillow. All I could see was the sharp line of his jaw and the shadow ofshes against his cheek.

    I escaped to the bathroom, showered quickly, and dressed. When I returned, he was awake leaning by the window, wrapped in nothing but a towel, a cigarette dangling between his fingers as he stared out at the skyline.

    Broad shoulders. Tapered waist. Sculpted back. The Olympus Club hadn¡¯t exaggerated their "premium" offerings.

    I scribbled a check, ced it on the table.

    "Last night was satisfying. Five stars," I said coolly, then added, "And next time, don¡¯t smoke in front of me."

    I didn¡¯t wait for a reply. I walked out.

    Rachel was already waiting by the car. Her eyes widened as she took in the bruises blooming across my neck and corbone.

    "Ms. Shaw... your neck¡ª"

    I knew. My body was a canvas of red marks and love bites. Note to self: add a no-marking use next time. My skin always betrayed me.

    "Did you bring the clothes?" I asked, brushing past the concern in her voice.

    She handed me a paper bag. I changed in the backseat without shame and reapplied my makeup like armor. The diamond tassel earrings glinted as I fastened them, the final touch to my transformation.

    Rachel caught my eye in the mirror. I saw the hesitation, the gentle worry.

    "Ms. Shaw... maybe you should skip this," she offered. "Those women this isn¡¯t support. It¡¯s a spectacle."

    I closed my eyes briefly.

    "No," I said. "They think I can¡¯t survive without a man. I¡¯m going to educate them."

    A smile yed on my lips. Let them see the new Anna Shaw not broken, but reborn.

    One hourter, I stepped out at the private club. My ck dress hugged every curve, a tailored zer draped over my shoulders. Heads turned. Conversations dulled to a hum.

    "Anna Shaw? I can¡¯t believe she showed up. Didn¡¯t her husband leave her?" whispered one woman with oversized pearl earrings.

    "She¡¯s still the same beauty queen," another scoffed. "Just without the crown or the man."

    "She got dumped for that project manager. Lucy-someone, wasn¡¯t it?"

    "She was too focused on her career. Men don¡¯t want ambition they want softness."

    "Rumor is... she couldn¡¯t satisfy him in bed."

    Theirughter was brittle and bright, like ss shattering.

    I smiled.

    I picked up a champagne flute, walked through the crowd like I owned it.

    "This round¡¯s on me,dies," I said. "Enjoy yourselves."

    "What¡¯s the asion, Ms. Shaw?" one woman asked, voice edged in condescension.

    I raised my ss. "Freedom. Some of you might want to try it."

    Their marriages were crumbling quietly. Mine had exploded. At least I had the courage to walk away from the ashes.

    Then Rachel appeared, discreetly holding my phone.

    "Ms. Shaw... Mr. Simpson is calling."

 Chapter 2: Terms & Conditions

    <h4>Chapter 2: Terms & Conditions</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I stumbled into what used to be home, kicking off my heels and copsing onto the velvet sofa, still wrapped in my coat. My head was swimming from the champagne, but I was sober enough to deal with my ex-husband.

    Jack stood in the kitchen doorway, brows furrowed. "Have you been drinking?"

    I didn¡¯t bother responding. Once, I would have craved that concern in his eyes. Now, it just seemed pathetic. Our divorce was final who was this performance for?

    "What do you want? Just say it," I said without looking at him, wanting this conversation over before it began.

    I felt his gaze linger on my wless makeup and smiled inwardly. Had he expected to find me wasting away after the divorce, instead of glowing with a confidence I¡¯d sharpened like a de?

    "There are issues with the joint project between ourpanies that need your attention..." he said evenly, as if assigning a routine task.

    I burst outughing. "You want me to fix it? Are you delusional, Mr. Simpson?" My voice dripped with sarcasm. "Your girlfriend is the project manager. How appropriate would it be to have your ex-wife clean up her mess?"

    The mention of her reopened the wound.

    That project had been built on countless sleepless nights my team, my strategy, my vision. And he handed it over to his new me with a single word. Just like that.

    In that moment, I realized that all the love I¡¯d poured into our marriage had been like water thrown into the ocean unseen, unnoticed, and swallowed whole.

    "I have no obligation to help," I said coldly, turning to leave.

    But just then, the door opened and several strangers stepped inside, followed by a middle-aged couple dressed in designerbels.

    Jack¡¯s expression darkened. "Who are you? How do they have keys to my house?"

    "Oh, I forgot to mention," I said with a light smile. "They¡¯re real estate agents. I¡¯ve listed the house."

    He stared at me, stunned. "Anna, you¡¯re selling our marital home?"

    "What else?" I met his gaze with razor calm. "We¡¯re divorced. Why would I keep a ce that only reminds me of all my mistakes?"

    The words rolled off my tongue like silk, but inside, exhaustion tugged at my bones. This house had been filled with too many broken promises, too many nights spent waiting for a man who never really saw me.

    "The new owners seem nice," I added, nodding at the couple now inspecting the living room with sharp, investor eyes. "I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll appreciate all the renovations you never got around to doing."

    Jack¡¯s jaw tightened. "You can¡¯t just¡ª"

    "I can," I cut him off. "And I did."

    I turned to leave, but paused at the door. "Oh, and Jack? About the Phoenix Project? Ask your darling Lucy to handle it."

    After I left, I called Rachel. "Take me to Goldenleaf Manor," I said. "I¡¯m not going back to the Shaw Estate tonight."

    I couldn¡¯t face the look in my mother¡¯s eyes. Not the pity, not the disappointment she tried so hard to hide.

    When we arrived, the elderly butler greeted me warmly at the entrance. "Wee back, Miss Annie." He took my coat with gentle hands, his voice carrying a kind of care I hadn¡¯t heard in a long time.

    "I¡¯m exhausted. Have someonee up for a massage," I said as I climbed the stairs, slipping off my earrings and handing them to Rachel, who followed closely.

    "Of course, Ms. Shaw. I¡¯ll also have soup sent up," she replied, epting the jewelry with both hands.

    Immersed in the warm bath, the tension began to melt from my limbs. The masseuse¡¯s skilled hands kneaded at the tightness in my back until I nearly drifted off.

    When her fingers brushed over the faint bruises and bite marks scattered across my skin, there was only a brief pause. She didn¡¯t ask questions. This was why I preferred Goldenleaf Manor its staff knew what to notice and what to forget.

    "Water temperature¡¯s good?" she asked softly.

    "Perfect," I murmured, eyes closed.

    Rachel returned carrying a tray of soup. "Ms. Shaw, shall I arrange your schedule for tomorrow?"

    "Clear everything before noon," I said, standing and wrapping a thick towel around my body. "I need to sleep in."

    Later, I settled into a plush chair, sighing as the masseuse worked on my shoulders. A quiet moan escaped when her thumbs dug into a particrly tight knot.

    Then, my phone buzzed.

    "Five-star review?"

    The message shed across my lock screen, unsigned, unexpected.

    I frowned. "Five-star review?"

    Suddenly, a face surfaced in my memory strong arms, dark eyes, and a clean-cut jawline.

    "What was his name again? Sean...?" I asked.

    "Sean Smith, Ms. Shaw. You also said you liked his name," Rachel said.

    "I did?" I narrowed my eyes. "I don¡¯t remember."

    Last night had been a blur. Catherine Murphy had dragged me to Olympus Club to celebrate my divorce. They presented a lineup of gorgeous young men. I chose Sean barely out of college, polite, untouched by the world.

    Later, drunk and reckless, I spent the night with him. No regrets.

    Jack Simpson had burned all my illusions about love and loyalty. So why not take pleasure on my own terms?

    "Rachel," I said, stretching. "Contact Sean Smith tomorrow. Tell him I¡¯m interested in retaining his services long-term. Full medical checkup required. And tell him to quit smoking."

    "Yes, Ms. Shaw," she answered without blinking.

    I leaned back with a smile.

    Let the new terms begin.

 Chapter 3: Bruises in All the Right Places

    <h4>Chapter 3: Bruises in All the Right ces</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I was still in bed when Rachel¡¯s voice sliced through the quiet. "Ms. Shaw, your mother requests your immediate presence at home." She paused, her voice carefully neutral. "Mr. Simpson is there."

    Just like that, my good mood evaporated.

    "Jack?" I sat up, irritation creeping into my voice. "Let me guess¡ªhe¡¯s there to dump his mess on my doorstep?"

    "Should I arrange the car?"

    "Yes. And Rachel?" I swung my legs over the side of the bed. "Clear my afternoon schedule. I have a feeling this won¡¯t be quick."

    It infuriated me. When Jack and I were married, he barely visited my mother. Now that we were divorced, he suddenly felt entitled to show up uninvited likely for the sake of his lover, not my family.

    The drive to my family estate gave me just enough time topose myself. No matter what Jack wanted, I was no longer his cleanup crew.

    My mother was already waiting in the foyer when I arrived, her expression a familiar blend of worry and fragile hope.

    My mother and grandmother both relieved to see me were the backbone of this house, though neither would admit it. With no men left in our family since my grandfather passed shortly after I was born, and my father¡¯s death in a car ident when I was eighteen, I had be the one they leaned on. Jack had always known that. He saw my control, mistook my softness around them for weakness. That¡¯s why he dared toe here. He thought I¡¯d give in.

    I slipped into the slippers the maid handed me, shrugged off my jacket, and took a calming breath.

    I didn¡¯t even have a chance to speak before Jack stormed toward me, grabbing my arm. His gaze fell on my neck and stopped. His expression twisted.

    "What¡¯s that on your neck?" His voice dropped, dangerously low.

    The faint hickey hadn¡¯t faded. A small, purple mark. I had half a mind to unt it.

    Iughed softly. "Really, Jack? That¡¯s what you came here to discuss?"

    His grip tightened. "Who was it? Who dared to¡ª"

    I yanked my arm free, my smile icy. "Who dared? That¡¯s riching from you. Do I need to remind you who spent our wedding night between someone else¡¯s legs while I sat alone?"

    "Anna!" My mother rushed in, ever the peacemaker. "Jack came to visit your grandmother and me. He¡¯s a guest in our home."

    I counted to ten. "Fine. Then let¡¯s get to it. The Phoenix Project, right?"

    Jack opened his mouth, hesitated, then gestured vaguely at my neck again. "How could you do this to me?"

    "To you?" I raised a brow. "Jack, what exactly do you think I owe you?"

    "You better pray I don¡¯t find that man. I¡¯ll make him regret touching you."

    He didn¡¯t say another word about the project just stormed out like a spoiled child denied his toy.

    After lunch with my mother and grandmother where the housekeeper brought out my favorite soup I started to feel normal again.

    "Anna," my mother said gently, setting down her spoon. "Do you... have a new boyfriend?"

    I smirked into my wine ss. "Not exactly."

    "You and Jack there¡¯s really no chance?"

    "Elizabeth," my grandmother cut in, "enough. The world is full of men better than that one. Our Anna deserves happiness, not leftovers."

    I leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Thank you, Grandmother. You always know exactly what to say."

    After lunch, I changed and headed to the office. I had a video conference about an investment issue with one of Shaw Corp¡¯s subsidiaries. The moment the call started, chaos erupted.

    "Ms. Shaw," a manager stammered, "we tried our best to¡ª"

    "Clearly your best isn¡¯t good enough," I interrupted coolly. "If you can¡¯t handle responsibility at this level, resign. I¡¯ll ensure you receive six months¡¯ severance and the full contractual penalty."

    Daniel buzzed in. "Ms. Shaw, the Phoenix Project lead is requesting ten minutes of your time."

    "No," I replied without missing a beat. "If it¡¯s our fault, heads will roll. If it¡¯s theirs, they can clean it up. And if Lucy¡¯s ipetence costs us money, Jack can pay every penny."

    Later, Rachel reported in. "Ms. Shaw, Sean Smith¡¯s medical exam isplete. Shall we prepare Goldenleaf Manor?"

    I raised a brow. "So soon?"

    "We also heard that news of you ¡¯adopting¡¯ Sean has the entire Olympus Club buzzing. They¡¯re envious you¡¯re young, beautiful, rich, and newly divorced. If Sean falls in love with you, he¡¯ll have luxury for life."

    Iughed lightly. I didn¡¯t take it seriously but a part of me did enjoy how the world whispered when I moved.

    "Put him in Rosa Vi," I said. "Goldenleaf is my space. I don¡¯t bring outsiders there."

    Three dayster, fresh off a business trip, I stepped into the shower and my thoughts drifted to Sean. I found myself remembering his mouth, the way he moved, the softness of his voice after.

    Impulsively, I drove to the vi.

    I found him in the garden, crouched near the flower beds. His frame seemed slim slimmer than I remembered. I tilted my head, doubt creeping in. Was this really the man who had lifted me, held me down, made my body sing?

    His wrists were barely thicker than mine.

    Could this body really throw me against a wall?

 Chapter 4: Mistaken Bodies, Unexpected Bonds

    <h4>Chapter 4: Mistaken Bodies, Unexpected Bonds</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV:

    I sat in the vi¡¯s living room, legs crossed, the quiet elegance of the space offering a calm I didn¡¯t feel. The door opened, and Rachel led Sean in.

    The young man who stepped inside was indeed the face I remembered from Olympus Club soft features,posed expression, respectful posture. But despite the familiar exterior, something felt... off.

    He wiped his hands on a white towel as he approached, his voice soft and formal. "Ms. Shaw, you¡¯re here."

    I studied him carefully. Clean-cut, well-mannered, and calm exactly how I remembered him. And yet, a faint thread of doubt tugged at me. Something didn¡¯t line up.

    "Come, sit down. Let¡¯s talk." I smiled, masking the unease in my chest as I gestured to the armchair across from me.

    He sat gracefully, hands resting naturally on his legs, and his eyes met mine clear, steady, unbothered by status or wealth. That was what had drawn me to him in the first ce at Olympus Club. That sense offort. Of quiet charm.

    But as the silence stretched, something stood out. I frowned. "Where are the servants? There¡¯s no tea, no water..."

    Before Rachel could respond, Sean answered gently, "I dismissed the staff. I thought you might prefer privacy, Ms. Shaw. I apologize if I overstepped."

    He stood before I could respond. "Allow me to make you a cup of coffee."

    I blinked, slightly taken aback. While I demanded excellence in business, I was far more rxed in my personal life. The vi was technically his space now if he wanted to run it like his own, I had no objections. I watched him move through the kitchen like he belonged there.

    When he returned, he set a delicate porcin cup in front of me. One sip, and I raised my brows Mhiato, no sugar. Just the way I liked it.

    Impressive.

    He sat quietly across from me, hands in hisp again. Smart. Perceptive. Easy on the eyes. And clearlypetent.

    I took another sip. "Have you quit smoking?" I asked, half-teasing, half-curious.

    He looked confused. "Ms. Shaw, I¡¯ve never smoked."

    My hand froze mid-air. A chill traced my spine. "Never?" I asked slowly.

    He shook his head, visibly confused now. "No. My father was diagnosed with lung cancer when I was sixteen. I¡¯ve always stayed away from cigarettes."

    I turned toward Rachel, my brows furrowed.

    Rachel, calm andposed as ever, nodded. "Ms. Shaw, it¡¯s true. His mother passed two years ago. His father is terminal. He worked at an investment firm before switching to Olympus Club to pay the bills."

    I felt the color drain from my face.

    No smoking. A lean frame. A soft-spoken voice.

    He wasn¡¯t the man I¡¯d slept with that night.

    The man from Olympus Club had been strong¡ªhis body hard, movements confident. He smelled of smoke and sandalwood. This wasn¡¯t him.

    I had made a mistake.

    I stood. "Take off your shirt."

    Sean hesitated. His cheeks flushed as he stood, clearly reluctant, but he didn¡¯t protest. He began to unbutton his shirt with quietpliance.

    When thest button fell away, my doubts were confirmed.

    His chest was smooth. Slender. Barely any muscle definition. I stepped forward, pressing a finger lightly against his chest, then squeezing his upper arm.

    Too soft. Too thin. Too fragile.

    The man I¡¯d slept with had lifted me like I weighed nothing. Had moved like he could break me¡ªand almost did. This body wasn¡¯t capable of that.

    I had slept with the wrong person.

    How had I messed this up?

    I picked up my phone and shot a message to Catherine. Within moments, my phone buzzed with her call.

    "You really did sleep with the wrong guy?" she asked, bewildered.

    "I was drunk," I sighed, pressing my fingers to my temple. "My memory¡¯s foggy. I didn¡¯t even look properly the next morning. I had to rush to that tea party."

    "Oh, Anna..." Catherine groaned. "You¡¯ve really done it now."

    After hanging up, Rachel cleared her throat gently. "Ms. Shaw, Sean is still downstairs. How should we proceed?"

    I looked through the stair railing. He was still in the living room, shirt back on, standing awkwardly with his hands by his sides.

    I sighed.

    I had only taken him in because I thought he was that man. The one who¡¯d rocked my world and left me breathless.

    But Sean... Sean was not that man.

    Still, Rachel¡¯s voice cut into my thoughts, hesitant. "Ms. Shaw, the Olympus Club staff all know he was chosen by you. If you send him back now... he¡¯ll be humiliated. Once someone is sent back, they¡¯re never chosen again. His reputation will be destroyed."

    I hadn¡¯t considered that.

    A mistake on my part had given him a thread of hope and now I was about to take it away. That wasn¡¯t just careless. It was cruel.

    I looked down at Sean¡¯s worried expression, his gaze full of uncertainty.

    He had no idea how close he was to losing everything.

    A moment of silence passed. Then I made my decision.

    I walked down the stairs, heels echoing on the marble. "Sean, you can stay."

    His eyes widened in disbelief. "Ms. Shaw...?"

    "Rachel," I said, not breaking eye contact with him, "get in touch with the best hospitals in the city. Specialists, treatment programs whatever his father needs. I¡¯ll cover the cost."

    Sean¡¯s eyes shimmered, and for a second, his lips parted like he couldn¡¯t find the words.

    "Thank you," he said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

    I gave him a small nod, then turned away.

    He wasn¡¯t the man I thought he was. But maybe, just maybe, that wasn¡¯t such a bad thing after all.

 Chapter 5: Smoke & Bids

    <h4>Chapter 5: Smoke & Bids</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    "Rachel, give him some new outfits," I added casually, ncing at Sean without much expression. "If he¡¯s going to apany me in public, he needs a proper formal suit. Make sure it¡¯s tailored."

    I wasn¡¯t nning to keep him around forever, but for now, he was under my roof, and I wouldn¡¯t mistreat someone I¡¯d brought in myself even if it had all been a mistake.

    Pulling a sleek ck bank card from my purse, I held it out to Sean. He hesitated before epting it with both hands.

    "This is for your living expenses. The password is written on the back. I¡¯ve been busytely, so you¡¯ll have to arrange your schedule freely. But remember one thing stay clean. No trouble. Use this time to learn how to behave in society. There¡¯s more to life than simply following orders."

    Without waiting for his response, I turned on my heels and left.

    I had an auction to attend. A significant one, in fact. It was whispered that several rare and priceless items would be featured tonight. The kind of event that drew the city¡¯s most influential yers like moths to a me.

    Outside the venue, luxury cars rolled in one after another, their chrome reflections glinting beneath the chandelier-like streemps. Cameras shed. The red carpet was already abuzz with reporters and stylists. The air was thick with money and perfume.

    "Ms. Shaw, the auction starts in twenty minutes," Rachel reminded me, holding a sleek tablet in one hand. "Your private box is prepped."

    I gave a short nod, smoothing down the folds of my midnight-blue gown. Everything was in ce. Or so I thought until fate decided to p me across the face.

    Coming down the stairs, all confident smiles and cloying charm, were Jack and Lucy Taylor.

    I stopped in my tracks, irritation prickling beneath my skin. Why here? Why now?

    Lucy was dressed in a tastelessly shy gown, diamonds glittering like a chandelier had exploded across her chest. Her fake smile was practically carved into her cheeks. Typical.

    Jack, however, had the audacity to speak first, his voice thick with sarcasm.

    "Well, what a surprise," he drawled. "Shouldn¡¯t you be at Olympus Club tonight?"

    I narrowed my eyes at him. "Shouldn¡¯t you be busy trying to fix the mess at Phoenix Corp? Or are you too preupied babysitting your gold-digger?"

    His face darkened instantly. "You didn¡¯t deny it. So it¡¯s true you went to that kind of ce? You slept with a man there? How could you, Anna? Do you have no shame?"

    Before I could respond, his grip mped down hard on my arm, the sting immediate. He had no right.

    I ground my heel into the top of his foot, hard enough to make him flinch, and spat, "You lost the right to lecture me the moment you slept with Lucy while still married to me. I was already divorced when I went. You, on the other hand, were cheating while I was still wearing your ring."

    Gasps echoed around us. A few phones went up, recording. I didn¡¯t care.

    This was our mess, and he had chosen to drag it into the public eye.

    Without another word, I swept past them, Rachel following quickly behind. As the velvet doors closed behind us, a small, satisfied smile tugged at my lips.

    Petty, but satisfying.

    Inside, my private VIP box overlooked the auction floor through one-way ss. The seats were plush leather, and the lighting was dim and luxurious. Rachel took her ce beside me and pulled up the catalog.

    "The sapphire bracelet is first. It would be a perfect gift for Margaret¡¯s birthday."

    I nodded, barely listening. My eyes had already scanned ahead to Lot 47.

    A mansion in the old Cin Skke District.

    My mother¡¯s childhood home.

    A wave of emotion washed over me nostalgia, longing, determination. That house was more than property. It was legacy. My legacy.

    The auction began. A parade of glittering art, antique watches, and absurdly priced jewelry passed by. Jack, ever the peacock, won a pearl ne for Lucy at five million dors. She kissed him like she was in a soap opera.

    How tasteless can one couple be?

    Then came the sapphire bracelet. I raised my paddle, expecting a smooth acquisition.

    But Jack¡¯s paddle went up too.

    Again. And again.

    This was deliberate. He knew it was for Margaret. He was trying to spite me.

    "Fifteen million," Rachel whispered, watching me.

    "Twenty," I said clearly. My voice didn¡¯t waver.

    A hush fell over the room. Jack didn¡¯t bid again.

    "Sold to Ms. Shaw!"

    A ripple of apuse. I smiled faintly. One win.

    But the real battle was only just beginning.

    Lot 47 appeared on screen. The Cin Skke mansion. My pulse quickened.

    "Ms. Shaw," Rachel murmured, tense. "What if Mr. Simpson tries to sabotage this too?"

    I sipped my tea calmly. "He might. But the price on this mansion won¡¯t be cheap. He¡¯s petty, but not stupid. It¡¯s not even useful to him."

    I had barely finished speaking when Jack¡¯s voice rang out from the neighboring box.

    "Fifty million."

    My breath caught.

    He was that petty.

    My hands clenched into fists, nails biting into my skin. Rachel turned red with fury. "He¡¯s insane! Why must he take everything you want?"

    I inhaled slowly. "Don¡¯t panic."

    Raising my paddle, I said evenly, "Seventy million."

    A secondter, Jack countered.

    "Eighty million."

    Rachel leaned in. "That¡¯s above our nned cap."

    "I know. But this isn¡¯t just real estate. It¡¯s my mother¡¯s home."

    Just as I was about to raise my paddle again, a voice cut through the air.

    "Two hundred million."

    It came from the VIP box beside mine.

    The entire auction house fell silent. No name. No face. Just a voice. Smooth. Male.

    Powerful.

    Neither Jack nor I raised our paddles again. We couldn¡¯t.

    Jack stormed out with Lucy in a huff, and I watched them go with mixed feelings. The mansion was gone for now but at least Jack didn¡¯t get it either.

    I turned to Rachel. "Find out who that bidder was. I want a name, a face. Everything."

    Just as I stood to leave, the next item shed on screen.

    A small wooden rabbit carving.

    Simple. in. Yet something about it tugged at my memory.

    "Final item of the night," the auctioneer announced. "A personal piece. Starting bid: one million."

    No one raised a paddle.

    One minute passed. Two. Three.

    Then, almost without thinking, I raised mine.

    I bolted as soon as the auction ended, heels clicking against the marble floors. I had to see who was in that box.

    But by the time I reached it, it was already empty.

    All I saw was the back of a tall figure disappearing around a corner, long strides, expensive coat.

    I took a step forward to follow when Jack¡¯s voice cut through the hallway like a de.

    "Why?" he growled, storming toward me. "Why do you always have to fight me on everything?"

    I turned slowly to face him, my expression unreadable.

    The night was far from over.

 Chapter 6: What we Had

    <h4>Chapter 6: What we Had</h4>

    Jack¡¯s POV

    The taste of failure was bitter in my mouth as I watched the mystery bidder im the mansion for two hundred million. I¡¯d lost and worse, I¡¯d failed to stop Anna from getting what she wanted. The thought of her smug satisfaction made my blood boil.

    I stormed out of the auction house, Lucy trailing behind me in her ridiculous evening gown. The night air did nothing to cool my temper. When I spotted Anna¡¯s slim figure heading toward her car, I couldn¡¯t stop myself.

    "Why?" I called out, my voice cutting through the air. "Why do you have to fight me on everything?"

    Anna turned slowly, her expression cold andposed. "That mansion belonged to my mother¡¯s family. But of course, you wouldn¡¯t remember that, would you? I told you about it when we were married."

    The memory hit like a p. She had mentioned it during one of our rare dinners together. I¡¯d been checking emails on my phone, half-listening as she talked about childhood summers there. Damn it.

    "If it meant that much to you, you should¡¯ve said something," I muttered, knowing how weak it sounded.

    "Said something?" Herugh was bitter. "Like I said something when you gave the Phoenix Project to Lucy? When you missed our anniversary? Or maybe when you didn¡¯te home on our wedding night?"

    Each usation hit like a blow. I wanted to defend myself, to exin that things weren¡¯t that simple, but the words wouldn¡¯te.

    "I¡¯m done saying things to you, Jack," she went on, voice steady but cold. "Done exining. Done hoping you¡¯ll understand. Done having any expectations of you at all. We¡¯re divorced. Whatever game you were ying by bidding against me tonight I¡¯m not interested."

    She turned to leave, but I reached out and grabbed her arm. The memory of the mark on her neck shed through my mind, and my grip tightened without thinking.

    "So you run off to Olympus Club instead? Is that your answer?"

    "Let. Go." Her voice was like ice. "What I do and who I do it with is no longer any of your concern."

    I let her go, watching as she walked away, her heels clicking against the pavement. The sight of her leaving again twisted something inside me.

    "Jack?" Lucy¡¯s voice brought me back. She studied my face with narrowed eyes. "Are you falling for her again?"

    "Don¡¯t be ridiculous," I snapped, more harshly than intended. "She¡¯s... she¡¯s shameless. Barely divorced and already sleeping around. Did you see that mark on her neck?"

    Lucy¡¯s perfectly painted lips curved into a knowing smile. "If you say so, darling. Though you seem awfully concerned about who she¡¯s sleeping with."

    "I¡¯m not concerned," I said stiffly, though it sounded hollow. "I just never thought she¡¯d Anna was always so..." I trailed off.

    "So proper? So perfect?" Lucy¡¯s voice dripped with sarcasm. "Maybe you never really knew her at all."

    I watched Anna¡¯s car disappear into the traffic, something ufortable twisting in my chest. The image of her with another man kept ying in my mind along with the memory of her face when she talked about that mansion all those years ago.

    How many other things had I missed?

    How many times had I not really listened?

    "Let¡¯s go," I said abruptly, turning away. "We¡¯re done here."

    After dropping Lucy off, my phone buzzed. A message from my investigator made my blood run cold:

    "Mr. Simpson, there¡¯s no record of Ms. Shaw spending nights with Sean Smith. They¡¯ve never left Olympus Club together."

    Something wasn¡¯t adding up.

    The hickey on Anna¡¯s neck. Her smugness. If it wasn¡¯t Sean... then who?

    I had to know.

    I tracked down Sean¡¯s address at Rosa Vi. The gates opened easily too easily.

    I found him in the garden, tending to flowers like some peaceful gardener instead of the man who¡¯d dared touch my wife. Ex-wife, I reminded myself, the word tasting like poison.

    "Mr. Simpson?" He stood, brushing dirt off his knees. "What brings you here?"

    "Cut the act," I growled, stepping toward him. "Anna told everyone you slept together. Was it worth it? Did you enjoy yourself?"

    His expression shifted. A slight, infuriating smile yed at his lips. "Yes, we did. And yes, I did enjoy myself. Very much."

    His voice was calm. Taunting.

    "Ms. Shaw is quite... passionate."

    The world went red.

    My fist connected with his jaw before I realized I¡¯d moved. He stumbled backward into a row of potted nts.

    "You son of a¡ª"

    "What¡¯s wrong, Mr. Simpson?" He wiped blood from his lip, still smiling. "Jealous?"

    I grabbed his cor and mmed him against the garden wall. "You think this is funny? You think¡ª"

    "JACK! What the hell are you doing?"

    Anna¡¯s voice cut through the rage.

    She came running, Rachel close behind. When she saw Sean¡¯s bloodied face, her expression shifted into something fierce.

    "Get away from him," she ordered, voice low and furious. "NOW."

    I let go, and Sean slumped against the wall.

    "You¡¯re defending him? After he just admitted¡ª"

    Anna knelt beside Sean, helping him up, her touch gentle. It made my stomach turn.

    "Rachel, get Sean inside. Call a doctor."

    Once they were gone, she turned to me, her eyes zing. "How dare youe to my property and assault my employee?"

    "Your employee?" Iughed bitterly. "Is that what we¡¯re calling it now? He just admitted to sleeping with you!"

    "And what if he did?" Her voice was ice. "It¡¯s none of your business who I sleep with anymore. You lost that right when you chose Lucy."

    The words hit harder than expected.

    "So you¡¯re just going to keep him here? Living in luxury while you¡ª"

    "While I what, Jack?" she stepped closer, voice low and dangerous. "While I do exactly what you did to me? Except I waited until after the divorce. I didn¡¯t betray any vows. I didn¡¯t humiliate my spouse in front of the entire city. That was all you."

    "Get rid of him," I snapped, struggling to hold onto my anger as guilt wed in. "If you have any respect for what we had¡ª"

    "What we had?" she cut me off with a bitterugh. "What we had was a marriage where you couldn¡¯t stay faithful for one night our wedding night. What we had was you giving my project to your mistress. What we had is over, Jack. I don¡¯t take orders from you anymore."

    She turned toward the house, then paused.

    "Leave now, or I¡¯ll have security remove you. And Jack? If you ever touch Sean again... I¡¯ll bury you inwsuits so deep, even Lucy won¡¯t find you."

 Chapter 7: The Edge Of Jealousy

    <h4>Chapter 7: The Edge Of Jealousy</h4>

    Jack¡¯s POV

    I stormed out of Rosa Vi, my blood still boiling. The steering wheel creaked under my white-knuckled grip as I navigated through evening traffic.

    The call from Calvin came just in time I needed a drink.

    The usual crowd at Murphy¡¯s Bar parted before me like the Red Sea. One look at my face and they knew to keep their distance. Calvin and Luke had already secured our regr booth, and mercifully, they¡¯d cleared out the usual hangers-on.

    "Rough day?" Calvin pushed a ss of whiskey toward me.

    I downed it in one go. "You could say that."

    Luke leaned forward, lowering his voice. "So... is it true? About Anna and that guy from Olympus Club?"

    The ss mmed onto the table harder than I intended. "You want to repeat that?"

    "Easy," Calvin raised his hands. "We¡¯re just concerned. The whole city¡¯s talking about it."

    "The whole city needs to shut their damn mouths," I growled. "She¡¯s still my¡ª" I caught myself, but not fast enough.

    "Your what?" Luke¡¯s eyebrows shot up. "Your ex-wife? The one you cheated on?"

    "It¡¯s not that simple," I muttered, signaling for another drink.

    "Oh?" Calvin¡¯s voice dripped with sarcasm. "Seems pretty simple to me. You screwed up, she divorced you, and now you¡¯re mad because she¡¯s moving on."

    "I¡¯m not mad because¡ª" I stopped, frustrated. "Look, even if we¡¯re divorced, she¡¯s still Anna. She shouldn¡¯t be... with someone like that."

    "Someone like what?" Luke pressed.

    "Young? Attractive? Not married to someone else?"

    I shot him a warning re, but he just shrugged. "Face it, Jack. You¡¯re jealous."

    "That¡¯s ridiculous," I scoffed, but the words tasted hollow. "I¡¯m with Lucy now. I¡¯m happy."

    "Sure," Calvin nodded, not even trying to hide his skepticism. "That¡¯s why you¡¯re sitting here brooding about who Anna¡¯s sleeping with."

    My phone buzzed, interrupting the conversation. My mother¡¯s name shed across the screen.

    "Jack," her voice was pitched higher than usual a sure sign of excitement. "Your Uncle Marcus is back from Europe! He just called your father. We¡¯re having a family dinner tomorrow at the Murphy Estate."

    My stomach dropped. Marcus Murphy, my mother¡¯s youngest brother, the golden child of the Murphy family.

    Harvard Ph.D. in Economics and Business Administration by twenty-eight. By thirty, he¡¯d expanded our family¡¯s holdings in Europe more than tenfold. Athletic, brilliant, and perpetually single the standard against which all other Murphy men were measured and found wanting.

    "Tomorrow?" I managed to keep my voice steady. "I¡¯ll be there."

    "You¡¯d better be," she warned. "And Jack? Try to... well, you know how your uncle is. Maybe don¡¯t mention the divorce. Or Lucy..."

    "Thanks, Mom," I cut her off, already feeling a headache building. "I got it."

    I hung up and stared into my drink. Every family gathering was the same Marcus¡¯stest achievements held up as an example of what a real Murphy could aplish.

    "Uncle Marcus is back?" Calvin asked, noting my expression.

    "Yeah." I gestured for another drink. "Tomorrow¡¯s going to be hell."

    "The famous Marcus Murphy," Luke whistled. "Didn¡¯t he set some kind of record at Harvard? Perfect GPA while captaining three varsity teams?"

    "Four," I corrected automatically, the statistics burned into my brain from years of family dinners. "Economics, Business, perfect GMAT, runs marathons, speaks sixnguages..." I trailed off, remembering all the times I¡¯d beenpared to him. "And now he¡¯s back just in time to witness the mess I¡¯ve made of everything."

    "Any idea who bought that mansion at the auction?" Calvin asked, mercifully changing the subject.

    "No," I weed the distraction. "Some mystery bidder in the VIP box. Two hundred million, just like that." I thought of Anna¡¯s face when she lost it, that flicker of genuine pain she tried to hide. "It was her mother¡¯s family home. I should have remembered that."

    "There¡¯s a lot of things you should have remembered about Anna," Luke muttered.

    I didn¡¯t argue. He was right.

    I ordered another drink.

    Tomorrow was going to be a very long day.

    Sean¡¯s POV

    My jaw throbbed where Jack¡¯s fist had connected, but the pain felt distant, overshadowed by the memory of Anna standing between us, her voice sharp with anger as she defended me. Me the man who had just lied about sleeping with her.

    "Let me take you to the hospital," she insisted, her brow furrowed with concern. "That needs to be looked at."

    I shook my head, keeping my eyes fixed on the ground. I couldn¡¯t trust myself to look directly at her, not when she was being so kind, not when her presence made my heart race in ways I had no right to feel. "It¡¯s nothing serious, Ms. Shaw. Just bruising."

    "Sean." The way she said my name made my chest tighten. "Don¡¯t be stubborn. We should at least have a doctor check¡ª"

    "Please," I managed, still avoiding her gaze. "I¡¯m fine, really." I don¡¯t deserve your concern. Not after what I just did.

    She sighed, and I could feel her studying me. If I looked up now, I¡¯d see those eyes intelligent, prating, beautiful. The eyes that had first caught my attention at Olympus Club, before I understood who she was, before I knew I¡¯d be living in her vi, before I told that lie to her ex-husband.

    I hadn¡¯t nned to say it. When Jack confronted me, something inside me snapped. Maybe it was the way he acted like he still owned her, or maybe it was just my own buried feelings surfacing in a moment of madness.

    Whatever the reason, I¡¯d looked him in the eye and confirmed his suspicions, practically bragging about something that had never happened.

    And then she¡¯d defended me. Not because she knew I was telling the truth she must have known I was lying but because she felt responsible for me.

    The realization made me feel simultaneously ted and ashamed.

    "At least let me leave you something for medical expenses," she said, pulling out her checkbook.

    I wanted to refuse, but I knew better than to argue.

    "Thank you, Ms. Shaw." I forced myself to sound professional, detached. It was easier that way.

    She scribbled out the check, then hesitated. "Sean... what you said to Jack..."

    My heart stopped. This was it she¡¯d call me out on the lie, fire me, send me back to Olympus Club in disgrace.

    But she just shook her head slightly and ced the check on the table.

    "Just... be careful around him. He can be vtile when he¡¯s angry."

    Then she was gone, her heels clicking across the floor, leaving behind only the lingering scent of her perfume and a check with more zeros than I¡¯d ever seen in my life.

 Chapter 8: The Return Of Marcus Murphy

    <h4>Chapter 8: The Return Of Marcus Murphy</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I was savoring a rare moment of peace during my spa treatment when my phone buzzed. The masseuse paused as I reached for it, instantly recognizing my mother¡¯s name on the screen.

    "Anna, darling," she greeted me with that familiar spark in her voice. "William Murphy¡¯s youngest son, Marcus, has returned from Europe! They¡¯re hosting a family dinner tomorrow at the Murphy Estate."

    My muscles tensed so much for rxation. "Mother, I barely know Marcus Murphy. And the Simpsons will be there." The thought of seeing Jack and his new family made my stomach twist. "I really don¡¯t think ¡ª"

    "Anna," she cut in gently, "your grandmother and I will be at church tomorrow, praying. But you should attend. William¡¯s always been so good to us."

    She wasn¡¯t wrong. What we owed William Murphy ran deeper than polite social obligations. My thoughts drifted back six years before my marriage to Jack, before it all crumbled.

    I had been leaving a caf¨¦ when I saw an elderly man stumble on the sidewalk, clutching his chest. Everyone else ignored him, too absorbed in their own lives. But I couldn¡¯t walk past. I rushed him to the hospital. That man was William Murphy. Back then, he was just a powerful name in Skyview City someone far removed from my world. But that day changed everything.

    He had suffered a heart attack, and doctors said that if he¡¯d arrived even ten minutester, it might¡¯ve been fatal. From that point on, William took a special interest in my family, especially after learning about my father¡¯s death. When he realized my feelings for Jack, he personally arranged for us to meet. He was the reason our paths ever crossed.

    "I know, Mother," I sighed, the memories washing over me. "William¡¯s been wonderful."

    "He treats you like a daughter," she reminded me softly. "And now his favorite son is home..."

    There was a hopeful lilt in her voice, and I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. "Mother, please. I¡¯ve never even met Marcus Murphy. Catherine talks about him, but that¡¯s all."

    Well, that wasn¡¯t entirely true. Everyone knew of Marcus Murphy the golden boy of Skyview¡¯s most elite family. A Harvard prodigy. A business titan. A star athlete. He¡¯d been in Europe for years, building a name for himself. I vaguely remembered Catherine mentioning he came back once six years ago for some girl. The details were fuzzy.

    "Juste to the dinner," my mother pleaded. "For William."

    I exhaled. I already knew I¡¯d say yes. "Fine. I¡¯ll be there."

    After ending the call, I let my head sink back into the massage table. Another night of watching Jack and Lucy put on their happy-couple act. Another round of Mary Simpson¡¯s passive-aggressive jabs. But William had stood by me during my darkest times. I owed him this much.

    "Rachel," I called, knowing she¡¯d be close. "I need a new dress for tomorrow night."

    As she got to work, I tried to recall what Catherine had said about her elusive uncle. Brilliant, but distant. Cold in business, warm with family. And still single, even at thirty-two. One of Europe¡¯s most eligible bachelors, yet no scandal, no wife.

    Well... at the very least, tomorrow¡¯s dinner might be interesting. If Jack behaved himself. If Mary didn¡¯t push my buttons. If Lucy kept her act to herself.

    The next day, I timed my arrival at Murphy Estate with precision so I thought. As I pulled up to the grand gates, I spotted Catherine hurrying toward the entrance, visibly flustered and glued to her phone.

    "Anna!" She grabbed my arm, looking relieved. "Thank God. I need a favor."

    I raised an eyebrow. Catherine Murphy never looked anything less than perfect, but today, her designer dress was slightly wrinkled and her lipstick was faded.

    "What¡¯s going on with you?"

    "If anyone asks, I¡¯ve been with you the past few days. Shopping, spa dates make it sound believable," she said quickly, fixing her lipstick in her phone camera.

    I bit back a smile. "New boyfriend?"

    Her blush answered for her. "Shut up. Don¡¯t tell anyone."

    As we strolled through the manicured garden, Skyview¡¯s elite mingled on thewn. The Murphy family¡¯s gatherings were legendary, always filled with the city¡¯s most powerful names.

    Then I saw them Mary Simpson and Lucy Taylor, arm in arm near the rose garden,ughing like mother and daughter. My stomach twisted.

    "Can you believe that?" Catherine whispered. "My aunt¡¯s practically adopted her. William is going to lose it when he sees this."

    Lucy noticed me and lit up with that familiar fake warmth. She tugged Mary along as she made a beeline for us.

    "Anna!" she called, her voice syrupy sweet. "So wonderful to see you!"

    I saw right through it. She wanted to look innocent like even Jack¡¯s ex-wife was on friendly terms with her. It was a PR stunt. She was using me to legitimize herself.

    "I don¡¯t think so," I said coldly, turning away before she reached me.

    Beside me, Catherine stifled augh.

 Chapter 9: Echo of a Night Forgotten

    <h4>Chapter 9: Echo of a Night Forgotten</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    As we stepped into the grand hall of the Murphy Estate, the buzz of conversation dulled beneath William Murphy¡¯s booming voice.

    "Come,e! You must meet Marcus!"

    The crowd parted like a curtain, revealing a man standing tall, his gaze cutting through the air like a de. His eyesnded on me for a single, electric moment then flicked away just as quickly, as if I were insignificant.

    Something about him made the room feel smaller. Marcus Murphy was striking, yes but it was more than looks. He carried himself like a man who owned every room he walked into.

    He couldn¡¯t have been older than thirty-two, but the aura he exuded was heavy with experience. His tailored suit fit with the effortless precision of someone who¡¯d worn power like a second skin for most of his life. He wasn¡¯t like Jack. Jack had polish, but Marcus had presence.

    "Anna, my dear!" William¡¯s warm tone pulled me back. He took both my hands in his, his eyes crinkling with affection.

    "Marcus, this is Anna Shaw. She¡¯s the one who saved my life, remember? A brilliant woman she¡¯s done incredible work with Shaw Corp."

    I caught the deliberate nces around the room, especially from the Simpsons. William was sending a message loud and clear: I still mattered.

    "You must call him Uncle Marcus," he added, chuckling. "Just like Catherine does. You¡¯re still family."

    Marcus¡¯s lips curved slightly not quite a smile, more a studied reaction.

    "Indeed. Very impressive," he said, voice deep and controlled. Thepliment was measured, but not false.

    "Your reputation precedes you as well," I replied smoothly. "Catherine speaks highly of your achievements in Europe."

    We exchanged pleasantries, but I couldn¡¯t shake the weight of his gaze, the way he seemed to watch and analyze everyone nespecially me while giving away absolutely nothing.

    Later, when the social niceties had been fulfilled, I made my polite exit. William pulled me into a fond embrace, whispering, "Don¡¯t be a stranger, my dear."

    As I left the hall, I nearly bumped into Jack. Our eyes met for a brief moment his unreadable, mine tired and for once, he let me go without a word.

    Maybe he¡¯s finally letting go, I thought, though the thought left a strange ache I didn¡¯t want to examine.

    I slid into the car. "Rosa Vi," I instructed my driver.

    Sean had been waiting patiently. Discreet, charming, uplicated everything my life wasn¡¯t. I owed him a bit more of my attention.

    But even as we drove, my thoughts drifted back to Marcus Murphy¡¯s eyes. Eyes that had looked right through me... and yet, left me feeling seen.

    Marcus¡¯s POV

    The moment she stepped into the hall, I watched her carefully, studying every inch of her face for a flicker of recognition.

    There was none.

    Her gaze didn¡¯t linger, didn¡¯t hesitate. She saw me but not me.

    Anna Shaw had no idea that the man she once begged for more at Olympus Club was standing right in front of her.

    But I remembered everything. Her scent Jasmineced with vani hit me like a memory made flesh. That night had never left me.

    She¡¯d been with Catherine, clearly unraveling from the weight of her divorce. I¡¯d been there on business, speaking to the club¡¯s owner. When her friend suggested hiringpany for the night, I saw my chance.

    It was reckless. Stupid, even. But for a man like me, who ns everything... Anna Shaw was the one thing I hadn¡¯t nned.

    She didn¡¯t know it was me. Not then. Not now. And yet, I¡¯d touched her in ways no man ever had.

    I thought today maybe, just maybe she¡¯d recognize something. A look. A sound. The air between us.

    But she was more concerned with social games and avoiding her ex-husband¡¯s new ything than remembering the night I made her forget her name.

    "Mr. Murphy," Peter Reed, my assistant, interrupted. "Ms. Shaw¡¯s car was spotted heading to Rosa Vi."

    My jaw tensed. Rosa Vi where she kept him. The boy who took credit for a night that belonged to me.

    "She¡¯s still seeing him?" I kept my voice even, but inside, something primal twisted.

    "Yes, sir."

    "Keep eyes on her."

    She¡¯d run from me once. Unknowingly. But I¡¯d returned for a reason. And if Anna Shaw needed reminding of who truly made her tremble I would deliver that reminder personally.

    Next time, she wouldn¡¯t forget.

 Chapter 10: Room 3303

    <h4>Chapter 10: Room 3303</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The bruises on Sean¡¯s face made me feel guilty as I walked into Rosa Vi.

    He was arranging flowers in the living room, his movements careful and measured, clearly still in pain from Jack¡¯s assault.

    "How are you feeling?" I asked, setting my bag down. The care in my voice surprised even me.

    Sean turned, a soft smile lighting up his face despite his injuries. "Much better, Ms. Shaw."

    I studied the purple-ck marks marring his jaw. After all, he got hurt because of me.

    "I¡¯m staying here tonight," I announced, surprising myself with the decision. "Have the guest room prepared."

    His eyes widened slightly, but he quicklyposed himself. "Of course. Would you like dinner served in your room?"

    Before I could answer, Rachel appeared with my overnight bag. She¡¯d anticipated my decision before I¡¯d even made it. Sometimes, I wondered if she could read my mind.

    Later that evening, as I worked through emails on myptop, Sean¡¯s soft voice interrupted my thoughts. "Ms. Shaw? Would you like a massage? I noticed you rubbing your shoulders earlier."

    I nced up, intrigued. "You¡¯re trained in massage?"

    "We had extensive training at Olympus Club," he admitted, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Not just... well, you know. They taught us proper therapeutic techniques too."

    Something about his embarrassment made me smile. "Alright then. Show me what you can do."

    His hands were surprisingly strong for someone with such a slim build. As his fingers worked the knots from my shoulders, I found myself rxing despite my usual guardedness. There was something refreshingly honest about Sean no hidden agendas, no power ys.

    The peaceful moment was shattered by my phone¡¯s buzz. A number that looked familiar.

    Sapphire Sky Hotel, 3303

    I frowned, about to delete it when another message appeared.

    Come alone, Anna Shaw.

    My heart stuttered. They knew my name. What did they want ckmail?

    My brow furrowed. They probably knew everything about me, while I knew nothing about them. The feeling was ufortable for someone like me used to being in control.

    "Sean, that¡¯s enough for tonight," I said, standing abruptly. "Get some rest."

    His face fell slightly, but he nodded. "Of course, Ms. Shaw. Will you be¡ª"

    "I have a matter to attend to," I cut him off, already reaching for my coat. "Don¡¯t wait up."

    The Sapphire Sky Hotel loomed before me, its ss fa?ade reflecting the city lights. Everything about the ce screamed money the private elevator, the hushed corridors. Whoever had summoned me wasn¡¯t short on funds.

    Room 3303¡¯s door was unlocked. I heard the shower running as I entered the expansive suite. On the coffee table, something caught my eye a watch I recognized instantly. A limited-edition Patek Philippe, one of only fifty pieces worldwide. Each one cost more than most people made in a lifetime.

    Who is he? I wondered, my earlier suspicion confirmed. This wasn¡¯t just a wealthy admirer. This was someone from an entirely different league.

    The shower stopped. Before I could process what that meant, the suite plunged into darkness.

    My instincts screamed danger, but as I turned to flee, strong arms caught me from behind. He moved with practiced efficiency, pinning me to the massive bed before I could even cry out.

    "Let go!" I snarled, struggling against his grip. "Who do you think you are?"

    He didn¡¯t answer. Instead, his lips found my neck exactly where he¡¯d marked me before. My body betrayed me, responding to his touch even as my mind rebelled. His hands moved with devastating skill, remembering exactly how to unravel me.

    "Tell me who you are," I demanded between gasps, but he silenced me with a kiss that was both punishing and passionate. In the darkness, I could only feel the expensive fabric of his shirt, the strength in his muscles, the intoxicating scent that teased memories I couldn¡¯t quite grasp.

    What followed was a symphony of pleasure and fury. My arms trembled as he seized my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand. His other hand tore at my skirt, rough fingers brushing my thighs, then higher. My breath caught as he found me wet, aching his touch unyielding, circling my clit before plunging inside.

    I couldn¡¯t see, but I felt everything: his cock, thick and insistent, pressing against my entrance. He didn¡¯t ask, didn¡¯t wait just thrust, filling me in one brutal stroke. A gasp tore from my throat, my body arching under his control. His hips mmed into mine, relentless, my cunt clenching around him as he dictated the rhythm.

    The darkness amplified it all his grunts, the slick sound of skin on skin, the heat of his shaft stretching me. He drove deeper, iming every inch, until I unraveled, helpless, beneath him.

    Dawn found me alone, pleasantly sore and thoroughly confused. On the nightstandy a familiar check the same one I¡¯d written at Olympus Club.

    He¡¯s not short on money. So why pay... just to have sex with me?

    Rachel burst in, sporting a bruise on her neck. Her eyes widened at the marks on my skin. "Ms. Shaw! Are you¡ª". She stopped, rubbing her neck where a bruise was forming. "I woke up in the next room. They must have knocked me out when I arrived."

    I sat up. "Find out who booked these rooms. Security footage, payment records everything."

    "Already on it." She hesitated. "Should I get you... emergency contraception?"

    "No." At least he¡¯d been responsible enough to use protection. Smallfort, given how thoroughly he¡¯d dominated me otherwise.

    As Rachel helped me dress, my mind raced. Who was he? How did he know my name... my movements?

 Chapter 11: I Will Find You

    <h4>Chapter 11: I Will Find You</h4>

    I will find you, I promised silently again as my car pulled up to Goldenleaf Manor. My body still ached pleasantly from the night¡¯s activities.

    "Ms. Shaw." Harrison, our elderly butler, met me at the door with an expectant look. "The auction house delivered your purchases while you were out. Would you like to verify them now?"

    I suppressed a groan. Thest thing I wanted was paperwork, but it had to be done. "Fine. Where are they?"

    "In the study, ma¡¯am. The sapphire bracelet for Margaret and..." he hesitated, "the wooden rabbit carving."

    I had almost forgotten about that impulsive purchase. Following Harrison into the study, I saw both items carefully arranged on my desk.

    The sapphire bracelet sparkled magnificently in its box, but my attention was drawn to the small wooden figure beside it.

    Something about the rabbit¡¯s pose head tilted slightly, ears pulled back tugged at my memory. I picked it up, running my fingers over the smooth curves of the wood. The craftsmanship was impressive, each detail lovingly carved.

    "My goodness," Harrison breathed, eyes wide. "I can¡¯t believe it survived all these years."

    I looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

    "That rabbit, Ms. Shaw. You carved it yourself when you were fifteen." His voice held a note of wonder.

    I stared at the carving in my hands, struggling to process his words. I made this? The memory felt just out of reach, like trying to recall a dream upon waking.

    Harrison returned carrying a photo album. He opened it carefully, fingers trembling slightly as he turned the pages. "Here."

    The photograph showed a teenage version of myself, seated at a workbench. My hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wood shavings scattered around me. In my hands was an unfinished rabbit carving unmistakably the same one I now held.

    "You took woodcarving lessons that summer," Harrison exined gently. "Your father thought it would help with stress before your SATs. You were quite talented."

    My throat tightened unexpectedly. I had so much to learn when I was young that I¡¯d almost forgotten I carved such a wooden rabbit.

    "Rachel," I called out, my voice harder than I intended. She appeared instantly, already tapping on her tablet. "Find out who consigned this piece to the auction. I want to know everything where they got it, when, and how much they paid. You have three days."

    "Ms. Shaw¡ª" she began, but I cut her off.

    "Three days, Rachel. Someone put this up for auction knowing exactly who would buy it. I want to know who and why."

    Harrison cleared his throat softly. "Perhaps some soup first, Ms. Shaw? You look tired, and your mother always says¡ª"

    "Fine," I snapped, then immediately regretted my tone. It wasn¡¯t Harrison¡¯s fault I was exhausted and unsettled.

    He returned momentster with a bowl of his signature chicken soup. "Get some rest after this," he advised gently.

    My phone buzzed just as I was about to drift off. Catherine Murphy¡¯s name shed across the screen.

    "Get dressed," she announced without preamble. "Something sexy. We¡¯re going out."

    I groaned into my pillow. "Catherine, I¡¯m exhausted¡ª"

    "Nope, not taking no for an answer. You need this. I¡¯m introducing you to someone amazing." Her voice held that tone that meant resistance was futile. "Wear that red dress you bought in Paris."

    Two hourster, I found myself in one of Skyview City¡¯s most exclusive nightclubs, the bass vibrating through my bones as Catherine and I dominated the dance floor. The red dress clung to my curves, drawing appreciative nces from around the room. For a moment, I let myself forget about mysterious lovers and wooden rabbits, losing myself in the rhythm.

    Catherine grabbed my arm mid-spin, her eyes suddenly wide with panic.

    "We need to go. Now."

    "What¡ª" Before I could finish, she was dragging me toward the exit. The sudden shift from dancing to fleeing left me stumbling in my heels.

    We didn¡¯t make it far.

    A tall figure stepped into our path Peter Reed, Marcus¡¯s right-hand man. I recognized him from corporate events, always hovering at the edge of Marcus¡¯s orbit.

    "Ms. Murphy, Ms. Shaw," he greeted us with professional courtesy. "Mr. Murphy is here tonight."

    Catherine¡¯s grip on my arm tightened.

    I nced at her, puzzled by her reaction. Why was she so afraid of her uncle?

    As if summoned by his name, Marcus materialized from the crowd. Even in the pulsing lights of the club, hemanded attention. His tailored shirt stretched across broad shoulders, and his dark eyes assessed the situation with calcting precision.

    "What an interesting surprise," he drawled, his gaze moving between us. "Catherine. Anna."

    Catherine seemed to shrink beside me.

    "Uncle Marcus, I¡ª"

    "Anna invited me," she blurted out, shooting me a desperate look. Three quick squeezes to my fingers our old code from shopping trips. I¡¯ll buy you those three bags you wanted.

    I raised an eyebrow but yed along.

    "That¡¯s right. We¡¯re both adults, Marcus. Surely you¡¯re not still ying the overprotective uncle?"

    His mouth curved slightly, but the smile didn¡¯t reach his eyes. "Catherine, we discussed this. Last time you were here, I said your allowance would be cut if it happened again." He turned to Peter. "Make sure she gets home safely."

    Catherine squeezed my hand once more in apology before practically fleeing, leaving me alone with Marcus and the lingering bass of the club music.

    "I¡¯ll drive you home," he stated. Not a question, not an offer a simple deration of fact.

    "That¡¯s not necessary," I started to say, but he was already walking toward the exit, Peter gesturing for me to follow.

 Chapter 12: Echoes of the Night

    <h4>Chapter 12: Echoes of the Night</h4>

    Marcus¡¯s POV

    I yed chess with my father, but my focus drifted more specifically, to Anna Shaw and the red half-moons her nails had raked across my back. I moved a piece without thinking, earning a sharp frown from across the board.

    Thwack!

    His walking stick struck my shoulder not enough to hurt, just enough to yank me back to reality.

    "If you¡¯re not going to take this seriously, leave," he growled, though a flicker of amusement softened the warning.

    I winced in mock pain. "Just some scratches," I murmured, lips twitching into a smile. "A rather fierce kitten."

    His expression shifted. After decades at the helm of the Murphy empire, little escaped him. "A kitten?" he echoed knowingly. "So you¡¯ve found someone."

    I didn¡¯t respond, but I didn¡¯t need to. He read the truth in my silence.

    "Who is she?" he pressed, leaning forward, eyes gleaming. "It¡¯s about time you settled down. The Murphy name needs heirs."

    "I have a meeting," I said smoothly, rising. "We¡¯ll y again soon."

    Hisughter chased me down the hall. "You can¡¯t dodge this forever, Marcus!"

    The bar where Joseph waited was deliberately unremarkable dim lighting, scuffed floors, watered-down drinks. A far cry from the opulence of Olympus, my usual haunt. He raised a brow when I approached.

    "The great Marcus Murphy, slumming it?" he teased. "Why not Olympus tonight?"

    "Didn¡¯t feel like going back," I said curtly, signaling the bartender. I didn¡¯t borate. The real reason was simple: Olympus reeked of Anna. Her perfume still lingered in the shadows of that private suite, and I wasn¡¯t ready to breathe it in again.

    Joseph swirled his drink, watching me. "I got the intel you wanted about the mansion auction. Turns out Jack Simpson wasn¡¯t just being spiteful. That whole district¡¯s ted for redevelopment."

    Guilt flickered in my chest. I¡¯d assumed Jack was just trying to hurt Anna, bidding to spite her. That assumption had led me to outbid them both two hundred million, a price that made headlines even in Skyview.

    "The property¡¯s yours now," Joseph continued. "What are you nning to do with it?"

    I didn¡¯t answer right away. That house wasn¡¯t just real estate it was Anna¡¯s childhood, her memories, her grief. I¡¯d bought it to protect her from Jack, but now...

    "It belongs to its rightful owner," I said finally. I didn¡¯t add that she¡¯d get it back just not yet. Not until she remembered that night. Not until she remembered me.

    Anna¡¯s POV

    "I can get my own ce for the night," I said, exasperated, from the backseat of Marcus¡¯s car. He didn¡¯t respond. Just kept driving through the winding streets of Skyview, calm and unreadable.

    We stopped outside my family¡¯s gates, the iron archway looming like a relic from another lifetime. Before the car even fully halted, my grandmother appeared, followed by my mother both dressed as if attending a g. Of course. A Murphy visits and suddenly we¡¯re royalty.

    As I moved to exit, a sharp ache shot through my thighs, making me wince. I hadn¡¯t realized how sore I was until now. I shifted carefully, hoping no one noticed.

    "Marcus Murphy!" Grandmother beamed, sping his hands warmly. "Ten years, has it been? Your insight impressed Anna¡¯s father so much back then. He couldn¡¯t stop talking about you."

    I tried to sneak past them into the house, desperate to ditch my club dress. But then¡ª"

    "I ran into Annie in the city," Marcus said casually.

    I froze. Annie.

    No one had called me that in years not outside the family. He¡¯d used it deliberately.

    My mother¡¯s brows lifted ever so slightly.

    "Anna,e with me," she said sharply, her fingers wrapping around my arm as she whisked me upstairs. "That dress is not suitable forpany."

    By the time I came down again, dressed in something much more... mother-approved, Marcus was seated in our living room, coffee in hand, engaged in polite conversation with my family.

    "Recreation¡¯s perfectly normal for someone managing a major corporation," he was saying, in what sounded oddly like a defense of my lifestyle.

    "She does take on too much," my mother sighed. "Sometimes I wish she¡¯d rx more... but..."

    "She can alwayse to me," Marcus said, calm and firm. "If she needs anything."

    My mother and grandmother exchanged a surprised nce.

    I managed a smile. "That¡¯s kind of you, but you¡¯re rarely in the country. If I needed help, you¡¯d be hard to find."

    His gaze locked with mine. "If you look for me, Annie, you¡¯ll find me."

    There was something in his voice something possessive, something familiar and I didn¡¯t like the way it made my heart flutter.

    He stood and offered his farewells. We all walked him out to the car, as politeness dictated.

    Once the taillights vanished, my mother turned to me.

    "Anna," she asked, "how well do you know Marcus Murphy?"

    "This is only the second time we¡¯ve met," I answered honestly.

    She frowned. "Really? He seemed so... familiar. And that nickname..."

    "Oh, that?" I shrugged. "William probably mentioned it."

    But I knew better. Marcus hadn¡¯t needed anyone to remind him who I was. And he definitely hadn¡¯t forgotten that night

 Chapter 13: Masks and Motives

    <h4>Chapter 13: Masks and Motives</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    Iy on my bed with a cooling face mask stered over my skin, watching as Catherine¡¯s wide eyed face filled my phone screen.

    "I can¡¯t believe it," she gasped, shaking her head in disbelief. "Uncle Marcus actually defended you? And Aunt Elizabeth didn¡¯t give you a full-blown lecture on propriety?"

    I couldn¡¯t suppress a small smile. "What can I say? Maybe your uncle isn¡¯t as severe as you all think."

    Catherine snorted. "Oh, please. You have no idea. Last time I went clubbing, he cut off my pocket money and said I was tarnishing the family name. The double standard is insane."

    "Maybe he just has better judgment than you give him credit for," I teased, adjusting my pillow so the mask didn¡¯t slip. "He probably knew I was just keeping an eye on you. Making sure you didn¡¯t get into too much trouble."

    Catherine raised an eyebrow. "You? The girl in the ck dress with the thigh high slit?"

    I rolled my eyes. "Supervising in style."

    Sheughed. "Well, either way, you might want to stay on your best behavior. Word is... Uncle Marcus isn¡¯t leaving Skyview anytime soon."

    I sat up straighter, nearly dislodging the mask. "What do you mean?"

    "Grandfather let it slip," she said, eyes gleaming. "Marcus is staying because he¡¯s interested in someone."

    I blinked. "Marcus Murphy. Interested in someone?"

    "The eternal bachelor himself," she confirmed with a dramatic nod. "Can you imagine? He¡¯s never even brought a date to family functions. Grandfather¡¯s practically hosting a parade."

    A memory of Marcus at the club shed across my mind how his shirt had clung to his broad shoulders, the quiet control in his movements, the way his eyes found mine across the room.

    "Has he never... dated anyone seriously before?"

    Catherine tilted her head, thinking. "Well, there was one time about six years ago. He came back from Europe over some girl, but apparently she was already seeing someone else. After that, poof. Gone again. This is the only other time I¡¯ve seen him look remotely interested in someone."

    I frowned. "A man like that sessful, intelligent, athletic he could have anyone."

    Catherine arched a brow. "And yet here he is. Focused, disciplined,pletely unavable... until now."

    I peeled off my face mask slowly, deep in thought. "Your grandfather really knows how to raise them."

    "Unlike some people," she muttered with a pointed re, clearly referencing Jack.

    Before I could respond, she added with a grin, "Oh and you should¡¯ve seen Marcus¡¯s face when he spotted us at the club. For a second, I thought he was going to drag me out by the ear."

    I was halfway through reviewing quarterly reports when Daniel burst into my office, his usuallyposed demeanor visibly shaken.

    "Ms. Shaw," he said, breathless. "There¡¯s an emergency at the Phoenix Project."

    My pen stilled mid signature.

    Jack hade to me about problems on Phoenix a few weeks back. I¡¯d brushed him off, chalking it up to exaggeration. Apparently, I was wrong.

    "Get Rachel. Bring the car," I said sharply.

    We reached the research facility in under twenty minutes. Jack¡¯s car was already parked out front.

    Of course.

    Inside, raised voices echoed through the halls. The tension led us to a chaotic conference room, where Jack and Lucy stood over Trevor Torres, our chief engineer. Trevor¡¯s face was flushed, his sses askew, caught between fury and shame.

    "I didn¡¯t do it!" Trevor shouted, fists clenched. "I would never¡ª"

    Lucy hurled a folder at him with theatrical ir. "The emails came from your personalputer. Your ount. What more do you need?"

    The moment she saw me, her expression flipped to faux-concern. "Anna! Thank goodness. This has been such a... difficult discovery."

    "Stop." My voice cut through the room like ss. I had no patience for her performance.

    Lucy blinked but pressed on, her tone still honeyed. "Trevor Torres has been stealing Phoenix¡¯s research data. The technical team found the proof on hisputer."

    I raised a hand, silencing her again.

    "I won¡¯t ept usations of theft without concrete evidence." I turned to Trevor, his back now a little straighter. "Mr. Torres, did you do this?"

    "Ms. Shaw..." His voice cracked. "I swear I would never betray thispany."

    Trevor had been with Shaw Corp for nearly a decade. His loyalty wasn¡¯t just assumed it was proven.

    I picked up the papers Lucy had dramatically scattered across the table. "This is your evidence? Some printed emails?"

    Lucy¡¯s expression twisted. "Surely you¡¯re not suggesting we ignore this? The digital trail leads right to his machine."

    "Jack," I said, turning to him. "Can you confirm no one else had ess to Trevor¡¯s workstation?"

    His jaw clenched. "The evidence speaks for itself."

    "Does it?" I folded my arms. "Just like appointing someone with zero experience to lead Phoenix spoke for itself?"

    The jab at Lucynded.

    Jack¡¯s eyes narrowed. "Shaw Corp has invested heavily in this project. Don¡¯t let personal feelings cloud your judgment."

    I gave a dryugh. "That¡¯s riching from you."

    Lucy¡¯s smug expression faltered.

    "I trust the judgment of a man who¡¯s given ten years to thispany," I continued. "Not someone who showed up three months ago and got handed the reins because she knows how to flirt with upper management."

    Lucy¡¯s face flushed crimson.

    "Trevor wille with me," I announced. "Effective immediately, the Phoenix Project is suspended pending a full internal review."

    "You can¡¯t just¡ª" Jack started.

    "I can and I will," I said, voice steely. "And if I find out someone¡¯s trying to sabotage this project..."

    My gaze shifted deliberately to Lucy.

    "They¡¯ll regret it."

 Chapter 14: The Watchdog

    <h4>Chapter 14: The Watchdog</h4>

    Anna

    I drummed my fingers against my desk, reviewing Rachel¡¯stest intel on the Phoenix Project leak. It was worse than I thought.

    "The ess logs point to someone with direct entry to Trevor¡¯s system," Rachel said grimly. "It¡¯s an inside job."

    I sighed, massaging my temples. Trevor was brilliant in research but alwayscking in management instincts. That made him easy to manipte maybe even sabotage.

    My phone buzzed. William Murphy shed across the screen.

    "Anna, my dear," came his smooth, familiar voice. "Join us for dinner tonight? I¡¯ve had some exceptional bluefin tuna flown in."

    Before I could invent a polite excuse, he added, "Marcus will be here too. He specifically asked if you wereing."

    That made me pause.

    "I¡¯d be delighted," I said smoothly. "Should I bring anything?"

    "Just yourself, dear."

    Still, I arrived at Murphy Estate with a carefully chosen artisan vase. No matter what the host says, one should nevere empty handed. To my surprise, Marcus was already there, lounging in the garden, effortlessly elegant.

    "Following the scent of bluefin tuna?" I teased.

    His gaze swept over me slow, unreadable, focused. "Something like that."

    William beamed when we entered. "Anna! You must try this best tuna money can buy!"

    "Everything tastes better at your table," I smiled, epting a ss of wine.

    As we dined, William¡¯s tone grew serious. "I heard about the Phoenix mess. Need my help?"

    I kept my voice light. "Nothing I can¡¯t handle. Once we identify the leak..."

    "Lucy has Mary¡¯s backing," William warned. "But you have me."

    A subtle power y. He was offering protection. Compensating, perhaps, for Jack¡¯s betrayal.

    Then Marcus spoke, his voice calm but deliberate.

    "This isn¡¯t just about catching a mole. Your team needs someone loyal to you overseeing operations."

    I studied him. He was right. I¡¯d been thinking too small. This wasn¡¯t just about finding the traitor it was about fortifying loyalty. Preventing the next betrayal.

    I raised my ss, our eyes meeting. Something electric pulsed in the air between us.

    Later that night, driving home, Marcus¡¯s words kept echoing.

    I couldn¡¯t afford to reassign any of my key team members. They were already overextended.

    Then it struck me.

    "Rachel," I called. "What was Sean¡¯s background again?"

    "MIT. Financial engineering. Investment firm experience before... well, Olympus Club." She paused, understanding dawning. "You¡¯re thinking of promoting him?"

    "Take me to Rosa Vi."

    We made a quick stop at the mall. If Sean was going to represent me, he needed to look the part.

    When we arrived, Sean was buried in financial journals, scrambling to hide them as I entered.

    "Ms. Shaw!" He jumped to his feet, panic flickering in his eyes. "I know I haven¡¯t met expectations, but please I could work as your driver, or¡ª"

    "Actually," I cut him off, "I have a proposition."

    His mouth snapped shut.

    "How would you like to oversee the Phoenix Project?"

    His eyes widened. "But... Jack Simpson..."

    "Will likely try to make your life hell? Yes." I set the bags down. "There will be rumors, of course. About why I chose you. Can you handle that?"

    He straightened, determination tightening his jaw. "I was desperate enough to work at Olympus Club to cover my father¡¯s treatment. I can handle anything."

    "Good," I said. "Rachel will brief you. From now on, you report directly to me. Any hint of trouble you tell me first."

    I gestured to the shopping bags. "Those are for you. Clothes, essories... When you represent me, you need to look the part."

    His fingers trembled slightly as he touched the luxury watch. "I won¡¯t let you down."

    "See that you don¡¯t." I turned to leave, then paused. "Prove yourself, and you might just earn a permanent position at Shaw Corp."

    Lucy

    The email hit like a p.

    "Sean Smith appointed Project Director oversight and coordination with Simpson Group."

    I stared at it, my nails tapping a sharp rhythm on the desk.

    "Transparent," I sneered. "She doesn¡¯t even try to hide it."

    Anna Shaw had appointed herpdog. I stood, adjusting my dress. If she thought this pretty-boy in a tailored suit could intimidate me, she clearly didn¡¯t know me at all.

    I headed straight to Shaw Corp¡¯s executive floor. Sean was in the conference room, dressed like a Wall Street prodigy, buried in project docs.

    "Mr. Smith," I greeted, syrupy-sweet, extending my hand. Let¡¯s see if he¡¯d dare ignore it.

    He did.

    "Ms. Taylor," he said coolly. "Just reviewing thetest reports. Concerning numbers."

    "Where¡¯s Trevor?" I pressed. "And how are you managing the Trevor situation?"

    "Ms. Shaw is unavable. I¡¯ll be handling all Phoenix matters going forward."

    His voice was smooth. Unshakable. I scanned him again. The suit was expensive. The watch custom, high end.

    "You represent Shaw Corp¡¯s interests now?" I scoffed. "You mean Anna¡¯s."

    "Correct. I represent Ms. Shaw. If you have concerns, I¡¯ll address them."

    I narrowed my eyes. "Everyone knows what you really are her trained pet in an expensive cor."

    He remained calm. "Then direct yourints to me. Ms. Shaw is not to be disturbed."

    I turned on my heel and stormed out. The audacity.

    Later that evening, over dinner at the Simpson estate, I casually dropped the news.

    "Anna¡¯s reced Trevor," I said, sipping wine. "With someone very close to her."

    Jack¡¯s newspaper twitched in his hands. A tell he never mastered.

    "It¡¯s outrageous," Mary scoffed. "She protects the real spy and mes poor Trevor."

    "We should involve the police," Jack muttered.

    "No, darling," I said sweetly. "This must be handled... delicately. For the sake of bothpanies."

    Mary reached across the table, touching my hand. "You¡¯re so selfless. Not like that Shaw woman. You¡¯ve sacrificed so much for Jack."

    Later, in Jack¡¯s study, I nted the seed.

    "You should see Sean now," I purred. "Eighty-eight-thousand-dor watch. Anna¡¯s personal representative."

    Jack¡¯s eyes darkened.

    "You¡¯re the project head," he said tly. "Handle it however you see fit."

    I smiled to myself as I left.

    Finally, he didn¡¯t lose control when he heard Anna¡¯s name.

    He was bing predictable.

    And I intended to use that to my full advantage.

 Chapter 15: Conscience, Collars, and Control

    <h4>Chapter 15: Conscience, Cors, and Control</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I was reviewing quarterly forecasts when Rachel burst through the door without knocking something she never did unless it was urgent.

    "Ms. Shaw," she said, slightly breathless. Her usually immacte appearance betrayed haste loose strands escaping her tight bun. In her hands was a small wooden box, not unlike the rabbit carving. "I found something."

    I set my pen down and leaned back.

    "The auction house?"

    She nodded, cing the box on my desk with deliberate care. "It¡¯s from the same collection. The auction manager gave it to me personally."

    It was simple yet elegant clearly handcrafted from the same wood as the rabbit. I ran my fingers over its smooth grain and felt an odd shiver crawl up my spine. Inside was a folded note, scrawled in an unfamiliar hand: "Still has a conscience."

    "¡¯Still has a conscience,¡¯" I read aloud, brow furrowing.

    Rachel watched me closely. "What do you think it means?"

    I shut the box with a decisive snap. "It means someone¡¯s ying games." I pushed it aside. "The rabbit was just something I carved as a teenager. It¡¯s not important."

    "But¡ª"

    "We have more pressing matters," I cut in. "The Phoenix Project. And whoever was at the hotel."

    Rachel straightened, professionalism returning like armor. "Speaking of Phoenix I have an update on Sean."

    My interest piqued. "Go on."

    "He¡¯s handling Lucy Taylor better than expected," she said with the faintest smirk. "Yesterday, she stormed into his office, clearly trying to rattle him. He didn¡¯t even flinch. Refused to shake her hand. Kept everything strictly professional focused on project discrepancies only."

    I allowed myself a brief, proud smile. "So our soft spoken Sean has teeth after all."

    Rachel nodded. "He¡¯s already gged something and asked that youe to the Phoenix offices ASAP."

    I checked my watch. "Clear my schedule for the next three hours. Let¡¯s see what our wolf in a suit has uncovered."

    By the time my car pulled up to the Phoenix Project facility, the situation had already escted. Raised voices echoed from the main research floor one of them unmistakably Lucy¡¯s shrill bark.

    Inside, Sean stood at his desk, holding a man folder like a shield. Lucy was practically vibrating with fury.

    "Ms. Shaw," Sean said with relief when he spotted me. "Thank you foring."

    Lucy whirled around, expression flipping from rage to faux concern. "Anna! Thank God. Your... employee is withholding critical information."

    I ignored her. "Sean, what have you found?"

    Lucy tried again. "I heard Shaw Corp made a discovery, but Sean says Simpson Group personnel aren¡¯t qualified to even ask about it."

    "I believe we follow a chain ofmand here," I said coolly. "Sean reports to me. Not to you."

    She stiffened. "As project manager, I have the right to¡ª"

    "As project manager," I cut in, "you wait until the investigation is concluded. Just like the police don¡¯t share evidence mid case."

    Sean handed me the folder. Inside was a report marked in red ink:

    "Third Batch Fine Motor Movement Calibration VOID."

    Trevor Torres¡¯s signature was at the bottom, dated a month ago.

    Before I could speak, Jack Simpson stormed in, fury radiating off him.

    "What the hell is this?" he roared, pointing at Sean. "You¡¯re letting him run an investigation?"

    Sean stood his ground, silent but tense. Jack prowled closer like a predator.

    "Do you even know who this thing is?" he snarled. "He worked at Olympus Club. He was a prostitute."

    The word echoed through the stunned silence.

    A few staff members gasped. Others exchanged awkward nces or looked away.

    Jack¡¯s voice climbed. "This... trash is managing your golden project? This is who you think is qualified?"

    Rachel appeared beside me, subtly ushering employees out of the room.

    "Are you finished?" I asked Jack, my voice icy calm.

    He wasn¡¯t. "You bring filth into a professional environment and expect anyone to take him seriously?"

    I moved beside Sean, close enough to make a statement. "Let me get this straight you¡¯re attacking someone¡¯s qualifications based on their past job?"

    Jack¡¯s face burned. "It¡¯s not the same¡ª"

    "You¡¯re right," I said smoothly. "Sean has a degree from MIT in Financial Engineering. Lucy," I turned just enough to gesture toward her, "has a marketing diploma from amunity college. Yet somehow you¡¯refortable with her managing the project."

    Lucy gasped. "How dare you¡ª"

    "I dare because I co-own this project," I replied. Then, back to Jack, "Your double standards are showing. Not a good look."

    Jack¡¯s fury red. "Get him out. Now. Or I swear¡ª"

    "Or what?" I stepped forward, voice dropping. "You don¡¯t get to dictate who I hire anymore. This is my oversight team. My decision."

    Jack¡¯sposure snapped. "Always so goddamn stubborn. So sure you¡¯re better than everyone else!"

    "Pot, kettle," I said, unshaken.

    His hands clenched, white-knuckled. "You¡¯re pushing me, Anna. Don¡¯t make me do something we¡¯ll both regret."

    His words made me pause. How was I pushing him? What exactly was he threatening to do?

    But I refused to let his tantrum derail us.

    "If you¡¯re done, Mr. Simpson," I said, tone final, "please leave. This is Shaw Corp¡¯s office space."

    Jack hesitated, eyes dark with unspoken menace. "This isn¡¯t over," he said as he backed away.

    No. It wasn¡¯t. But next time, I¡¯d be ready.

 Chapter 16: Fire With Fire

    <h4>Chapter 16: Fire With Fire</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I settled into the chair behind Sean¡¯s desk, crossing my legs and leaning back with a deliberate calm that belied the storm I felt brewing around us. The office, sleek and modern, bore the lingering tension of recent events. The shadows from the overhead lighting cast sharp lines across the desk, matching the sharp edge in my mood.

    Sean hovered near the edge of the room, uncertain. His posture was tense shoulders drawn up slightly, arms awkward at his sides. He looked like a man carrying weight too heavy for his frame. I didn¡¯t miss the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes flicked to the floor before daring to meet mine.

    "Ms. Shaw, I want to apolo¡ª"

    "Don¡¯t," I cut him off before the sentence could settle in the air.

    My voice was sharper than I intended, but I didn¡¯t soften it. I lifted my gaze from the folder in front of me and met his eyes directly. "If you¡¯re about to apologize for Jack Simpson¡¯s behavior, save it. His actions reflect on him not you."

    Sean¡¯s mouth opened, closed again. He looked like a man preparing to drown.

    "I never meant to bring trouble to the project," he said quietly. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

    I set the folder down with care, letting the moment breathe before I spoke again. "Sean, I ced you here because you earned it. You don¡¯t need to apologize for existing. You¡¯re not responsible for the insecurities of men who fear losing control."

    He blinked.

    "I know it¡¯s not easy," I continued. "But the best way to silence men like Jack is with results. You don¡¯t argue with them. You don¡¯t defend yourself. You outss them until they have no ground to stand on."

    There was a long pause. Then, something shifted in Sean small but unmistakable. His shoulders squared slightly. His chin lifted.

    "I¡¯m not afraid," he said. "I just... I worry about the mess this creates for you."

    I allowed a hint of softness to break through. "You let me worry about that. You worry about being brilliant."

    He gave a small nod, then moved toward the opposite chair. The moment hisptop opened, something familiar returned his focus. Professional. Sharp. Efficient.

    "I reviewed the leaked data again," he began, turning the screen toward me. "What we thought were stolen proprietary files from Trevor¡¯s team? They¡¯re not what they seem."

    I leaned forward, interested.

    Sean clicked a few keys, pulling up a folder. "They¡¯re identical to a batch of calibration test results that were marked VOID more than a month ago. They weren¡¯t confidential they were failures."

    I frowned. "So someone stole garbage?"

    "Exactly," Sean said. "Tests Trevor¡¯s team already dismissed. They were never logged as usable. Whoever took them either didn¡¯t know what they were doing, or they wanted to create the illusion of a serious breach."

    My fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the polished desk. "You¡¯re telling me this entire scandal is built on worthless data?"

    Sean nodded. "There¡¯s nothing in those files that apetitor could use. They¡¯re outdated, deprecated. If someone tried to sell them, they wouldn¡¯t get anything meaningful unless the goal wasn¡¯t money."

    "Optics," I muttered. "They wanted to make it look like we had a real breach."

    Sean hesitated. "That¡¯s my assumption. Someone wanted to discredit us, maybe even sabotage Phoenix from the inside."

    Just then, Rachel stepped in, tablet in hand. "We¡¯ve narrowed the suspects, but no hard proof yet. However, there¡¯s activity on one terminal that doesn¡¯t match our employee logs. We think whoever it is used a ghost credential."

    I nodded. "Keep pressing. Find the mole, fast. And Sean..." I looked at him directly. "You¡¯re doing exactly what I need from you."

    He straightened at that.

    As the meeting wrapped, I left the building by the east entrance. The day was slipping into twilight, the sky streaked with the copper hues of a dying sun. I barely took a few steps before a familiar voice echoed from the lot.

    "Anna!"

    I turned to see Lucy approaching with her usual feline grace, Jack trailing beside her like a disgruntled shadow.

    "What a coincidence," she said, her smile tight and rehearsed. "We were just heading out. How about dinner?"

    I stared at her for a long moment, amused by the audacity.

    "I have ns," I replied coolly, then turned on my heel and slid into the backseat of the waiting sedan. The door shut with a definitive click, sealing off whatever performance Lucy had nned.

    Lucy¡¯s POV

    From across the parking lot, I watched the ck sedan pull away, Anna¡¯s silhouette shrinking behind tinted ss. Her rejection was clean, sharp. Dismissive.

    Beside me, Jack seethed.

    It was still fresh for him the way Anna had dismissed his authority, his importance, his name, in front of a room full of people.

    "She didn¡¯t even pretend to care," he muttered. "Didn¡¯t hesitate. Just walked away."

    I slipped into the passenger seat of his car, adjusting my coat with care. "She wants you off bnce," I said softly. "That¡¯s how she wins."

    Jack grunted but said nothing, eyes locked on the road ahead, though the engine hadn¡¯t started. I noticed the death grip he had on the steering wheel, knuckles drained of color.

    "Sean¡¯s position is precarious," I said after a beat. "Everyone in this industry knows where he came from. And if people start talking if they start connecting the Olympus Club to Phoenix it won¡¯t be just Anna¡¯s credibility on the line. It¡¯ll be yours."

    That got his attention.

    "You¡¯re suggesting we leak it?"

    "No," I said quickly. "Not yet. But if Anna insists on protecting someone who doesn¡¯t belong here, then she¡¯s creating a vulnerability for all of us."

    He turned to look at me, eyes sharp. "What¡¯s your angle?"

    "She won¡¯t remove him. Not voluntarily," I said. "But if the choice is between the project or the boy, she¡¯ll bend."

    "She doesn¡¯t bend."

    "She will," I said calmly. "All it takes is pressure in the right ce. Not a threat. A consequence."

    Jack sat back, jaw grinding. "You know she¡¯ll frame it as me trying to control her."

    "She already thinks that," I replied. "This isn¡¯t about perception. It¡¯s about survival. If we don¡¯t act, she¡¯ll take this entire ship down with her pride."

    Jack was silent for a long time, then finally asked, "What do you suggest?"

    I smiled and patted his hand. "We start with the press. Quiet whispers. Concerns about hiring protocol. About security. We make the board nervous. We make Phoenix look unstable."

    He stared at me, considering.

    "If Anna still protects Sean after that," I added, "then we introduce internal pressure. Leaked reports. Anonymous board memos. We create enough smoke that the fire bes inevitable."

    He gave a slow nod. "And if she pushes back?"

    "Then we force her hand. We make it so that keeping Sean looks like favoritism. Like negligence."

    A slow, dangerous smile tugged at Jack¡¯s lips.

    "You¡¯re vicious," he said.

    "I¡¯m efficient," I corrected smoothly. "Anna wants to y hardball. Let¡¯s see how she handles being the one on defense."

    He finally turned the key in the ignition, and the engine hummed to life.

    "Just looking out for our interests," I said sweetly, settling back into my seat as we pulled into the street. "After all, we¡¯re in this together."

 Chapter 17: A Seat at the Lionâ€™s Table

    <h4>Chapter 17: A Seat at the Lion¡¯s Table</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The screen on my phone lit up, and I immediately felt the pull of dread tighten in my chest.

    Joint Phoenix Project Meeting 9:00 AM Tomorrow

    Location: Simpson HQ ¨C Boardroom B

    I stared at it for a few seconds, my jaw clenching. No warning. No discussion. Just a forced summons with barely twelve hours¡¯ notice.

    Typical Jack.

    I didn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t blink, didn¡¯t even bother hiding the cold fury creeping beneath my skin. Not this time.

    "Daniel. Rachel." My voice sliced through the quiet of my office. "Clear your schedules. You¡¯reing with me to the Phoenix meeting."

    Rachel appeared in the doorway almost instantly, heels clicking against the polished floor. She already had her tablet in hand. "Just the three of us? What about Sean and the rest of the technical team?"

    My eyes never left the glowing screen. "Exactly what they want. If we show up with our full team, they¡¯ll spin it as formal mediation."

    She hesitated. "And this isn¡¯t mediation?"

    "No," I said tly, finally setting my phone down. "It¡¯s an ambush."

    Daniel stepped inside, brow furrowed. "Ms. Shaw, walking in outnumbered could be interpreted as weakness."

    I stood, tugging my jacket into ce with deliberate care. My spine straightened. My voice, calm and razor-sharp.

    "Or confidence."

    I looked him straight in the eye.

    "I am Shaw Corp, Daniel. I don¡¯t need a wall of people behind me to prove it."

    The next morning, Simpson HQ was already buzzing when we arrived. The receptionist looked vaguely startled when she saw only the three of us walk in. Good.

    By the time we reached the boardroom, Jack was already seated at the head of the table like a self-crowned king, surrounded by eight of his executives. Everyst one of them in matching charcoal suits, their expressions smug, territorial. Hungry.

    I didn¡¯t rush.

    Instead, I paused just inside the doorway and surveyed the scene like a queen surveying a battlefield. I could feel Rachel and Daniel behind me, silent andposed, the air thick with tension.

    I walked to the table with measured grace, set down my notes minimal, intentional and settled in. Rachel took her seat to my left, Daniel to my right. Together, we formed a quiet wall of defiance.

    Jack¡¯s eyes narrowed.

    "You¡¯rete," he said, voice edged with practiced disapproval.

    I slowly checked my watch, allowing the pause to stretch. "I¡¯m exactly on time, Jack. Maybe your clock¡¯s fast."

    The corner of his jaw twitched.

    "Where¡¯s the rest of your team?" he demanded. "The technical leads? Sean?" He said Sean¡¯s name like it was something he wanted to spit out.

    "I¡¯m here," I replied, evenly. "Shaw Corp is fully represented."

    "You¡¯re not taking this seriously."

    "On the contrary," I said, folding my hands on the table. "I take this project very seriously. So seriously, I chose to represent mypany personally rather than send a parade of suits."

    I let my eyes drift, unhurried, across the faces of his executives.

    "Can your people speak with the same authority for Simpson Group?"

    There was a small but noticeable shift two of the suits exchanged nces. A flicker of difort.

    Jack¡¯s face flushed dark red.

    Before he could retaliate, Lucy always so eager to y the part of polished assassin leaned forward. Her smile was painted on, her tone falsely sweet.

    "We noticed Sean isn¡¯t here," she said, eyebrows drawn in mock concern. "He was supposed to be one of the key participants in today¡¯s discussion."

    "Sean is my employee," I said, voice still calm. "He doesn¡¯t need to be here for this conversation. I trust him implicitly, and I have no intention of removing him from the Phoenix Project."

    One of the executives cleared his throat. "Ms. Shaw, if I may. Your appointment of a...panion... to a leadership position in a high-stakes initiative like Phoenix is¡ª"

    "Escort?" I cut in sharply, brow raised. "That¡¯s what we¡¯re calling it now?"

    His face didn¡¯t move. But Lucy filled the gap with her signature syrup.

    "Come now, Anna," she purred. "We all know where you found him. A young woman in your position should be more mindful of optics."

    There it was.

    I didn¡¯tugh, though I wanted to.

    "A young woman like myself?" I repeated, my voice clipped. "Would you offer that same advice to a man in this seat?"

    "This isn¡¯t about gender," Jack interjected. "It¡¯s about your judgment. You¡¯ve ced an unqualified individual with a shady background in a critical role. And we still have an unresolved data leak."

    I arched a brow.

    "You mean the leak of the test data Sean discovered?" I asked, casually flipping open my notes. "The one marked ¡¯VOID¡¯? The one someone nted to frame Trevor?"

    Lucy¡¯s smile cracked. Only slightly. But enough.

    "The investigation is ongoing," she said quickly. "In the meantime, having someone from Olympus Club involved¡ª"

    "I¡¯ve made my decision," I said, voice t and final. "Sean stays."

    Jack¡¯s fist mmed into the table. Water sses trembled. Rachel didn¡¯t flinch.

    "This isn¡¯t a negotiation, Anna!" he barked. "You¡¯re risking everything we¡¯ve built because of your personal involvement with that man!"

    I didn¡¯t move.

    "My arrangement with Sean is professional," I replied. "He reports to me. Period."

    Jack straightened and pulled a folder from the table.

    "Simpson Group has two conditions. One: You share Shaw Corp¡¯s core technology with us. Two: You reduce your profit share by two points."

    I didn¡¯t even nce at the folder.

    "Two percent may seem minor," I said, tone tightening, "but we both know what that means in the long run. And our core technology?" A bitterugh escaped. "Why not just ask me to hand over Shaw Corp on a silver tter?"

    "It¡¯s a reasonable request under the circumstances," one of the men muttered.

    "Reasonable?" I said incredulously. "It¡¯s extortion."

    Jack stood, straightening his jacket. "Then we¡¯re withdrawing from Phoenix."

    I said nothing.

    He continued, emboldened. "You have one week to vacate the research facility. Thend belongs to Simpson Group. We¡¯re taking it back."

    I felt Rachel¡¯s breath hitch beside me.

    He was serious.

    Jack¡¯s tone dropped an octave as he stepped back from the table. "You forced my hand, Anna."

    He walked to the door. One by one, the others followed. "One week," he said as he left. "Get your people and your boy out."

    The door closed.

    Silence echoed in the room. Cold. Absolute.

    Daniel looked at me. "Was he bluffing?"

    I didn¡¯t need to think. "No."

    Jack had always been a man who paraded his power, especially during our marriage. He used Lucy as a trophy, never once caring how public their affair was. But now, divorced and bitter, he wanted to control me like I was still his.

    It wasughable.

    And dangerous.

    Rachel looked visibly shaken. Daniel stared at the door like it might explode open again.

    "Go back to your departments," I told them. "Business as usual. I¡¯ll handle this."

    "But¡ª"

    "Phoenix belongs to both our families. Jack doesn¡¯t get to destroy it because I won¡¯t bend to him."

    As Daniel left, I pulled out my phone and messaged Sean:

    Don¡¯t worry. Stay calm. I¡¯ve got this.

    Back at Shaw Corp, I paced my office. The ss walls felt too thin, the city beyond too far away. Phoenix had been my passion project something I created after our wedding to unite our families. Jack had supported it, in theory. Now he wanted to tear it apart just to punish me.

    I couldn¡¯t rece Simpson Group¡¯s resources overnight.

    And I sure as hell wasn¡¯t going to fire Sean.

    I sat, fuming, weighing legal options and alternative sites when my phone rang.

    Mr. Simpson¡¯s assistant.

    "Ms. Shaw," she said crisply. "The Chairman requests your presence at the Simpson residence. Immediately."

    A pause.

    "He said it¡¯s not a request."

    I stood.

    If the lion wanted to see me I¡¯d walk into the den myself.

    Unshaken.

    Unbowed.

    Unbroken.

 Chapter 18: The Cost of Power

    <h4>Chapter 18: The Cost of Power</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    "Ms. Shaw, the Simpsons have requested your presence at their residence immediately."

    The message shed across my phone screen, stark and direct.

    I stared at it for a few seconds, thumb hovering over the screen. I could feel the slow curl of irritation wrapping around my chest. Then I typed my reply with clipped precision:

    "I¡¯ll be there in an hour."

    From across the room, Rachel looked up from herptop, brows furrowing in concern. "You¡¯re actually going?"

    "Know your enemy," I said coolly, gathering my coat and phone. "And right now, the Simpsons are definitely the enemy."

    The drive to the Simpson estate felt longer than usual, each minute dragged down by the weight of anticipation. As my car rolled past the towering wrought iron gates and crunched over the gravel driveway, I spotted Lucy¡¯s sleek ck sedan parked right at the entrance. Front and center.

    Not just a coincidence.

    A deration.

    She was staking her im.

    Inside, the grand foyer was flooded with warm afternoon light, but it couldn¡¯t thaw the chill that settled in my spine. The moment my heels clicked against the marble floor, Lucy appeared like she¡¯d been waiting.

    "Anna!" she trilled, rising to her feet in a tailored ivory dress that screamed I belong here. Her voice was syrupy-sweet and utterly insincere. "Thank you foring so quickly. Let me take your coat."

    Without waiting for my response, she gestured to the staff with the elegance of a woman who¡¯d already decided this was her home. The servants moved like they were following her cue.

    She led me to the drawing room, where Jack sat nked by his parents.

    George Simpson stood by the firece, hands sped behind his back, expression carved from granite. Mary Simpson lounged on a velvet chair like she was sitting on a throne, her gaze raking over me with obvious disdain.

    "Anna," George said, nodding curtly. "Sit down."

    "I prefer to stand, thank you." My voice was even, calm. My refusal was a small but deliberate assertion of control.

    George didn¡¯t appreciate it.

    "It¡¯s about your recent behavior," he said, voice low and authoritative decades of boardroom experience distilled into each syble. "Specifically, your appointment of that... individual from Olympus Club to a position of authority within Phoenix."

    I didn¡¯t blink. "Sean Smith is a highly qualified MIT graduate."

    "He¡¯s a prostitute," Mary snapped, her knuckles whitening around the armrest. "You¡¯ve brought shame to both our families with this... arrangement."

    I raised an eyebrow. "Arrangement?"

    "Don¡¯t insult our intelligence." Mary¡¯s cheeks flushed with fury. "A divorced woman, alone, unting her needs like a scandalous badge."

    Lucy reentered with a tea tray, cing it down with studied grace. "Sugar, Anna?" Her voice dripped with false civility.

    I ignored her entirely.

    "Sean¡¯s appointment is based on merit, not assumptions," I said.

    "His ¡¯merit¡¯," Mary muttered darkly.

    Jack, silent until now, finally spoke. "This isn¡¯t just about image, Anna. Having someone like him as a face of a joint venture is uneptable."

    "Someone like him?" I repeated coolly. "You mean intelligent,petent, and loyal?"

    Jack¡¯s jaw clenched. "Someone who sells himself."

    The insult hung in the air like smoke. My temper red, but I kept my voiceposed.

    "Coming from a man who couldn¡¯t stay faithful through his own wedding night, that¡¯s rich."

    Mary gasped. "How dare you bring that up!"

    George stepped forward, fire flickering behind him. "Do you know what this could do to our reputation? If this scandal leaks Phoenix could copse."

    "Then maybe focus on the project, not my personal life," I said.

    Mary stood suddenly. "Have you even thought about your mother? Your grandmother? What they¡¯ll feel when the city whispers that you¡¯ve taken up with a... a male escort?"

    I felt the cold burn of fury, deep and quiet.

    "My family is not your concern," I said.

    "They will be when I call Elizabeth myself," Mary shot back. "She¡¯d be devastated to learn what you¡¯ve be."

    I drew in a breath. "My mother respects my independence. This has nothing to do with her."

    George loomed closer. "Anna, dismiss this man. Immediately."

    "With all due respect, George," I said calmly, "my hiring decisions are not open for debate."

    Jack¡¯s voice sharpened. "Even if it costs you Phoenix?"

    "Phoenix is mine as much as yours," I reminded him. "And personnel decisions fall under my jurisdiction."

    "You¡¯re being unreasonable," George snapped. "If you can¡¯t be trusted with a basic decision like this, how can we trust you with the future of the project?"

    "If I cave now, what message does that send to Shaw Corp? That our leadership is swayed by gossip and social bias?"

    Jack stood beside his father. "You have one day, Anna. One day to reconsider and fire Sean. If you don¡¯t..."

    I tilted my head. "If I don¡¯t?"

    He didn¡¯t finish the threat.

    "You¡¯re already making moves behind my back," I said, voice clipped. "Spare me the dramatics. I know where this is heading."

    "There are consequences you haven¡¯t considered," Jack warned.

    "I look forward to them," I said, already walking toward the door. "We¡¯re done here."

    I didn¡¯t make it far before Lucy appeared again, trotting after me like she actually thought I cared.

    "Anna, wait!" she called, her tone pitched with false concern. "Please, let¡¯s talk. Just us."

    I paused, more curious than anything. "Talk?"

    She dropped her voice. "I know you probably resent me for bing GM at Phoenix... but that was Jack¡¯s decision, not mine. I don¡¯t even care about the project. I don¡¯t understand R&D, Anna."

    I raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

    She continued, "But Jack said this is the only way I¡¯ll be respected. That taking Phoenix¡¯s core tech will solidify my role. But I don¡¯t want it. If you fire Sean, I¡¯ll make sure the core technology stays with you."

    My stomach turned.

    So it was never about Sean. Not really. This was Lucy, again. Always Lucy.

    She smiled nervously. "If you care about Sean, you can keep him on the side for now. Bring him back once things settle. No one will care then. Phoenix is your passion. I don¡¯t want to take that."

    I stared at her, then slowly smiled a cold, bitter thing.

    "You don¡¯t want to take what¡¯s mine?"

    She blinked. "What... what do you mean?"

    "You talk too much, Lucy," I said quietly. "Save the maniption for the Simpsons. They¡¯re the only ones who still believe you."

    Her expression faltered.

    I walked out of the estate, my mind racing. Whether Jack wanted to give Phoenix to Lucy or Lucy wanted to take it, the oue would be the same. They wanted my project my work, my vision to be a pawn in their power game.

    They thought I would fold.

    Let them try.

    I don¡¯t lose what¡¯s mine. Not without a fight.

 Chapter 19: Glass & Fire

    <h4>Chapter 19: ss & Fire</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The dim lighting of the upscale bar couldn¡¯t mask my misery as I signaled the bartender for another drink. My third? Fourth? I¡¯d lost count. The smooth jazz ying in the background felt like it was mocking my inner turmoil.

    "Ms. Shaw, perhaps we should consider heading back," Rachel suggested from her position beside me, her voice carefully professional despite the concern in her eyes.

    I ignored her, downing the amber liquid in one swift motion. The burn in my throat was a wee distraction from the inferno of anger and hurt zing inside me. This wasn¡¯t my usual style Anna Shaw didn¡¯t drink herself into oblivion in public. But tonight was different.

    "Another," I demanded, sliding the empty ss forward.

    Rachel frowned but didn¡¯t argue. She¡¯d been with me long enough to know when to push and when to stand back.

    Tonight, her job was simple: keep the vultures away while I nursed my wounds with expensive whiskey.

    This was the second time I looked like this. The first was when Jack asked Lucy to be the head of the Phoenix Project, and Jack and I had a big quarrel. I¡¯d known then that I had to leave him. The divorce papers had been filed the following week.

    And now, here I was again drowning my sorrows because Jack Simpson was still finding ways to wound me. Even divorced, even supposedly moving on with his life, he couldn¡¯t let me have this one thing. He couldn¡¯t bear to see me seed without him.

    "They want to take everything," I muttered, not caring if Rachel heard me. "My project. My technology. My dignity."

    I took another sip, wincing at the burn. The bar had grown more crowded as the night wore on, businessmen loosening their ties, couples leaning into each other, everyone seeking connection or escape.

    I envied their simplicity.

    "Jack hates me that much," I continued, my voice rough. "He hates me enough to destroy something valuable just to see me lose."

    Since taking over Shaw Corp after my father¡¯s death, I¡¯d faced countless challenges skeptical board members, condescendingpetitors, relentless market pressures. None of it had broken me. I¡¯d fought through every obstacle with determination and strategy, never giving my opponents the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.

    But Jack¨C" Jack knew exactly where to stick the knife. He understood that Phoenix wasn¡¯t just another project; it was my vision for the future of Shaw Corp.

    And he was willing to sacrifice it all just to put me in my ce.

    The alcohol was making my thoughts fuzzy around the edges, but the core hurt remained sharp and clear. In all the years I¡¯d known him, I¡¯d never imagined Jack could be so vindictive.

    I¡¯d been wrong.

    "Ms. Shaw," Rachel¡¯s voice cut through my thoughts. "I think we should go."

    "Fine," I muttered. "One more drink."

    Rachel nodded and stepped away, presumably to settle the tab.

    I felt strong arms lifting me from the barstool. My first instinct was to resist, but my limbs felt heavy and uncooperative.

    "Rachel?" I mumbled, assuming my assistant had returned and decided I needed more direct intervention.

    There was no answer, just the steady movement as I was carried through what felt like the kitchen area toward a back exit. The sounds of the bar faded, reced by the distant hum of traffic and the muffled noise of the city at night.

    "Where are we going?" I slurred, trying to focus on the face above me.

    The street lights were too bright, making me squint.

    I clutched at thepels of an expensive suit jacket, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. All the frustration, hurt, and exhaustion I¡¯d been holding back came rushing to the surface.

    "It¡¯s so hard," I confessed, my voice cracking. "So damn hard. I¡¯m barely twenty, and I¡¯m fighting all these battles alone." Tears pricked at my eyes, hot and unwee. "Nobody helps me. Nobody understands what I¡¯m going through."

    The person carrying me remained silent, but their arms tightened slightly, offering a strange kind offort.

    "I¡¯m so tired," I whispered, the fight draining out of me. My head dropped against a solid chest, and I frowned at the unyielding firmness I encountered.

    "Rachel, where¡¯s... where¡¯s your chest? It¡¯s... hard."

    A strange, wild anger surged through me, fueled by alcohol and days of frustration. "I should go to Sean," I dered suddenly, my words slurring together. "Right now. I should go to him and..." Iughed, a bitter, reckless sound. "I¡¯ll show them all how much I need him. We¡¯ll have sex all night, and Jack can go to hell."

    My head feels heavy, filled with lead, the alcohol turning everything into a blur of light and noise. The bed beneath me sways like I¡¯m on a ship, and my limbs feel like they¡¯ve been reced with soaked fabric. I don¡¯t remember getting here just shes of streetlights, a stranger¡¯s chest, the weight of exhaustion pressing me down.

    Someone¡¯s there. Not Rachel. Not Jack.

    A man¡¯s silhouette hovers above, blurry at the edges, his breath warm against my cheek. His hand brushes my thigh intentional, lingering. I flinch, but my body won¡¯t respond fast enough. My muscles scream to move, to push back, but I¡¯m slow, like I¡¯m swimming through syrup.

    "Stop," I manage, barely above a whisper.

    He pauses, his hand retracting slightly. A tense silence follows. Then a deep voice not unfamiliar speaks.

    "You don¡¯t even know who you trust anymore, do you?"

    It¡¯s not a question. It¡¯s a challenge. A knife turned slowly.

    My eyes finally focus. Recognition is a jolt to the chest. My breath catches. It can¡¯t be.

    "You," I choke out.

    He smirks, calm andposed. "You really think they care? Jack? Sean? They left you like this. But I didn¡¯t."

    My heart pounds, cold fear cutting through the alcohol.

    "I should go to Sean," I blurt, desperately trying to shift the power back. "He¡¯d know how to handle me. He wouldn¡¯t leave me on the floor."

    "You¡¯re not going anywhere tonight," he replies, and not unkindly. He leans closer, his voice lowering. "You break, Anna. And then you pretend like you didn¡¯t."

    I stare at him. At the man I once thought of as irrelevant.

    His hand brushes my hair back, tucking it behind my ear in a gesture that feels too intimate, too wrong. But I don¡¯t stop him. I don¡¯t know how.

    "I¡¯m not here to hurt you," he says. "But if you keep pretending none of this matters... someone else will."

    The warning is clear.

    I curl into myself, knees bent, arms crossed, trying to build a wall out of broken ss. "I¡¯m tired," I whisper.

    "I know."

    Silence stretches between us, taut with unspoken things.

    He doesn¡¯t touch me again. Just sits there, close enough to feel, distant enough to burn.

    And I realize: this isn¡¯t safety.

    It¡¯s a different kind of danger.

    One I let in.

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I woke the next morning feeling like I¡¯d been hit by a truck. Every muscle in my body ached, screaming in protest with even the slightest movement.

    Rachel stood beside the bed, her face pale and stricken as she clutched a shopping bag. My dress fromst night was crumpled in the trash like a discarded rag, far from the elegant designer piece it once was.

    I pulled back the covers and stared at myself in horror. Bruises and marks painted across my skin like some twisted souvenir.

    "What the hell...?"

    "I¡¯m so sorry, Ms. Shaw," Rachel said, her voice thick with guilt. "This is my fault. I shouldn¡¯t have left you alone, even to pay the bill. I¡ª"

    "It¡¯s not your fault," I interrupted firmly, tossing the covers aside and standing despite the pain. "Was it him again?"

    Rachel¡¯s eyes widened at the sight of my body. She quickly handed me a robe. "Most likely. I looked everywhere for you every hotel near the bar. I was about to call the police when someone sent me your hotel and room number from your phone. By the time I got there, he was already gone. The strangest thing? The bar¡¯s security footage fromst night is missingpletely wiped."

    Of course it was. That level of control, those methods... it had to be him again.

    What the hell was going on? Was he addicted to sleeping with me or something?

    I forced myself to calm down. Somehow, it hurt a little less this time. Maybe because I was emotionally numb to it by now. But I had no time to dwell. I had bigger things to deal with.

    "I need to shower first," I said tly, "then we¡¯re going to my mother¡¯s house."

    Once the alcohol and confusion wore off, I knew I had to face reality. I wasn¡¯t going to let the Simpsons manipte my family with whatever lies they¡¯d been spinning.

    At Goldenleaf Manor, my mother greeted me with a brightness that only made my stomach sink. She was too happy.

    "Anna, darling! You¡¯re finally here!"

    Jack had already made his move. I was sure of it.

    But then she continued, eyes sparkling: "Marcus Murphy came by! He brought the most incredible gifts absolute treasures. I was overwhelmed!"

    Marcus?

    I blinked, taken aback. The living room was overflowing with gift boxes stacked like an exhibit. My mother hadn¡¯t exaggerated they were extravagant. Excessively so.

    "Uncle Marcus, you¡¯re here," I greeted him, still stunned. "This is... really too generous."

    Marcus Murphy had no real ties to our family, so this sudden gesture felt odd. During hisst visit, he had mentioned dropping by again, but we all assumed it was just politeness.

    "I haven¡¯t visited in years," he replied smoothly. "Showing respect to my elders is the least I can do."

    I wasn¡¯t sure how my mother counted as his elder, but I let it slide. His intentions seemed good, and it wasn¡¯t in me to be rude.

    Mom wasted no time instructing the kitchen to prepare an borate lunch. The scale of Marcus¡¯s gifts demanded something more than gratitude, and she wanted to reciprocate in whatever way she could.

    I changed clothes and made tea myself, trying to show some gesture of appreciation. With some time before lunch and my grandmother and mother excusing themselves to rest, I found myself alone with Marcus.

    It was awkward. I wasn¡¯t good at small talk, especially not with someone like Marcus, who despite being young, held the intimidating presence of a man used to control.

    Just when the silence was bing unbearable, Marcus asked, "Still struggling with thepany situation?"

    The genuine concern in his voice nearly undid me. I¡¯d hidden so much from my family how alone I¡¯d felt since Dad passed, how suffocating the burden had be. And now someone was finally acknowledging it.

    I managed a small smile. "Thank you for your concern, Uncle Marcus. I¡¯ll handle it."

    He was Jack¡¯s uncle, after all. I couldn¡¯t involve him in the fight with the Simpsons. I owed the Murphy family too much already.

    Marcus¡¯s gaze lingered on me, unreadable. Then he nodded, taking a sip of tea like the perfect gentleman. "If you need help, just say the word."

    His words meant more than he realized. I envied Catherine a little. With someone like Marcus in her corner, it was no wonder she walked through life so confidently.

    My family had no such protector. That¡¯s exactly why the Simpsons treated us like we were expendable.

    But those days were over.

    "Thank you, Uncle Marcus. But this is something I have to do myself."

    Lunch ended with my mother meticulously reviewing Marcus¡¯s gift list. Her hands trembled as she read out loud, "A vintage brooch, a wristwatch, an antique tea set... and a box of natural pearls?"

    The box of pearls was stunning wless, glowing, nearly priceless. My mother was visibly enchanted, her inner girl reawakened.

    "Let¡¯s send a gift back to William," Grandmother said. "Something meaningful."

    "William likes calligraphy, doesn¡¯t he?" Mom added. "We have that painting set..."

    I felt both touched and saddened. Only in recent years, thanks to my hard work at Shaw Corp, had our social standing begun to recover. The Murphys had never turned their backs on us. The rest? They¡¯d only ever waited like vultures, hoping we¡¯d crumble so they could pick apart what remained.

    "I¡¯ll handle it," I told them seriously. "By the way, if anyone from the Simpson familyes by, don¡¯t entertain them. Especially Jack."

    My mother tensed. "Did something happen?"

    "Just some disagreements over Phoenix," I said lightly.

    Their expressions darkened. They still hadn¡¯t forgiven Jack for bringing Lucy into the project.

    "If it¡¯s about Phoenix, do what you need to," Grandmother said. "We won¡¯t interfere."

    That support meant everything.

    Leaving Goldenleaf Manor, I felt renewed. Stronger.

    I called Jack directly. It was time to end this.

    He arrived quickly with Lucy clinging to his side.

    "Come to your senses?" he asked smugly, like he already knew he¡¯d won.

    "I have," I replied coolly. "And this is thest time we¡¯ll talk about Sean."

    Jack blinked. I didn¡¯t give him time to respond.

    "First, Sean stays. He¡¯s already uncovered crucial evidence, and I trust his abilities. I won¡¯t fire him. Second, I agree to your second condition but I will not share Phoenix¡¯s core technology with Simpson Group."

    Jack¡¯s smile faded.

    "Andstly, if you can¡¯t ept that, then our partnership is over."

    Silence.

    Lucy shifted beside him, her expression uneasy.

    "You can¡¯t be serious," Jack finally said, voice tight. "You¡¯d sacrifice the entire Phoenix Project over some... some boy toy?"

    I met his gaze without flinching. "Watch me."

 Chapter 20: Terms of Survival

    <h4>Chapter 20: Terms of Survival</h4>

    Lucy¡¯s POV

    My heart stopped the moment Anna¡¯s words cut through the room like a de:

    "Then we terminate our partnership."

    The floor tilted beneath me, panic surging like a tidal wave up my throat. No, this wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to go. Anna Shaw was meant to crack under pressure not flip the entire damn table.

    She¡¯s bluffing, I told myself, clinging to the hope like a lifeline. She has to be bluffing.

    The Phoenix Project was a guaranteed win. No sane executive would walk away from a goldmine over some glorified escort.

    But the look in Anna¡¯s eyes wasn¡¯t the look of someone bluffing. It was cold. Unflinching. Calcted.

    I forced a calm expression onto my face, though my mind spiraled through the implications. Without Phoenix, I¡¯d lose everything my position, my leverage. My title as General Manager wasn¡¯t just a job; it was my legitimacy in the eyes of the Simpson family.

    Months of carefully cultivated goodwill with Mary Simpson would vanish. All that effort to position myself as the perfect daughter-inw alternative gone.

    Have they all lost their minds? I thought, watching this absurd standoff unfold. Phoenix was bulletproof. The research, the market projections it was built to seed.

    And then it hit me: Anna wasn¡¯t bluffing.

    She was calling ours.

    She knew Jack wouldn¡¯t risk terminating the deal. She was gambling that he needed Phoenix just as badly as Shaw Corp did.

    Then, as if to twist the knife deeper, Anna spoke again.

    "Actually, I have apromise," she said, her voice a velvet trap. "Jack fires Lucy. I fire Sean. We both bring in new, qualified managers for Phoenix."

    The fake smile I¡¯d stered on my face faltered.

    "Oh, Anna," I said with a brittleugh. "You¡¯re such a joker."

    But inside, panic was bubbling up like boiling water. No. No. No. This wasn¡¯t happening. I turned to Jack, pleading silently, willing him not to even consider it.

    "This is ridiculous," Jack snapped, his face darkening. "You¡¯re just trying to get revenge on Lucy because of our past."

    "Revenge?" Anna arched a brow, ice-cold. "Please, Jack. You¡¯re ancient history. I couldn¡¯t care less about your love life."

    I saw Jack flinch Anna knew exactly where to strike. His ego was always his soft spot, and she hit it with surgical precision.

    "This is about Phoenix," she continued coolly. "Nothing more, nothing less."

    My hands curled into fists beneath the table, nails digging into my palms as I kept my smile frozen in ce. Everything I¡¯d built was bncing on a knife¡¯s edge. If Jack took this deal, I wouldn¡¯t just lose my title I¡¯d lose the only real power I had in the Simpson family. The moment I stopped being useful, Mary Simpson would drop me like a bad investment.

    I will not let this happen.

    Just as I began mentally strategizing my next move, the office door opened with a deliberate swing, and in walked Marcus Murphy like a storm in a suit. The air seemed to shift, heavy with his presence.

    Even Jack looked smaller.

    "My father asked me to mediate," Marcus announced, taking the head seat without pause. His voice rang with the kind of authority that silenced a room faster than a mmed gavel.

    "Uncle Marcus¡ª" I began, trying to y the family card.

    His eyes, sharp and cial, snapped to mine.

    "Ms. Taylor," he said, voice clipped. "I don¡¯t recall granting you permission to address me so intimately."

    My face flushed with humiliation. I could feel their stares, their silent judgment. The mistress ying at being family.

    Still, I straightened my spine. I wouldn¡¯t be dismissed.

    "As General Manager of Phoenix," I said, steadying my voice, "I have some suggestions to resolve this situation."

    Marcus said nothing, but his impassive stare made me want to crawl under the table. Still, I pushed forward. I had to.

    "First," I began, keeping my tone measured, "Shaw Corp couldpensate for the data breach by offering Simpson Group an additional 2% in profit share."

    I nced at Anna, watching for her reaction. When she gave a small nod, my confidence grew.

    "Second," I continued, "we divide responsibilities more clearly Shaw handles R&D and production, while Simpson takes charge of marketing and sales. This protects bothpanies¡¯ core interests."

    To my surprise, Anna considered the terms without protest.

    This was working.

    Truthfully, I¡¯d hated managing production. Too many moving parts, constant technical issues I barely understood. Offloading it while keeping my title? Ideal.

    "Finally," I added, "regarding Mr. Smith he could stay on until the data theft investigation is concluded. Once resolved, we revisit his role."

    Silence fell like a curtain.

    All eyes turned to Marcus.

    He was still, unreadable. Then finally,

    "Ms. Shaw?" he asked.

    "The terms are eptable," Anna said coolly. "If Jack agrees."

    I turned to Jack, holding my breath. His jaw was tight, resentment clear in every line of his face. He didn¡¯t like it but before he could speak, Marcus intervened.

    "Jack," Marcus said with deliberate weight, "My father is considering a significant investment in Shaw Corp."

    The message was clear. A warning, wrapped in velvet.

    Jack hesitated, his mouth opening and closing once, twice. Then, through gritted teeth:

    "Fine. I agree to the terms."

    Relief washed through me like cool water.

    I¡¯d done it.

    My position was safe, production was no longer my problem, and I was still in the game.

    But I knew one thing with certainty Anna Shaw wasn¡¯t finished.

    And neither was I.

    Anna¡¯s POV

    After everyone left, I turned to Marcus with a small, grateful smile. "I owe you dinner, at the very least. Are you free tonight?"

    His gaze held mine, steady and unreadable. "I am."

    Le Ciel was the sort of ce that required booking months in advance, but the ma?tre d¡¯ nearly stumbled over himself when Marcus arrived. Within minutes, we were escorted to a private dining room overlooking Skyview City¡¯s glittering skyline.

    "Uncle Marcus," I began once we had ordered, my tone sincere, "I can¡¯t thank you enough for today. Without your intervention, Shaw Corp and Simpson Group would¡¯ve imploded."

    He satfortably across from me, his presence calm butmanding every inch the man who didn¡¯t need to raise his voice to dominate a room.

    "You gave away too much," he said. "Two percent profit share? That¡¯s not a small concession."

    I shook my head, oddly at peace despite the numbers. "You actually helped me more than you realize. I was prepared to walk away from Phoenix altogether. But now the project lives on with fewer headaches." A rueful smile tugged at my lips.

    "The data breach happened under Shaw Corp¡¯s roof. Like it or not, we hold part of the me. Simpson Group had every right to demand something. If someone¡¯s deliberately targeting Phoenix, that extra share is a small price to pay to keep them close." I lifted my ss. "An expensive lesson... but one I won¡¯t be repeating."

    Marcus studied me, his gaze sharp. "You don¡¯t feel cheated?"

    I took a slow sip of wine before setting the ss down. "When I fall, I get up. I don¡¯t waste time on self-pity." The past few weeks had burned away my illusions and left something harder in their ce resolve. "This ordeal revealed a lot about the people around me. It cost me, sure but now I know who I¡¯m really dealing with."

    I raised my ss again. "To you, Uncle Marcus. I¡¯m grateful."

    He clinked his ss with mine. The wine was exquisite deep, rich, and smooth. I drank a little too eagerly, letting the warmth spread through me.

    "Slow down," he said gently.

    "I¡¯m celebrating tonight," I replied, a rare lightness in my chest. "You and your father have done so much for us. I don¡¯t know how to repay you."

    Something shifted in Marcus¡¯s expression then. "Actually... there is something you could help me with."

    I blinked, curious and a little breathless. "If it¡¯s within my power, I¡¯ll do it."

    A rare smile curved his lips, and I couldn¡¯t help but stare. "Uncle Marcus... you¡¯re smiling!"

    His smile deepened, softening his usually severe features. "Am I so terrifying to you?"

    "No! I¡¯m not afraid of you," Iughed quickly, then added, "But Catherine is. She says no one dares contradict you."

    He let out a warm, unexpectedugh deep and rich, sending a strange flutter through me.

    "That¡¯s only because I¡¯m hardly home. They treat me with far too much caution."

    We talked through the meal, the conversation easier than I¡¯d imagined. By my third ss, I felt loose and happy. By the fifth, the world had softened around the edges.

    At some point, Marcus suggested it was time to leave. After that darkness.

    "Anna! Honestly, you¡¯re going to ruin your liver!"

    My mother¡¯s voice sliced through my foggy brain like a de. I groaned, cracking open one eye to see her standing over my bed, holding a steaming mug and a familiar look of disapproval.

    "Mom?" I croaked. "What time is it?"

    "Nearly noon," she said, pressing the mug into my hands. "Drink this. Hangover soup."

    I sat up slowly, epting the bitter brew. "You scared me."

    She perched beside me, her frown softening into concern. "You should take it easy. Drinking like that isn¡¯t healthy."

    "I was happy yesterday," I said, resting my head on her shoulder. "The Phoenix mess is over. Uncle Marcus saved everything. I took him to dinner to thank him and... might¡¯ve gone overboard."

    She stroked my hair gently, but I could feel tension in her hands.

    "Annie," she said after a pause, "Marcus is family. Don¡¯t you think his interest in you is... a bit much?"

    I pulled back slightly, blinking at her. "Grandpa William asked him to mediate. And Uncle Marcus has always been kind. I wish I had more rtives like him."

    She didn¡¯t respond immediately. Then, in a voice touched with unease, she said, "Just be careful. Men like Marcus Murphy... they always have their reasons."

    I frowned. "What do you mean?"

    She shook her head. "Nothing specific. Just a mother¡¯s instinct." She stood, smoothing her skirt. "I¡¯m off. Brunch with the girls."

    Once she left, Iy back against the pillows, trying to recall the evening. The restaurant. The wine. Marcus¡¯s smile... then nothing.

    How did I get home?

    I grabbed my phone and messaged Rachel. Her response was immediate: Mr. Murphy brought you home. Told the staff not to disturb you today. Said you needed rest.

    I stared at the message. Marcus had personally taken care of me? The fearsome, untouchable Marcus Murphy had brought me home and protected my dignity?

    I buried my face in the pillow, equal parts embarrassed and moved. I¡¯d have to thank him formally.

    By the time I went downstairs, my headache had dulled to a manageable throb. Mom was back and clearly upset.

    "What¡¯s wrong?" I asked, curling up across from her.

    She exhaled sharply. "Mary. We fought again."

    "What happened now?"

    "She said that Sean that Sean is the reason you got into trouble with Jack. Is it true? And is he really from... a ce like that?"

    I froze, pulse quickening. So rumors had started. And Mom had heard.

    Trouble wasing. Again.

 Chapter 21: Red and Resolve

    <h4>Chapter 21: Red and Resolve</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    After exining for what felt like the hundredth time that I had nothing to do with Sean beyond professional admiration and that I¡¯d let him and his team join the Phoenix Project solely because of his talent my mother and grandmother finally believed me.

    I told them again about Sean¡¯s past: a top student forced by circumstance to work at the Olympus Club. This time, something shifted. Sympathy flickered in their eyes. My mother even wept.

    The next day, Sean called with an update.

    "The person who stole the data has been identified," he said, his voice taut. "But he¡¯s gone."

    We gathered in the conference room. I sat at the head of the table, posture calm by design, though a storm brewed beneath my surface. Sean stood beside the screen, swiping through surveince footage.

    "We¡¯ve identified him as John Fisher a graduate student who worked under Mr. Torres," Sean announced, pausing on a frame showing the young man slipping a sh drive into his pocket. "He vanished the day after the breach."

    Trevor Torres, our chief engineer, looked hollow like the guilt had been eating him alive.

    "Ms. Shaw," he said, voice low and heavy. "I¡¯m so sorry. I misjudged him and brought this mess into thepany."

    Before I could respond, an all-too-familiar sneer echoed across the room.

    "So your student stealspany data, and you think a weak apology absolves you? How do we know you weren¡¯t both involved?"

    I looked up sharply. "What are you doing here?"

    Lucy folded her arms, perfectly poised in her smugness. "As General Manager of Phoenix, I have every right to be here when there¡¯s an update about the breach."

    My patience, already on a knife¡¯s edge from weeks of power ys, snapped.

    "Yesterday¡¯s agreement was crystal clear: Simpson Group handles marketing and sales. The research facility is none of your concern and frankly, you wouldn¡¯t understand what goes on here even if it were."

    A blush crept up her neck, but she forced aposed smile.

    "There¡¯s no need to be so harsh. This still concerns Phoenix, after all. We¡¯ll keep the breach quiet¡ªfor the sake of the project. But I hope you resolve this fast. The market won¡¯t wait. Simpson Group needs your product ready to sell."

    She turned and walked off with a final click of her heels. I nodded to Rachel, who quietly locked the door behind her.

    Turning back to Sean, I asked, "Any leads?"

    He shook his head. "Roommate hasn¡¯t seen him since the incident. No one suspected John would do this. By the time we put the pieces together, it was toote."

    I tapped my fingers on the table, mind racing. "Check his social circles. There must be a link somewhere."

    Sean gave me a nod, the same suspicion darkening his gaze. "There¡¯s something off," I said. "He would¡¯ve known those were discarded test results. Why steal worthless data? Unless they weren¡¯t worthless."

    I met Sean¡¯s eyes. We were on the same page now.

    "Clear Trevor¡¯s name. Get him back on the project. We don¡¯t have time for dys."

    "Yes, Ms. Shaw."

    That evening, I brought only Rachel to the business party. I chose my armor well: a ck satin mermaid gown paired with a crisp white zer. My hair was pinned in a ssic chignon, power polished into every detail.

    The moment we arrived, we were surrounded.

    "Such a waste to spend your youth behind a desk," one man leered. "A beautiful woman like you should be enjoying life."

    "My son¡¯s recently divorced," another added. "Harvard Law. You two would have so much inmon."

    I smiled thinly. "I enjoy running mypany."

    Not one of them asked about business. I scanned the room for an exit and finally escaped with a well-ced excuse.

    Then he appeared.

    Tall. Expensively dressed. Arrogant smile firmly in ce like he¡¯d never heard the word "no."

    "Beautifuldy, may I buy you a drink?" he asked, his eyes shamelessly raking over me.

    "Get lost," I said tly.

    He didn¡¯t budge. Instead, his smile curdled.

    "What¡¯s your name, sweetheart?"

    I tried to step around him, but he grabbed my wrist hard.

    "ying hard to get? That¡¯s fine. I like a challenge. I always get what I want. Tonight, that¡¯s you."

    The fury that had been simmering all day erupted.

    "Are you sure I¡¯m the one who¡¯ll have a difficult evening?"

    From the corner of my eye, I saw Jack and Lucy watching. Jack¡¯s expression was unreadable. Detached. He didn¡¯t move.

    The man sneered. "Don¡¯t joke, baby. Money, power name it. You¡¯re mine tonight."

    Enough.

    I plucked a ss of red wine from a passing tray and dumped it onto his white shirt.

    "I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m far out of your league," I said calmly.

    His face twisted with fury, and he lunged, fingers reaching for me.

    But before he could touch me, a strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me into the safety of a firm chest.

    I looked up and met Marcus Murphy¡¯s eyes.

    Anna¡¯s POV

    Startled, I looked up and found myself staring into the dark,manding eyes of Marcus Murphy.

    "Uncle Marcus?" I breathed, my anger momentarily giving way to shock. "You¡¯re here too?"

    Relief crept into my voice before I could stop it. I hadn¡¯t expected him, but his presence felt like a lifeline.

    Marcus¡¯s gaze lingered on me, unreadable. "Just checking in."

    It was only then I realized he still had his arm around my waist. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I stepped back quickly, unnerved by how flustered I felt. "Thank you... for the rescue."

    His eyes swept over me, evaluating. "Where¡¯s your assistant?"

    "Rachel went to the car to grab something for me," I muttered, cursing her timing. If she¡¯d been here, that man never would¡¯ve gotten close.

    Unfortunately, the harasser hadn¡¯t backed down. Wine-stained shirt and all, he stood his ground, ring between Marcus and me. "So you like older men? Interesting taste."

    Marcus¡¯s face darkened. The warmth disappeared from his features, reced by something cold and dangerous. Without a word, he gave a subtle nod to his right-hand man.

    "Remove him," he said, his voice sharp as ice.

    The words sent a chill down my spine.

    "What the fuck? Do you even know who I am? Touch me and see what happens!" the man sputtered as Peter Reed closed in.

    With precise efficiency, Peter silenced him, gripping his arm and covering his mouth before escorting him from the ballroom. The entire exchange was handled so cleanly, most guests didn¡¯t even notice.

    Marcus turned back to me, calm as ever. "I have some friends I¡¯d like you to meet."

    My heart skipped. The Murphywork? That kind of ess had always been withheld from me during my marriage to Jack, despite William Murphy¡¯s affection. The Simpson family guarded their resources like a fortress Jack had made sure I remained on the outside.

    "Uncle Marcus, I can¡¯t thank you enough," I said sincerely, struggling to hide the excitement bubbling beneath myposed exterior.

    The corner of his mouth lifted almost a smile.

    "Shall we?"

    He led me toward a private section of the ballroom where several older men stood in quiet conversation. I recognized them instantly heavyweights of Skyview City¡¯s financial elite. I¡¯d seen them at events before, but never spoken to them. There was always a silent boundary I hadn¡¯t been allowed to cross.

    Until now.

    Marcus made the introductions effortlessly, his hand resting lightly at the small of my back as he guided me through the circle. I fell into my role with ease polished, respectful, asking sharp but respectful questions, and offering thoughtful insights.

    To my surprise, they responded warmly, clearly swayed by Marcus¡¯s implicit endorsement. By the end of the introductions, I had more than just handshakes I had promises. Promises of meetings, connections, and coboration. It would¡¯ve taken me years to get this far on my own.

    I filed away each name and number, mentally charting my next moves. Shaw Corp needed allies. Tonight, I¡¯d gained several.

    But just as I began to savor this rare sess, Joseph Walker¡¯s voice cut through the hum of conversation.

    "I¡¯ve heard Skke District is up for redevelopment. Any of you gentlemen interested? If not, I might make a move myself."

    I froze, champagne halfway to my lips.

    Skke District.

    The same neighborhood where my mother¡¯s family home the Shaw ancestral mansion stood. That house was thest thread tying us to her childhood, to her memories. If it became part of some development n...

    "Skke?" one investor scoffed, swirling his brandy. "Mostly wends and worn-down homes. What¡¯s the appeal?"

    Joseph shrugged, eyes gleaming. "Just keeping options open. Heard Simpson Group has their eye on it."

    My pulse quickened. Jack¡¯s aggressive bidding at the auction suddenly made sense. It hadn¡¯t been about me it had been business. Cold, calcted.

    The mansion wasn¡¯t just a keepsake from my mother¡¯s past. It was a strategic acquisition in an area that was about to explode in value.

    And I had been too blinded by emotion to see it.

    I took a slow sip of champagne, masking the dread rising in my chest. My grandfather had sold that house in desperation. Now someone else owned it. And if they were part of this redevelopment... it could be demolished.

    Unless I stopped it.

    I nced at Marcus. He was still engaged in the conversation, his expression neutral but when our eyes met, I had the distinct impression he already knew exactly what I was thinking.

    The topic soon shifted to other ventures, but my mind was elsewhere, racing with possibilities. I had to find out who bought the mansion. That outrageous 200-million-dor bid at the auction it hadn¡¯te from Jack or me. Someone else had wanted that property badly.

    If I could find them... maybe I could offer more.

    For my mother, for our legacy I would do whatever it took.

    As the evening wound down, I kept up appearances, smiling and nodding, but inside I was plotting. I needed information. And fast.

    When I spotted Marcus slipping away toward a quiet side corridor, I seized my chance. I excused myself from a lingering conversation and followed, quickening my pace as he turned the corner.

    "Uncle Marcus," I called, my voice low but firm.

    He stopped and turned, his expression as unreadable as always.

    "About what Joseph said... the Skke District." I paused, steadying my breath. There was no point being vague. "My mother¡¯s family home the mansion that went up for auction it¡¯s there. I need to find out who bought it. You have connections everywhere... Can you help me?"

 Chapter 22: The Smile That Wasnâ€™t Mine

    <h4>Chapter 22: The Smile That Wasn¡¯t Mine</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    Marcus studied me with such intensity that I had to resist the urge to look away.

    "That building matters to you."

    It wasn¡¯t a question, but I answered anyway.

    "It¡¯s where my mother grew up." I swallowed hard against the unexpected tightness in my throat. "If it¡¯s going to be demolished for development, I need to try and buy it back first."

    Marcus leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed. "Given the redevelopment ns, the property¡¯s value has likely increased significantly since the auction. The new owner might not be willing to sell."

    "I understand," I said quietly. "But I have to try. My mother¡¯s lost so much already her parents, her husband, and nearly her family¡¯spany before I stepped in. If I can give her back even one piece of her past... her home..." I trailed off, realizing how much of my heart I was exposing. "I¡¯ll pay whatever it takes."

    He was silent for a moment, then finally said, "I¡¯ll have Peter look into it. Expect an update within the week."

    Relief hit me in a soft, grateful wave. "Thank you."

    Later, as the party wound down, Marcus offered to drive me home. I was about to politely decline until I saw Jack and Lucy approaching.

    "Marcus, Anna, are you two heading back?" Lucy¡¯s voice was warm, her face carrying its usual gentle smile.

    I¡¯ve always admired Lucy. No matter the circumstances, no matter what tensiony beneath the surface, she always greeted people with that same effortless grace. I envied that. I, on the other hand, couldn¡¯t even look at someone I disliked without my expression betraying me.

    I turned away from Jack and instead smiled at Marcus.

    "I¡¯ll head home on my own. It¡¯s gettingte you should get some rest too."

    Marcus nced at his watch. "It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll take you."

    It would¡¯ve been rude to refuse again. Besides, I wasn¡¯t exactly averse to Marcus. Despite his business being mostly overseas, his status in the Murphy family was powerful on par with Catherine¡¯s father. Being in his good graces could only benefit me.

    I nodded, smiling. "Okay. Thank you."

    Jack¡¯s POV

    I watched Anna smile at Marcus and something inside me twisted.

    That smile... it was too warm, too real. It cut into me like a knife.

    How long had it been since she¡¯d smiled at me like that?

    She used to smile that way on our wedding day. That kind of smile was mine once. But now, it was reserved for others.

    She barely looked at me anymore. Treated me like I didn¡¯t exist. imed she loved me and yet, not even two years into our marriage, she demanded a divorce.

    Now, we might as well be strangers.

    Had she ever truly loved me?

    "Uncle Marcus, I¡¯ll take her home," I blurted out, surprising even myself with the sharpness in my voice.

    Marcus¡¯s gaze shifted darker, heavier. The air around us changed.

    Lucy looked startled, forcing a polite smile. "Jack, you two don¡¯t live in the same direction. Don¡¯t you have that early meeting tomorrow?"

    I ignored her. My eyes were on Anna, her expression cool and distant.

    "I¡¯ll drive you," I said firmly, not giving her the chance to object. "There¡¯s no need to trouble Uncle Marcus."

    Anna gave a coldugh. "Then I¡¯d prefer to let Uncle Marcus take me. Don¡¯t trouble yourself, Mr. Simpson. You should focus on getting Ms. Taylor home safely."

    The way she said it formal, biting it struck a nerve. I reached out, grabbing for her arm without thinking.

    She stepped back instinctively, and in the same moment, Marcus reached out and pulled her gently but protectively to his side.

    I froze. My breath caught.

    That gesture, subtle as it was, didn¡¯t feel casual. As a man, I knew exactly what it implied.

    My gaze met Marcus¡¯s. His expression was calm unbothered but there was something unmistakable behind his eyes.

    "I¡¯ll take her home," he said simply.

    The words sounded benign, but to me, they rang like a challenge.

    An absurd thought struck me but I shoved it away.

    "Uncle Marcus, it¡¯s not appropriate," I insisted. "Let me take her."

    Anna raised a brow, her tone mocking. "Uncle Marcus is my elder. How is it inappropriate for him to drive me home? Honestly, Mr. Simpson, I¡¯d feel far less safe getting into a car with you thiste at night."

    Then, she turned to Marcus, her tone softening. "Uncle Marcus, shall we go?"

    Marcus didn¡¯t even nce back. "Go home early," he said to me smoothly.

    And just like that, they walked away.

    I stood frozen, watching her disappear into his car, a storm of emotions roiling inside me jealousy, rage, panic.

    What was their rtionship?

    Why did I feel like I was losing something I hadn¡¯t even realized was slipping through my fingers?

    Back at the Simpson mansion, my parents had just returned from another dinner party.

    "Jack," my mother said eagerly as I stepped in, "I heard your Uncle Marcus was at the event tonight?"

    Perfect. I needed to know more about him anyway.

    "Yes. He was there with Joseph Walker." I tried to sound casual. "He¡¯s been back in the States for a while now. Do you think he¡¯s heading back to Europe soon? I was thinking of taking him out to dinner before he leaves."

    My father nodded approvingly. "You should. Simpson Group needs strong allies in the European market."

    My mother was scrolling through her phone, half-listening. "Mmm. Your uncle might be staying longer. Your aunt said he¡¯s met someone he really likes. William¡¯s thrilled keeps pushing him to bring the girl home, though it hasn¡¯t happened yet."

    The phone nearly slipped from my hand.

    Marcus... met someone?

    My mind snapped back to earlier. That look. The way he touched her.

    No.

    It couldn¡¯t be.

    But what if it was?

    What if Marcus Murphy was interested in Anna?

    Anna¡¯s POV

    When we finally pulled up to the gates of Goldenleaf Manor, I turned to him with genuine gratitude.

    "Thank you for everything today, Uncle Marcus," I said softly in the quiet of the car. "Would you like toe in for some tea before you go?"

    The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, almost imperceptibly. "Not tonight."

    I nodded, surprised at the small sting of disappointment his refusal stirred in me. Stepping out of the car, I leaned down to look through the window.

    "Get some rest, then. I¡¯ll see you at William¡¯s this weekend."

    "Good night, Anna," he replied simply, his expression unreadable as always.

    As his sleek car disappeared around the bend, an odd emptiness settled in my chest. Over the past few weeks, his presence had be a curious constant in my life reassuring in ways I hadn¡¯t expected and couldn¡¯t quite exin. Even this simple goodbye left me feeling strangely bereft.

    I shook my head, brushing off the sensation. It¡¯s just gratitude, I told myself firmly. Nothing more.

    Inside the house, I kicked off the heels that had tormented me all day, sighing in relief as my bare feet touched the cool floor.

    Rachel followed behind me, carrying my coat and handbag.

    "Ms. Shaw, would you like me to prepare a hot bath?" she asked as we ascended the stairs.

    "Yes, please. My legs are killing me." I rubbed my calves, feeling the weight of the day its meetings, obligations, and emotional strain locked tight in my muscles.

    After a long soak and a much-needed massage, I finally slipped between the cool sheets of my bed. But despite the physical exhaustion, sleep refused toe.

    My mind kept circling back to the uing weekend and the Murphy family gathering.

    It would be my first time visiting the Murphy Estate since the divorce. My first time there not as Jack¡¯s wife, but as... what, exactly? A family friend? A business associate? The ambiguity tugged at me, leaving behind a tangle of emotions I couldn¡¯t quite unravel.

    When Sunday arrived, I made my way to Murphy Estate with carefully selected gifts. For William, I¡¯d chosen a painting by a contemporary artist I knew he admired. As I stepped into the grand living room, William¡¯s face lit up with genuine pleasure.

    "Anna, my dear! Come in,e in." He embraced me warmly, examining the wrapped painting with the excitement of a child.

    I smiled, then reached into my bag for a second gift a small tin of premium tea leaves.

    "And this is for you, Uncle Marcus," I said, holding it out to him.

    Marcus raised a brow, clearly surprised. "For me?"

    "I noticed you enjoy tea," I exined, feeling oddly self-conscious beneath his gaze. "This is a special reserve blend I¡¯ve been saving. I only have two tins, and I thought you might appreciate it."

    The words came out more earnest than I intended. For some reason, sharing something I loved with him felt important.

    William immediately protested. "That¡¯s your favorite tea! Keep it for yourself, Anna. Marcus drinks coffee anyway it¡¯d be wasted on him."

    I bit back a smile at William¡¯s tant favoritism, not even pretending he wasn¡¯t firmly in my corner.

    Marcus, however, epted the tin with a subtle nod, handing it off to Peter, who seemed to materialize at his side.

    "I¡¯ll drink it," he said simply.

    The words shouldn¡¯t have affected me the way they did, but a gentle warmth bloomed in my chest nheless.

    William scoffed. "Taking things from a youngdy. Shameful behavior."

    I was about to respond when the butler appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Jack Simpson has arrived, sir."

    Before I could recover, William frowned. "Anna, that Phoenix project of yours is Jack still giving you trouble? I need to have a word with that boy. He shouldn¡¯t be making things difficult for you."

    I nced at Marcus in confusion. Hadn¡¯t he already informed William about helping mediate the Phoenix situation?

    Wasn¡¯t William the one who had asked him to step in?

    Marcus, for his part, seemedpletely unbothered, sipping his drink with characteristicposure.

    "It¡¯s been resolved, thank you for your concern," I replied quickly, trying to hide my bewilderment. Either William¡¯s memory was slipping, or something didn¡¯t quite add up.

    Jack strode into the room momentster, his face betraying no surprise at my presence. He nodded respectfully to William and Marcus before his gaze settled on me assessing, familiar, and unreadable.

    "Sit down, boy," William instructed, pointing to the chair beside mine. "What brings you here today?"

    Jack took a seat, deliberately keeping a distance between us. "Mother sent over some fresh seafood and fruit that just arrived from overseas. She asked me to deliver them personally."

    William¡¯s expression darkened slightly. I recognized that look he was still upset about how things had ended between Jack and me. The loyalty touched me, but it also made things...plicated.

    Jack¡¯s attention shifted to Marcus.

    "Uncle Marcus, I¡¯m surprised to see you here. I heard you¡¯ve found ady who¡¯s caught your interest." His smile didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. "Will you be bringing her to meet Grandfather and the rest of the family tomorrow?"

    William immediately jumped on that, scowling. "That¡¯s right! If you don¡¯t bring her home tomorrow, you can pack your bags and head back to Europe. Stop wasting my time. It¡¯s infuriating."

    "Yes, Uncle Marcus," I added yfully, curiosity piqued. "When are you bringing your girlfriend home? William, have you prepared a wee gift yet?"

    Mentally, I calcted at thirty-two, Marcus was certainly at an age where settling down made sense, especially for someone from a family like the Murphys.

    Marcus¡¯s lips twitched in amusement. "Perhaps I should leave after dinner, then?"

    William¡¯s face flushed with irritation. "No dinner for you! You ungrateful boy. If Jack hadn¡¯t been so useless, I¡¯d be holding my great-grandchild by now. You think I need you around?"

    The casual mention of my failed marriage with Jack sent a wave of bitterness through me. I tried to keep my face neutral, but my fingers tightened around my teacup.

    Jack¡¯s eyes darted between Marcus and me before replying with a forced politeness, "Yes, it¡¯s entirely my fault."

    The tension in the room thickened. Staying for dinner suddenly felt like a punishment. If any other Murphy family members arrived and saw Jack and me together, they might assume we were reconciling.

    That was thest thing I wanted.

    "William, I¡¯m afraid I need to head home soon," I said, checking my watch. "My grandmother made soup today a rare event. If I don¡¯t go home to drink it, she¡¯ll probably track me down at the office."

    William didn¡¯t press, sensing my difort. Instead, he ordered the staff to pack up an absurd amount of food for me enough to fill my trunk.

    "If you can¡¯t make it tomorrow, at least take this home. It¡¯s no trouble."

    My throat tightened. One of the deepest regrets from my divorce was losing the ability to care for William as family.

    I reached into my handbag and pulled out a small envelope. "William, my grandmother¡¯s turning eighty next month. You muste. And you too, Uncle Marcus. It¡¯ll be just a small gathering of close friends and family."

    Marcus took the invitation with a quiet, "Thank you."

    William beamed. "Of course I¡¯ll be there for Margaret¡¯s birthday! We old friends need to treasure every chance we get to celebrate. I wouldn¡¯t miss it."

    As I said my goodbyes, I deliberately avoided Jack¡¯s gaze, heading straight for the parking area. I¡¯d nearly reached my car when I heard footsteps behind me.

    "Anna," Jack called, his voice stopping me in my tracks. "Haven¡¯t you¡ª"

 Chapter 23: Silent Pawn

    <h4>Chapter 23: Silent Pawn</h4>

    Jack¡¯s POV

    I watched Anna¡¯s dismissive expression, a nameless anger rising in my chest. How could she invite my uncle to her grandmother¡¯s birthday celebration but not me? Her former husband? The realization stung deeper than I expected.

    "What are you talking about?" she asked, feigning ignorance. That only fueled my irritation.

    "The invitation," I said tly, my gaze locked on hers. "I see the Simpson family didn¡¯t make the cut."

    She hesitated, then blinked in disbelief, as if I¡¯d asked the most absurd question imaginable.

    "Why would I invite the Simpson family?" Her voice dripped with cool mockery. "Have you ever heard of someone staying close with their ex-husband¡¯s family after a divorce?"

    Her words hit hard, leaving me momentarily speechless. This woman who now acted like I didn¡¯t exist seemed oddly close to my uncle. I couldn¡¯t hold it in anymore.

    "Then why invite him?" I demanded. "Are you two close now?"

    "Very," she said without missing a beat. "Uncle Marcus has helped me tremendously. Is there something wrong with me inviting him?"

    I froze.

    Tremendously?

    They¡¯d been spending time together privately? That hollow ache in my chest returned, mingled with jealousy and something darker. She used to be my wife. Now she was growing close to my uncle?

    Anna¡¯s tone grew colder. She looked at me with clear detachment. "Mr. Simpson, aside from necessary professional contact, we have no reason for personal interaction. I assume you¡¯d agree?"

    I clenched my fists, her words cutting deeper than I cared to admit. She wouldn¡¯t even meet my eyes drawing a clean, sharp line between us. Fine. If that was how she wanted to y it, I didn¡¯t need to stay polite.

    "Anna, don¡¯t think I¡¯m trying to cling to you," I snapped, though the bitterness in my tone betrayed me.

    She raised an eyebrow, amused in a cruel way. "Then what exactly is Mr. Simpson doing right now?"

    The ache in my chest twisted tighter. Logic left me, and anger took its ce.

    "I¡¯m here to warn you," I said coldly, "to stay away from my uncle. A man like him isn¡¯t someone you should be setting your sights on. If rumors start, it won¡¯t just embarrass the Shaws and Murphys it¡¯ll drag the Simpsons through the mud too. Besides... don¡¯t you already have Sean? Or are you that desperate for men?"

    Even as the words left my mouth, I knew I¡¯d gone too far. But the jealousy, the resentment it had taken control of me.

    Anna went pale, then flushed with rage. Her hand flew up no, her handbag did and smacked me hard across the shoulder and neck.

    "Go to hell, you bastard!" she yelled. "How dare you talk like that!"

    I staggered back, caught off guard as shended more blows. "Anna! Have you lost your mind?"

    But she wasn¡¯t thinking she was done. Her carefully pinned hair fell loose, wild around her face. Her chest heaved with fury.

    "Why was I so blind as to marry you?" she cried, ripping out the rest of her pins and jabbing her bag at me like a de. "Don¡¯t let me see you again!"

    She spun on her heel, storming to her car. The engine roared, and within seconds she was gone leaving me standing there alone, cut, literally and figuratively. I reached up and felt blood on my neck. Her bag¡¯s metal sp must¡¯ve nicked me.

    "Crazy woman," I muttered, trying to sound annoyed but all I felt was emptiness.

    Then I turned and saw Marcus standing a few feet away. My heart sank.

    He¡¯d seen everything.

    My stomach twisted as our eyes met. His presence here confirmed what I¡¯d already suspected he¡¯de to watch us. To see if Anna and I still had anything between us.

    Judging by what had just happened... apparently, we didn¡¯t.

    But what worried me more was his expression calm, unreadable. The kind of look he always had when he¡¯d already made up his mind.

    "Uncle Marcus," I greeted stiffly, forcingposure into my voice.

    He looked at me for a long moment. "You¡¯re divorced now. Keeping your distance would be better for both of you."

    His words hit like a punch to the gut.

    So... my suspicion was right. He had feelings for her.

    Panic bloomed inside me, and I scrambled to exin deflect stall.

    "Uncle Marcus, you might not understand. Anna and I are divorced, yes, but we¡¯re not like other couples. You don¡¯t know what we had. She used to love me deeply, she insisted on marrying me¡ª"

    "That was in the past," Marcus cut in, calm but firm.

    I swallowed hard, my voice faltering. "We only divorced because of a few issues. She must still care about me. If we just talked, if we worked through things¡ª"

    "It¡¯s over between you two," he said.

    I looked into his steady eyes and felt fear unlike any I¡¯d known. He wasn¡¯t just saying it. He believed it. He knew it.

    "Uncle Marcus," I whispered, almost pleading now. "What are you saying?"

    He answered without hesitation.

    "I came back for her," he said. "And this time, I won¡¯t let go."

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I couldn¡¯t forget the look on Jack¡¯s face at Murphy Estate that toxic blend of usation and jealousy when he warned me to stay away from his uncle. His words still burned in my ears: "A man like him isn¡¯t someone you should be setting your sights on." As if I was some desperate social climber.

    And hisment about Sean? That was the final straw.

    The memory made my blood simmer as I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over my tense shoulders.

    The phone rang as I was toweling off, Rachel¡¯s distinct ringtone cutting through my brooding thoughts.

    "Ms. Shaw," her voice was tight with urgency, "Sean just called. They found John Fisher."

    My heart skipped a beat. "Have them take him to Rosa Vi. I¡¯ll meet you there in thirty."

    The basement of Rosa Vi was typically used for wine storage, but today served a different purpose.

    John Fisher sat nervously on a wooden chair, his eyes darting between Sean, Rachel, and the golf club I held loosely in my right hand.

    "Ms. Shaw," Sean greeted me with a slight nod.

    I stepped closer to Fisher, letting the club¡¯s head tap gently against the floor.

    His eyes followed the movement, widening slightly.

    "I¡¯ll keep this simple," I said, my voice calm and controlled. "Answer two questions honestly, and you can walk away. All I ask is that you never show your face at Shaw Corp again. Lie to me, and you¡¯ll regret it."

    Fisher straightened in his chair, nervousness radiating from every pore.

    "I¡¯ll tell you everything I know, Ms. Shaw."

    "Who did you sell the data to?"

    He shook his head rapidly, beads of sweat already forming on his forehead.

    "I don¡¯t know. I was only given an email address, nothing more."

    I nodded to Rachel, who handed him a pen and paper. I watched as he scribbled down an address, his hand trembling slightly.

    "That person?" I repeated, catching his choice of words. "You met them?"

    "A man, but I couldn¡¯t tell you who. He always wore a mask and hat when we met. I never saw his face clearly."

    I paused, considering this information.

    "Second question: why did you steal obsolete data?"

    Fisher blinked, seeming surprised I¡¯d ask that. "That was part of his instructions. He specifically told me to take the voided test results. Said if I got caught, the consequences would be minimal since the data was worthless."

    My eyes narrowed. "And this person paid you?"

    "Yes," Fisher nodded frantically. "Cash. One hundred thousand dors to send the data to that email. I used Trevor¡¯s ount to cover my tracks." His words tumbled out in a desperate rush. "I know it was wrong, Ms. Shaw. Please, I¡¯m begging you, give me another chance."

    I stepped back, my mind racing. If the buyer knew the data was worthless, then why pay so much for it? This wasn¡¯t making sense.

    "Take him to the other room," I instructed Rachel. "Keep him there until I decide what to do with him."

    Sean prepared tea in the main living room of Rosa Vi while I paced before the firece, piecing together the puzzle.

    "What¡¯s bothering you, Ms. Shaw?" he asked carefully, setting a steaming cup on the side table.

    I tapped my fingers against my chin, my mind working through the implications. "Let¡¯s look at this logically. The stolen data was marked voidpletely useless to anypetitor. Yet Phoenix Project was the only real victim here. Shaw Corp took the me for the security breach."

    "There¡¯s something else," Sean added. "I heard Simpson Group¡¯s team was the first to discover the breach."

    "Simpson Group?" My blood chilled.

    "Trevor didn¡¯t even know hisputer had been essed. How did they know to look there?" The realization was crystallizing. "We all assumed Shaw Corp had a security issue. There was a leak, yes, but what if Fisher was just a pawn in someone else¡¯s game?"

    If this was deliberate, then who benefited most from discrediting Shaw Corp? The answer seemed painfully obvious: Jack? Lucy? Perhaps both?

    I made a quick decision. "Keep Fisher¡¯s capture under wraps. Monitor Simpson Group closely."

    Sean nodded, his expression resolute.

    "I¡¯ll speak with Fisher again, see if there are inconsistencies in his story."

    I smiled faintly, appreciating hispetence.

    Two dayster, I was finalizing a contract with a new vendor when my office door burst open. Jack stormed in, fury etched across his handsome features.

    "What the hell gives you the right to audit Simpson Group¡¯s ounts?" he demanded, not bothering with pleasantries.

    I calmly signaled for Daniel to escort our client out, waiting until the door closed before addressing my ex-husband.

    "Lucy came crying to you, I see."

    Jack¡¯s face darkened further.

    "I get that we have issues, Anna. But if you have a problem with me, deal with me directly. Lucy isn¡¯t as shrewd or capable as you are. She¡¯s not your enemy."

    A bitterugh almost escaped me. Not as capable? Was that supposed to be an excuse?

    "Yes, I authorized an audit of Simpson Group¡¯s financials," I admitted coolly.

    "If Lucy¡¯s concerned, perhaps she should ask herself why. At worst, she¡¯s guilty of negligence, not fraud." I offered him a calcted smile. "If anything, Mr. Simpson, you should thank me for the due diligence."

    "It¡¯s just money," he said dismissively, running a hand through his hair. "I don¡¯t care about a few ounting discrepancies. Call off your dogs. Simpson Group¡¯s finances aren¡¯t your concern."

    Before I could respond, my phone rang. I answered it, listening intently, then ended the call with a cryptic smile.

    "Why don¡¯t youe with me?" I suggested, my tone deceptively light.

    "That way, if Lucy ims I¡¯m bullying her again, you¡¯ll have witnessed everything firsthand."

 Chapter 24: Fractures at Phoenix

    <h4>Chapter 24: Fractures at Phoenix</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The tension at Phoenix Project headquarters was thick enough to cut with a knife. Lucy stood near the conference table, eyes already rimmed red the perfect picture of a woman wrongfully used. Almost convincing.

    Sean wasted no time. "Ms. Shaw, Mr. Simpson, we¡¯ve uncovered significant financial irregrities in Simpson Group¡¯s ounts. More rming, during procurement reviews, we found serious quality issues with raw materials Simpson Group purchased while managing the production line."

    I caught Jack¡¯s expression shift from irritation to genuine surprise. He hadn¡¯t expected this.

    "Clear the room," I ordered Rachel and Daniel. Only the key yers could stay.

    Lucy¡¯s confident mask faltered. Jack turned sharply to her. "What¡¯s going on?"

    "I... I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about," she stammered, herposure cracking.

    I watched her unravel, cold certainty settling in my veins.

    Phoenix was my passion project Shaw Corp¡¯s future. Someone had deliberately poisoned it. That was unforgivable.

    Sean handed me a ledger. "Nn Taylor, Ms. Taylor¡¯s cousin, was the procurement officer responsible. He¡¯s no longer with us." He passed a stack of purchase orders across the table. "Both his and Ms. Taylor¡¯s signatures appear here."

    I skimmed the documents and slid them to Jack. "Your turn, Mr. Simpson."

    Jack ignored the papers, eyes locked on Lucy. "Where is Nn now?"

    Lucy scrambled. "I fired him."

    "Why?"

    Tears welled. "I¡¯m sorry, Jack. When I found out Nn ordered substandard materials, I was terrified he¡¯d ruin Phoenix. I had no choice but to let him go."

    Her voice wavered. "You know how things have been since my brother died. My parents treat Nn like family. I only brought him in as a favor. I never imagined he¡¯d betray that trust."

    "That¡¯s why I returned the production line to Shaw Corp," she added desperately. "I trusted Anna to manage it properly."

    "Jack, please believe me. I would never hurt Phoenix," she pleaded.

    Suddenly, everything clicked. Lucy abandoned control because the line was a liability. The warehouse materials werepromised. If faulty products reached the market, Shaw Corp would take the fall.

    "Mr. Simpson," I said smoothly, "shall we inspect the warehouse? And who will cover the losses?"

    Lucy¡¯s eyes darted to me, realizing I¡¯d seen through her ploy.

    I pressed on. "As a major shareholder, I formally question Ms. Taylor¡¯s managementpetence and request her removal as General Manager."

    Jack¡¯s jaw tightened. "Simpson Group will cover all losses," he said, withholding judgment on Lucy¡¯s fate.

    Lucy countered, voice defensive. "Ms. Shaw, you¡¯ve misunderstood. The material problem isn¡¯t my fault. I¡¯m a victim, too."

    "You represented Simpson Group," I shot back. "Your cousin caused this. How are you not involved?"

    She bit her lip, eyes flicking nervously. "Even if you want me gone, who would rece me? Sean?"

    Jack¡¯s eyes darkened at the mention. I feigned consideration, then nodded. "Sean? Yes, excellent choice."

    Jack jumped up, furious. "Are you mad? Lucy bears some me, but termination? A bonus cut is enough."

    I sipped my tea calmly, watching. "Interesting. So, data theft and substandard materials get treated differently."

    Setting down my cup, I added, "Sean uncovered Simpson Group¡¯s financial and material failings and found Shaw Corp¡¯s data thief. He¡¯s more than qualified to lead."

    Lucy paled, eyes flicking to her assistant, panic edging her voice. "Ms. Shaw, you... you found the leak?"

    The conference room door opened. John Fisher entered, and Lucy¡¯sposure shattered entirely, her face drained of blood.

    Sean and Rachel brought John in. Jack straightened, steeling himself.

    "Just hand him over to the police," Jack barked. "Why bring him here?"

    Lucy¡¯s nervousness was almost visible.

    "Ms. Taylor," I said softly, turning to her, "should we involve the authorities?"

    Her smile was brittle, practiced. "That might not be necessary. Publicity could harm Shaw Corp and Phoenix. Perhaps we handle this internally."

    I watched every microexpression the twitch, the averted gaze.

    Jack sighed, sharp and tired. "Anna, if you have something to say, say it. I don¡¯t have time for games."

    I turned to Lucy¡¯s assistant, impably dressed and tense. "Jared Wood, son of Ms. Taylor¡¯s family driver. You recently ordered a sports car worth two hundred thousand dors?"

    The room shifted. Jack snapped his head toward Jared, eyes dangerous. Lucy¡¯s widened in shock.

    "What are you talking about, Jared?" she whispered.

    Sean fitted Jared with a hardshell suit and pushed a hat low over his face. "Mr. Fisher, do you know this man?"

    John approached, studying Jared. "Yes. He paid me to steal data. Told me never to return to Skyview City for three years." His voice cracked. "The money wasn¡¯t enough to restart. I thought I¡¯d visit my parents before moving on. Never expected to get caught."

    He looked at me, pleading. "Ms. Shaw, please don¡¯t press charges. I made a mistake, but I¡ª"

    "YOU¡¯RE LYING!" Lucy screamed, leaping up, shattered. "This is a setup! You¡¯re trying to frame Simpson Group! Anna, this is outrageous even for you!"

    Anna¡¯s POV

    "Do you know why the money wasn¡¯t enough to start over, Mr. Fisher?" I asked softly, my voice slicing through the tension like a de. I didn¡¯t even nce at Lucy I didn¡¯t need to. I could feel the panic radiating off her in waves.

    Jack and Lucy were both staring at me now, their expressions tight with suspicion.

    "Because you were supposed to receive three hundred thousand dors," I continued, eyes locked on John Fisher. "But it seems two hundred thousand of that went toward someone¡¯s shiny new car."

    Jack¡¯s chair scraped sharply against the floor as he shot to his feet. "Jared, is this true?" His voice was low too low the kind of quiet thates before a storm.

    Jared¡¯s face drained of color. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Then, like a coward, he turned to Lucy for help.

    That single look was all Jack needed.

    His gaze snapped back to Lucy. "Lucy," he said, his tone like a warning shot.

    "Jack, you can¡¯t honestly believe this," she whispered, reaching toward him. "Anna¡¯s trying to tear us apart. She¡¯s always hated me."

    Sean stepped in smoothly, his voice measured but firm. "Shall Iy it out, Mr. Simpson? Ms. Taylor orchestrated the entire scheme. After her cousin Nn caused chaos on the production line financial loss, procurement scandals she realized she couldn¡¯t fix the mess. Nn gambled away the funds and disappeared."

    Lucy¡¯s breathing turned shallow, her lips pressed tight. But Sean wasn¡¯t finished.

    "She panicked. Rather than taking responsibility, she used John here a desperate man from a struggling family. She fed him a lie: that the stolen data was discarded, that it wouldn¡¯t matter. She let him believe Shaw Corp was alreadypromised, so if a scapegoat emerged, the project would shift back to Shaw, and she¡¯d be off the hook."

    Sean turned to Jared. "And the data it¡¯s still in your email, isn¡¯t it?"

    I took another sip of tea, savoring the unraveling performance. Lucy¡¯s skin had gone almost translucent. She clutched the arms of her chair like they were the only thing holding her together.

    "This isn¡¯t true," she said hoarsely. "I wasn¡¯t involved."

    But then Jared stood up abruptly, his expensive suit crumpling with the motion. "It was me," he said, voice cracking. "I orchestrated everything."

    Silence mmed into the room.

    For a moment, even I blinked. A full confession? I hadn¡¯t expected that.

    Inside, I was already smiling. Lucy must be cursing Jared¡¯s stupidity if he hadn¡¯t gotten greedy, if he hadn¡¯t used the stolen money for that car, I might never have found John. She would¡¯ve gotten away clean.

    I looked at Jack. His face was now deep crimson, jaw clenched tight.

    He was connecting the dots, slowly but surely.

    "What are your terms?" he asked finally.

    I almostughed at how transparent he was still trying to protect her, even now.

    But if Jack wanted to y defense, I would make sure I took back everything that was mine.

    "Two conditions," I said coolly, cing my teacup down with precision. "First, the previous agreement is void. Simpson Group will reverse the profit distribution Shaw Corp gets an additional two percent."

    I paused, letting the weight of it sink in.

    "Second, Lucy steps down. Effective immediately. Sean takes over as General Manager."

    Lucy¡¯s breath hitched. "That¡¯s impossible..." she whispered. I could practically see her world unraveling without Phoenix, what did she have left? No leverage, no seat at the table, no protection from Mary Simpson.

    "It wasn¡¯t me," she said again, barely audible.

    Jack¡¯s expression darkened. "And if I refuse?"

    I didn¡¯t blink. "Then I forward all evidence to the FBI."

    Jack¡¯s voice rose, his frustration spilling over. "Do you have to destroy her, Anna? This is personal. You¡¯re not trying to protect the project you¡¯re just angry I gave it to her. You¡¯re being petty."

    A cold, bitterugh escaped my lips.

    "I¡¯m petty?" I snapped. "You took my vision my creation and handed it to your mistress like it meant nothing. Phoenix was never yours to give. If Simpson Group won¡¯t meet my terms, then get out."

    Jack stared at me, a war raging behind his eyes.

    "I¡¯m done with the games," I finished. "You have three minutes. Otherwise, the FBI gets the file."

    "You¡¯re ruthless," Jack muttered as Sean handed him the already-prepared agreement.

    "You even had the paperwork ready," he added bitterly. "You¡¯ve been waiting for this day, haven¡¯t you?"

    I met his re with a serene smile. "No, Jack. I¡¯ve been working for this day. I¡¯m not ruthless I¡¯m just reiming what¡¯s mine. You took it by force. I¡¯m taking it back with facts."

    And this time, no one was going to steal it again.

 Chapter 25: Fractured Loyalties

    <h4>Chapter 25: Fractured Loyalties</h4>

    Jack¡¯s POV

    I drove away from Phoenix Project headquarters, my knuckles white against the steering wheel. The decision to drop Lucy off at her ce before heading back to the Simpson mansion was automatic.

    The atmosphere inside the car was suffocating. Even the air conditioning seemed to struggle against the weight of tension filling the space between us.

    I stared straight ahead at the road, refusing to nce at the woman beside me.

    "Jack, I¡¯m so sorry, I¡¯m so sorry."

    Lucy¡¯s voice cracked as she continued crying. The sound grated against my already frayed nerves. "This is all my fault. I embarrassed you. It¡¯s all because of me. Please don¡¯t be angry, don¡¯t be mad at me, okay?"

    My temples throbbed with each word she spoke. A headache built behind my eyes as I gripped the steering wheel tighter, the veins in my forearms standing out prominently. I remained silent, my jaw clenched so tight I could feel the pressure in my teeth.

    Once, I had found her emotional vulnerability charming. There was something about Lucy¡¯s delicate nature that had appealed to me so different from Anna¡¯s unyielding strength and independence. I¡¯d believed a woman like Lucy soft, sweet, and in need of protection made the perfect partner.

    Anna¡¯s refusal to show weakness had always made me ufortable, her fierce self-reliance leaving me feeling unnecessary.

    But now, Lucy¡¯s tears just irritated me further.

    "Has crying ever solved anything?" I finally snapped, my voice cold and t as I navigated through a yellow light. I kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead, my brow furrowed deeply. "Lucy, you¡¯ve really disappointed me."

    The wordsnded like a physical blow.

    Lucy¡¯s sobbing halted for a brief moment, the sudden silence almost jarring, before her tears returned with renewed intensity. She grabbed my arm with desperate fingers.

    "Jack, please don¡¯t be angry. I was so stupid. I shouldn¡¯t have let Nn get involved with Phoenix. I shouldn¡¯t have listened to him."

    I didn¡¯t respond to her touch, my arm stiff under her grip. The anger building inside me threatened to boil over. My silence seemed to push her toward even more frantic apologies.

    "It¡¯s all my fault. If I hadn¡¯t been so soft-hearted, things wouldn¡¯t have turned out this way," she continued,

    her voice breaking with each hitched breath. The tears fell freely down her face, dripping onto her designer blouse. "I had no idea he would be so bold. Jack, do you hate me now?"

    Lucy¡¯s POV

    My tears streamed down my face. The remnants of my carefully applied mascara were surely painting dark rivulets down my cheeks, but I didn¡¯t care. The humiliation was still fresh standing there in the Phoenix Project conference room as Anna Shaw systematically dismantled everything I¡¯d worked for.

    "Jack, I really tried my best..." I sobbed into my hands, my shoulders shaking with what appeared to be uncontroble grief. Through the gaps between my fingers, I studied his reaction, calcting my next move.

    Jack gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. We hadn¡¯t even started driving yet he¡¯d simply guided me to the car after the disastrous meeting, his face a mask of barely controlled anger. His tie hung loose around his neck, and the top button of his shirt was undone signs of his agitation.

    "Stop crying," he said, his voice t and distant as he stared straight ahead through the windshield. "Go home and get some rest. We don¡¯t need to discuss this anymore."

    We don¡¯t need to discuss this anymore? My stomach plummeted. I had spent months cultivating Mary Simpson¡¯s favor, positioning myself as the perfect daughter-inw recement. The Phoenix Project was supposed to be my crowning achievement concrete proof that I belonged in the Simpson family.

    And now Jack wanted to just... drop it?

    My hands and feet turned ice-cold as a new fear gripped me. If Mary found out I¡¯d lost to Anna Shaw, would she withdraw her support? My tears, which had started as a calcted performance, now flowed with genuine panic.

    "It¡¯s all my fault..." I whispered, my voice trembling. Inside, a darker emotion was brewing. I silently cursed Nn and Jared.

    My useless cousin who had bought substandard materials and then disappeared with the money.

    My ipetent assistant who had bungled the cover-up so badly that Anna¡¯s people had uncovered everything. I should never have trusted either of them.

    What made it worse was seeing how Anna Shaw¡¯s team functioned that quiet,petent Rachel who anticipated her every need; Daniel Davis who managed her office with military precision; and now that neer Sean, who had dismantled my scheme piece by piece. Even Trevor Torres, despite being framed, had remained loyal to her. Meanwhile, I was surrounded by selfish idiots who couldn¡¯t follow simple instructions without jeopardizing everything.

    "Jack," I said softly, making my voice small and vulnerable, "it¡¯s just that I¡¯m not good enough. If my brother were still alive, things would be different." I watched carefully as his eyebrows twitched. "He was so much smarter than me, so much more capable. He would have helped you. He would never have let Anna get the upper hand like this. It¡¯s all my fault."

    The change was subtle but immediate.

    Jack¡¯s shoulders rxed slightly, his expression softening from irritation to something closer to sympathy. The mention of my deceased brother never failed to touch something in him.

    Jack sighed heavily, his anger deting.

    He turned in his seat and pulled me into his arms, his voice gentler now.

    "Don¡¯t cry anymore. It¡¯s not that big a deal. Just spend more time with my mother shopping, having tea, you know what she likes."

    I nestled against him, making myself small and fragile in his embrace despite the awkward positioning across the center console, but continued to sniffle loudly.

    "Your mother will be so angry with me. I¡¯ve disappointed her terribly."

    "This isn¡¯t entirely your fault," he reassured me, patting my shoulder awkwardly. "Just exin everything to her clearly. You know how to make her happy."

    "Really?" I asked, injecting hopeful uncertainty into my voice while my mind was already racing ahead, mapping out strategies to regain Mary¡¯s favor.

    "Really," he confirmed, his tone decisive.

    I pressed my face against his chest, pretending to still be ovee with emotion, but I couldn¡¯t quite suppress the slight upward curve of my lips.

    This setback was painful, yes, but not fatal. I hadn¡¯t lost everything. The Simpson family particrly Jack and Mary were still within my grasp. I just needed to regroup, recalibrate, and n my next move carefully.

    More importantly, I could see how this situation had deepened the rift between Jack and Anna. The cold fury in his eyes when she had systematically exposed my scheme, the way his hands had clenched into fists as she dictated her terms...

    Their rtionship had deteriorated beyond repair.

    In a way, that was my victory smaller than what I¡¯d hoped for, but significant nheless.

    Anna¡¯s POV

    Lucy¡¯s downfall had been swift exactly as she deserved. I hadn¡¯t just reimed my project; I¡¯d secured better terms than ever before.

    "Everything¡¯s in order, Ms. Shaw," Rachel confirmed, handing over the finalized paperwork.

    "Excellent. Cancel my afternoon meetings. I¡¯m taking the rest of the day off."

    Rachel blinked, surprised. Time off wasn¡¯t my usual style. But today was different. Today, I wanted to indulge.

    "Call Catherine Murphy. Tell her to clear her schedule. We¡¯re going shopping."

    The private shopping suite was exquisite, decorated in soft creams and golds, with chilled champagne already waiting.

    Catherine burst through the doors, her designer sunsses pushed up into her honey blonde waves.

    "Well, well," she drawled. "If it isn¡¯t Anna Shaw, Conqueror of the Phoenix Project."

    Iughed, epting a crystal flute of champagne. "You heard already?"

    "Darling, the family party was a bore without you. Mary brought Lucy. You should¡¯ve seen Grandfather¡¯s face positively murderous. My aunt kept pestering Jack and Lucy about wedding bells, and Mary jumped in saying ¡¯soon, soon.¡¯ Jack just sat there, stiff as a statue."

    At the mention of Jack, that familiar knot twisted in my chest. The divorce had been finalized for months, yet something still felt raw, unfinished.

    "Let¡¯s not talk about them," I said, turning toward a row of stilettos in pale suede and gold ents. "It ruins the mood."

    I pointedzily to several pairs. "Don¡¯t pack these three. Send the rest to my house."

    I turned back to Catherine with a rare smile. "I¡¯m in a good mood today. Whatever you want, it¡¯s on me. Just don¡¯t dawdle."

    We drank. We spent. Weughed. But by nightfall, the emptiness returned.

    Alone in my penthouse, I stared at my phone, the city glittering beneath me. The high from earlier had faded into a restlessness I¡¯de to know too well.

    Before I could second guess myself, I typed out a message to the number saved only as 3303:

    Avable tonight?

    The Sapphire Sky Hotel rendezvous had begun as a reckless whim. Now it was something else something I needed.

    His reply came instantly:

    Always for you.

    I sent one final message:

    See you then.

    I arrived first. After closing the door behind me, I wondered, Maybe tonight, I¡¯ll finally see his face.

    I ordered a red wine and slipped into the marble bathroom. The suite¡¯s floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city. The Jacuzzi steamed invitingly.

    I sank into the hot bath, letting the water ease the tension from my body. Outside, the city glowed. The lights in the room were off I hadn¡¯t touched them. Still, it felt too dark.

    I frowned. This is my room. I booked it. The key card¡¯s in my purse. So how...

    Before the thought could fully form, arms wrapped around my waist from behind. A warm, familiar body pressed against mine.

    He picked me up, pinning me gently but firmly against the cool wall. His mouth found mine, then my neck, then lower. Kisses rained down in a frenzy.

    "Slow down," I gasped between moans, clinging to his shoulders.

    "I ordered some food," I managed.

    "Don¡¯t need it," he murmured against my skin, voice rough with hunger. "I only need you."

    And that was it. My resistance melted. His words undid me.

    I lost myself in his touch.

    The sex was consuming tender and fierce all at once. I surrendered until I had nothing left, until I passed out from sheer exhaustion.

    By morning, he was gone. The room was spotless, the sheets changed. My body had been gently wiped clean. I barely ached he¡¯d been thorough, even considerate.

    Room service arrived. Lunch, ordered by him, wasvish and oddly personal every dish a favorite of mine.

    I should¡¯ve been rmed. Instead, I was intrigued.

    Before leaving, I stood by the window, staring out at the skyline.

    Maybe I¡¯ll just keep renting 3303, I mused. No strings. A regr arrangement. A partner with skill and discipline. Nothing emotional. Just for health.

    Of course, eventually, I¡¯d want to know who he really was.

    When I returned to the Shaw Estate, the yard was bustling. Mother was in the garden, directing the servants.

    She nced up and called out, "Hurry inside. Marcus is here!"

    My pulse fluttered. "Marcus?"

    "He brought a whole truckload of things food, drinks, decorations. Too much. I¡¯ll probably have to cancel some of our own orders."

    A truckload? That must¡¯ve been the pickup I saw on the way in. I¡¯d assumed it was a caterer.

    As I neared the entrance, I heardughter deep, warm. Grandmother¡¯sughter.

    It stopped me in my tracks. I hadn¡¯t heard herugh like that since my father died.

    I stepped inside just as Marcus stood, readying to leave.

    "Uncle Marcus," I said. "Leaving already? Stay for dinner, at least."

    He turned, giving me that familiar soft smile. "Annie. I¡¯ve already eaten, and it¡¯s still early for dinner."

    "Then stay for tea," I said quickly. "I¡¯ll brew it myself. And thank you for everything."

    "My father told me this was your first time organizing a birthday celebration for Margaret," he said. "He asked me to check in, offer support."

    William again. Always pulling strings behind the scenes.

    "Well," I said, smoothing my dress, "I¡¯d hate to disappoint him. Grandmother deserves something unforgettable."

    And for once, I wanted to be the one to deliver it.

 Chapter 26: The Ghost at the Garden Gate

    <h4>Chapter 26: The Ghost at the Garden Gate</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I watched Marcus¡¯s car disappear down the driveway, a curious warmth blooming in my chest. The truckload of supplies he¡¯d delivered for my grandmother¡¯s birthday was more than generous it was overwhelming. I stood there for a moment, letting the quiet hum of gratitude settle over me before turning back toward the house, questions swirling in my mind.

    Inside, Grandmother was still smiling, her eyes gleaming with a light I hadn¡¯t seen since before my father passed. The sight made my heart ache with bittersweet joy.

    "Grandmother," I said, easing down beside her on the sofa, "all these gifts... are they really from William? Did he ask Marcus to deliver them?"

    She patted my hand gently, her voice soft but certain. "Of course, they¡¯re from William. He called me just this morning." Her expression grew thoughtful. "He said you¡¯re recently divorced and that your grandmother¡¯s birthday party must be nothing short of perfect. He doesn¡¯t want anyone whispering behind your back or looking down on us."

    A wave of emotion rushed through me. William had always been considerate, treating us like family when even my own rtives kept their distance. I leaned in and hugged my grandmother, breathing in the familiar scent of hervender perfume.

    "You don¡¯t need to worry about me," I said with quiet confidence. "Everything¡¯s under control. I¡¯vepletely resolved the Phoenix Project issues Lucy¡¯s been removed, and control is back with Shaw Corp. We even gained an extra two percent in profit."

    I pulled back and met her eyes. "Like you always say, Grandmother, divorce isn¡¯t the end of the world."

    Her face lit up. "That¡¯s wonderful! I knew my Annie would take care of things." She chuckled and gave my hand a squeeze. "Very well, we¡¯ll stick to ten tables for the celebration. As for those fair-weather friends just waiting for us to stumble we won¡¯t invite them."

    "Exactly," I said, a smile tugging at my lips as the pressure in my chest eased.

    The morning of the celebration, I was reviewing the final logistics when my mother¡¯s voice pierced the calm.

    "Annie! What are we going to do?" she cried, hurrying into the study with her heels clicking against the floor, her perfectly styled hair slightly askew. "The Turner and Hill families just confirmed they¡¯reing! And the Reeds and Walkers too. We haven¡¯t socialized with them in years! That¡¯s already several extra tables!"

    I set down my tablet, absorbing the shift in ns without panic.

    "I¡¯ve already called Marcus," I replied, calm and collected. "Reinforcements are on the way."

    "But the seating arrangements! The ce settings¡ª" My mother¡¯s voice was nearing a full spiral.

    I gently steered her toward the stairs. "Go upstairs, touch up your makeup, change into something you love, and thene down and greet our guests. I¡¯ll take care of the rest."

    She hesitated, then gave a small nod, her shoulders rxing just slightly. "Are you sure?"

    "Absolutely."

    Rachel appeared at my side, tablet in hand. "Peter Reed just called. Mr. Murphy is sending additional staff and supplies. They¡¯ll be here within the hour."

    By mid-afternoon, the garden at Shaw Estate had been transformed into an elegant, sun-drenched reception. I stood near the entrance in a tailored cream suit and pale blue silk blouse. A single strand of pearls adorned my neck, the earrings catching the sunlight each time I moved. Every detail had been chosen with care professional, feminine, and gracefully authoritative.

    "Anna!" Catherine called out as she approached, kissing both my cheeks. Her eyes immediatelynded on one of the fruit bowls. "This is exquisite! Gold-ted, isn¡¯t it? Not tacky at all."

    I smiled and brushed my fingers along the ornate rim. "They were part of my mother¡¯s dowry. My grandfather only had one daughter, so when she married, he sent severalplete dinnerware sets along with her."

    Catherine¡¯s expression turned wistful. "If your grandfather¡¯s business hadn¡¯t declined, the Shaws would easily rival the Simpsons today." She leaned in, her voice dropping. "Tell me you didn¡¯t invite Jack."

    "Of course not," I said firmly, my expression hardening. "Why would I let him ruin a perfectly good day?"

    Before she could respond, a familiar, booming voice rolled across the garden.

    "Annie!" William Murphy¡¯s voice rang out as he approached, walking stick tapping steadily, Marcus following just behind. "What a splendid affair! Margaret must be thrilled."

    I smiled as I embraced him. "William, thank you foring. And for everything you¡¯ve done to help."

    He waved off the gratitude with a warm smile. "Elizabeth, Margaret you both look radiant," he said as my mother and grandmother joined us. Then his gaze returned to me. "Annie is truly remarkable. A fine woman in business and in family. You¡¯ve raised her exceptionally well."

    The praise settled deep in my heart. The Murphys¡¯ loyalty had always been real rare in a city where alliances shifted with the wind.

    My eyes drifted to Marcus, who stood nearby, observing quietly, as always. I walked over, hands sped, a yful smile on my lips.

    "Thank you, Uncle Marcus. You really saved the day."

    Without warning, he reached out and ruffled the top of my head. I froze for a beat, startled.

    Then Marcus smiled slightly, his tone gentle. "You¡¯ve grown up, Anne. Hosting such an important event... I¡¯m proud."

    Hearing him use my childhood nickname stirred something inside me. I smiled warmly. "Thanks to your help. I owe you dinner."

    Before he could answer, Rachel reappeared, leaning in to whisper, "Ms. Shaw, Mr. Simpson is here."

    My smile faded.

    The real test had just walked in.

    Jack¡¯s POV

    Music andughter spilled from the magnificent garden behind the mansion. I followed the stone path around the side of the house, my footsteps measured and deliberate. Each step stirred memories of when I¡¯d walked these grounds as family not as an uninvited ghost haunting the periphery.

    The garden had been transformed into an enchanted paradise. Round tables draped in cream silk dotted the manicuredwn, each adorned with borate floral arrangements. Waiters in crisp white jackets wove through the crowd with practiced grace, bncing silver trays of champagne and hors d¡¯oeuvres.

    I recognized most of the guests immediately Sky-view City¡¯s elite mingling in their finest attire, air kissing and trading gossip beneath the twinkling lights. My gaze swept across the garden, searching for one face in particr.

    I found her near the center of the gathering. Anna Shaw my ex-wife, the woman I¡¯d once believed would be mine forever. The sight of her still had the power to make my chest tighten, though these days it was hard to separate longing from resentment.

    But she wasn¡¯t alone.

    Standing beside her, his tall framemanding attention even in stillness, was my uncle. Marcus Murphy. His head bent slightly toward hers as sheughed at something he¡¯d said. The intimacy of the gesture made my blood simmer.

    "Mr. Simpson," she greeted, her lips curved into a smile that didn¡¯t reach her eyes. "What a surprise to see you here. Wee."

    Her tone made it perfectly clear that I wasn¡¯t wee at all that she was merely observing social niceties. My jaw clenched involuntarily.

    "Anna," I nodded, my gaze sliding between her and Marcus. They stood too close. Toofortable. The sight burned like acid in my stomach. How transparent they are. Is he openly pursuing her now?

    "I wouldn¡¯t miss Margaret¡¯s birthday," I replied coolly. "I was her grandson-inw, after all. Invited or not, I had toe."

    Before dinner, Daniel Davis, Anna¡¯s assistant, tapped a microphone, drawing everyone¡¯s attention to the small stage set up near the house.

    Anna stood beside him, her smile genuine as she addressed the gathered guests.

    "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all foring to celebrate my grandmother¡¯s eightieth birthday," she began, her voice clear and confident.

    "As you know, Margaret Shaw has never been one for extravagant disys, but she¡¯s made an exception today because she wanted to share this milestone with all of you the people who¡¯ve made her life so rich and full."

    I watched her from the shadows, nursing my scotch. She¡¯d always been captivating when she spoke,manding attention without seeming to try. It was one of the first things that had drawn me to her.

    "And now," she continued, "I¡¯d like to begin the presentation of gifts. While Grandmother insisted on ¡¯no presents, please¡¯ on the invitations¡ª" this drew knowingughter from the crowd "¡ªsome of us simply couldn¡¯t resist."

    Daniel stepped forward, a list in hand, and began announcing the gifts one by one. Most were predictablyvish jewelry, rare books, sculptures from renowned artists. Elizabeth Shaw presented a stunning original painting for her mother, drawing appreciative murmurs from the crowd.

    When it was Anna¡¯s turn, Daniel¡¯s voice took on an extra note of pride.

    "From Ms. Anna Shaw to her beloved grandmother, Margaret: a sapphire bracelet."

    My grip tightened around my ss as Anna unveiled the familiar blue velvet box. Insidey the exact sapphire bracelet we¡¯d fought over at the auction the one she¡¯d ultimately won for twenty million dors while I¡¯d tried to drive up the price out of spite.

    Anna fastened it around Margaret¡¯s wrist with tender care, the brilliant blue stones catching the light as the elderly woman admired her granddaughter¡¯s gift.

    Daniel continued reading from his list, but I barely registered the names and gifts. My thoughts had turned inward, memories of that day at the auction house ying through my mind like a movie I couldn¡¯t switch off. Anna¡¯s cold fury when she¡¯d realized I was deliberately bidding against her. The disappointment in her eyes that had cut deeper than any words could have.

    I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost missed the announcement that made the entire garden fall silent.

    "From Mr. Marcus Murphy," Daniel¡¯s voice rang out, "a historic mansion in the Skke District."

    My head snapped up, eyes widening in disbelief. I scanned the crowd until I found Marcus, standing tall and impassive near the front. Anna was beside him, her expression a mask of perfectly controlled surprise.

    "The property," Daniel continued, "was the childhood home of Elizabeth Shaw, returned now to the Shaw family after three generations."

    A collective gasp rippled through the audience, followed immediately by excited murmurs.

    Two hundred million dors. Marcus Murphy had just casually gifted a two-hundred-million-dor mansion to his... what?

    Friend¡¯s mother?

    My mind refused to ept the obvious implication.

    I nearly jumped out of my skin when I recognized the mansion. It was the mansion the one I¡¯d bid on at the auction, the one that had gone to a mysterious buyer for two hundred million dors. The same mansion that was central to Simpson Group¡¯s ns for the Skke District redevelopment project.

    My uncle was the mystery buyer. All this time, it was Marcus.

    The realization hit me like a physical blow. I¡¯d spent weeks trying to track down the buyer, desperate to negotiate a sale or partnership for the Skke project. And all along, it had been my uncle the same uncle who now stood sofortably close to my ex-wife.

    "That mansion..." Calvin¡¯s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "Isn¡¯t that the one your uncle outbid you for at the auction?"

    I couldn¡¯t answer, my throat suddenly dry as sand.

    "Why would he give such an expensive property to the Shaws?" Luke wondered aloud, his eyes narrowed in spection.

    I watched as Margaret embraced Marcus, tears in her eyes as she thanked him for returning a piece of her family¡¯s history. Elizabeth was openly weeping, clutching the deed papers to her chest as if they might disappear if she loosened her grip.

    And Anna... Anna¡¯s expression as she looked at my uncle made my chest constrict painfully. It wasn¡¯t love, not yet, but there was something there respect, gratitude, admiration the building blocks of deeper feeling.

    My grip on my ss tightened to the point where I feared it might shatter in my hand. The mansion had been my key to the Skke District development a project that could have restored Simpson Group¡¯s prestige and secured our financial future for generations. Now it was gone, handed over to the Shaw family with a smile and a bow.

    "Jack," Calvin¡¯s voice cut through my thoughts again, "does your uncle know about Simpson Group¡¯s interest in the Skke District? That he¡¯s just torpedoed your entire development n?"

    I didn¡¯t respond.

    Because I wasn¡¯t sure what was worse the fact that Marcus didn¡¯t know...or that he did.

 Chapter 27: A Gift Too Heavy

    <h4>Chapter 27: A Gift Too Heavy</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The presentation of gifts continued as I stood beside my grandmother, maintaining theposed smile. But when Daniel announced Marcus Murphy¡¯s gift, the practiced curve of my lips nearly faltered.

    "From Mr. Marcus Murphy," Daniel¡¯s voice rang clear across the garden, "a historic mansion in the Skke District."

    A collective gasp rippled through the assembled guests. The significance wasn¡¯t lost on anyone Skke District properties were rare treasures.

    My mother¡¯s face went ck with shock. This was her childhood home the mansion she¡¯d spent years telling me stories about, where three generations of my maternal ancestors had lived before financial hardship forced my grandfather to sell it.

    I watched as Daniel handed my grandmother the elegant folder containing the deed and ownership papers. This wasn¡¯t just any gift it was a piece of my family¡¯s legacy, returned to us after decades. The sheer magnitude of the gesture left me breathless.

    "Uncle Marcus, this gift is far too generous," I finally managed, forcing my lips into a polite smile while my mind raced. I signaled the server to take the portfolio and property documents to a secure ce, already nning how I would gracefully return this impossiblyvish gift after the celebration ended.

    My heart pounded erratically, and I found myself unable to meet Marcus¡¯s eyes directly. Those prating eyes seemed capable of reading every thought crossing my mind, creating an invisible pressure I couldn¡¯t escape.

    The historic Skke mansion was too significant, too valuable I simply couldn¡¯t ept it. He must have sensed my hesitation, but with all these witnesses present, I could only maintain appearances.

    The guests buzzed with excitement, discussing the mansion¡¯s historical significance and current market value.

    I heard whispered estimates ranging from 150 to 250 million numbers that made my stomach clench despite my own considerable wealth. I caught Catherine Murphy¡¯s eye across the garden, and her expression of genuine surprise told me that even she hadn¡¯t been privy to her uncle¡¯s ns.

    Desperate to shift attention elsewhere, I gave Daniel a subtle look, silently urging him to continue with the gift announcements. He cleared his throat promptly.

    "From Mr. Jack Simpson, President of Simpson Group," Daniel announced,

    "an eighteenth-century oil painting from the French royal collection."

    My eyebrows involuntarily furrowed as I watched servers carefully carry in the massive gilt-framed painting. The piece was unmistakably authentic a masterpiece that belonged in a museum, not a private collection. My confusion deepened. Why would Jack present such an extraordinarily valuable gift? We were divorced, our business dealings now strictly professional and frequently antagonistic. This made no sense.

    The air thickened with spection as guests exchanged meaningful nces. I felt their gazes bouncing between Jack and me, searching for clues, hungry for gossip.

    I deliberately avoided looking in Jack¡¯s direction, though I could feel the weight of his stare. The sensation of being watched simultaneously by my ex-husband and Marcus Murphy made my chest tighten ufortably. My mind was chaos, uncertain how to navigate thisplex situation.

    My grandmother, always perceptive, clearly sensed the tension. She stepped forward slightly, her voice warm but firm as she addressed Jack.

    "Jack, how thoughtful of you. This painting is truly magnificent, but it¡¯s far too valuable. Your presence at my birthday celebration is gift enough."

    I recognized the gentle refusal in her tone and felt a wave of relief wash over me. Immediately, I motioned to Daniel and the servers to take the painting away, eager to end this ufortable disy. Throughout the entire exchange, I kept my gaze firmly away from Jack, afraid that any eye contact might fuel further spection about our rtionship.

    I watched as thest limousine pulled away from the property. The garden that had just hours ago been filled withughter, music, and the clink of champagne sses now stood deserted, illuminated only by the soft glow of string lights.

    Yet as soon as I stepped back inside Shaw Estate, the atmosphere shifted palpably. My mother¡¯s practiced smile the one she¡¯d maintained wlessly throughout the entire celebration melted away, reced by an expression of unmistakable concern. Beside her, my grandmother sat in her favorite armchair, absently turning the teacup in her hands, her eyes fixed on the sapphire bracelet adorning her wrist.

    Grandmother finally looked up, her eyes finding mine. There was a weight to her gaze that made my chest tighten.

    "Annie, what are you nning to do?"

    I took a slow breath, trying to organize my thoughts. The staff moved quietly around us, collecting abandoned sses and removing wilted flowers.

    This wasn¡¯t the ce for the conversation we needed to have.

    "I¡¯ll return the oil painting tomorrow," I said, keeping my voice steady and calm. "This isn¡¯t the right time to discuss it."

    My mother and grandmother exchanged a nce the kind of wordlessmunication that onlyes from decades of shared understanding. They were worried about more than just the gifts.

    "You should both get some rest," I added, forcing a smile. "It¡¯s been a long day."

    My mother wasn¡¯t ready to drop the subject.

    "Annie, the Murphy family¡ª"

    "I understand," I cut her off, not unkindly but firmly.

    My tone left no room for argument, though I could see the questions lingering in their eyes. Questions I wasn¡¯t entirely sure I could answer.

    After seeing them upstairs, I retreated to my study, closing the door behind me with a soft click. I poured myself a ss of whiskey, neat, and moved to stand by the window overlooking the garden. The ice in my ss clinked softly as I swirled the amber liquid, trying to make sense of the day¡¯s events.

    For weeks, I¡¯d attributed Marcus Murphy¡¯s attentiveness to William¡¯s paternal concern for our family. It had seemed the most logical exnation.

    William had always treated us with extraordinary kindness, especially after my father¡¯s death. It made perfect sense that he would ask his son to look after us in his stead.

    But today¡¯s gift that mansion in Skke District forced me to reconsider everything.

    Two hundred million dors. Not even William Murphy would casually ask his son to part with that kind of money as a simple favor.

    My reflection stared back at me from the darkened window, eyes troubled and questioning. Was it possible that Marcus Murphy the enigmatic, powerful, intensely private Marcus Murphy had developed actual feelings for me? The thought seemed almost absurd. He was Jack¡¯s uncle, for god¡¯s sake. Theplexity and potential awkwardness of such a situation would deter most rational people.

    And yet, I couldn¡¯t dismiss the possibility entirely.

    It¡¯s probably nothing, I told myself, taking a slow sip of whiskey. Maybe there¡¯s another exnation entirely.

    But if not, what then?

    How did I feel about him?

    I wasn¡¯t entirely sure.

    There was respect, certainly. Gratitude for his support. A strangefort in his steady presence.

    But was there...

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The presentation of gifts continued as I stood beside my grandmother, maintaining theposed smile that had be second nature over the years. But when Daniel announced Marcus Murphy¡¯s gift, the practiced curve of my lips nearly faltered.

    "From Mr. Marcus Murphy," Daniel¡¯s voice rang clear across the garden, "a historic mansion in the Skke District."

    A collective gasp rippled through the gathered guests. The significance wasn¡¯t lost on anyone Skke District properties were rare treasures, practically untouchable.

    My mother¡¯s expression went ck with shock. This wasn¡¯t just a luxurious estate it was her childhood home. The same mansion she¡¯d spent years telling me stories about. The same house where three generations of my maternal ancestors had lived before financial hardship had forced my grandfather to sell it.

    I watched Daniel hand my grandmother a sleek, leather-bound folder containing the deed and ownership papers. This wasn¡¯t just any gift it was a piece of our legacy, returned to us after decades. The sheer magnitude of it stole the breath from my lungs.

    "Uncle Marcus," I managed finally, my voice polite but tight, "this gift is far too generous."

    I forced my lips into a diplomatic smile, signaling a nearby server to secure the documents. My mind was already racing, plotting how I would return the impossiblyvish gesture once the celebration ended. My heart pounded erratically, and I found myself avoiding Marcus¡¯s gaze. His eyes dark, steady, unnervingly perceptive felt like they could strip every secret from me if I so much as looked too long.

    The historic Skke mansion was too significant, too valuable. I couldn¡¯t ept it.

    Yet with so many witnesses watching, my refusal would¡¯ve created a scene.

    Guests around us buzzed with curiosity, whispering about the mansion¡¯s historical value and current market worth. I caught phrases like "two hundred million" and "irreceablendmark." Even I, with all my resources, felt the weight of those numbers.

    Across the garden, I met Catherine Murphy¡¯s wide eyed stare. Her surprise was unmistakable clearly, even she hadn¡¯t known about her uncle¡¯s grand gesture.

    Desperate to shift attention, I gave Daniel a subtle nod. He cleared his throat on cue.

    "From Mr. Jack Simpson, President of Simpson Group," he announced next, "an eighteenth-century oil painting from the French royal collection."

    My eyebrows lifted in disbelief as servers carefully carried in the enormous gilt framed painting. There was no doubt in my mind it was authentic. A genuine masterpiece. One that belonged in a museum, not hanging in anyone¡¯s drawing room.

    Why would Jack gift me something so extravagant? We were divorced. Our business dealings now were cold, transactional... often tense.

    Spection thickened in the air like fog as eyes shifted from Jack to me, hungry for gossip. I kept my gaze firmly away from him, but I felt the heat of his stare like sunlight on bare skin. Between him and Marcus, I felt exposed cornered by intentions I didn¡¯t fully understand.

    My grandmother, ever perceptive, stepped forward with graceful poise. Her voice, warm but resolute, broke the tension.

    "Jack, how thoughtful of you. The painting is exquisite, but far too generous. Your presence is gift enough."

    Her gentle refusal was clear. A wave of relief washed over me. I immediately motioned to Daniel and the servers to remove the painting, eager to end the spectacle. I avoided Jack¡¯s eyes entirely. I didn¡¯t need to give anyone more reason to specte.

    Later, I stood by the window of the now quiet Shaw Estate, swirling a ss of whiskey in hand as the staff cleaned up remnants of the celebration. The garden, once filled withughter and clinking sses, was now still under the soft glow of string lights.

    Inside, the atmosphere had shifted. My mother¡¯s carefully curated smile had faded, reced by an expression of concern. Beside her, my grandmother sat silently in her favorite chair, absently toying with the sapphire bracelet on her wrist.

    Eventually, Grandmother looked up, meeting my eyes with a gaze that pierced straight through me.

    "Annie," she asked quietly, "what are you nning to do?"

    I inhaled slowly, trying to gather my thoughts. "I¡¯ll return the painting tomorrow," I said evenly. "Tonight¡¯s not the time."

    She and my mother exchanged a loaded nce one of those silent conversations built over decades of shared intuition. I could see it they were worried about more than just the gifts.

    "You should both rest," I added, forcing a faint smile. "It¡¯s been a long day."

    But my mother wasn¡¯t ready to let it go. "Annie... the Murphy family¡ª"

    "I understand," I interrupted gently but firmly.

    The look in her eyes told me she wasn¡¯t convinced. Honestly, neither was I.

    Once they were upstairs, I retreated to my study, closed the door, and stood again at the window. My reflection in the ss looked tired. Uncertain.

    For weeks, I¡¯d chalked Marcus Murphy¡¯s attentiveness up to duty an extension of William Murphy¡¯s longstanding kindness toward our family, especially after my father died. I had assumed Marcus was simply fulfilling a request from his father. Nothing more.

    But today¡¯s gift that mansion forced me to reconsider everything.

    No one parts with two hundred million dors without a very personal reason. Not even a Murphy.

    Was it possible that Marcus the enigmatic, powerful, intensely private Marcus Murphy had feelings for me?

    It felt almost absurd. He was Jack¡¯s uncle, for God¡¯s sake. Theplexity alone would scare off any sane person.

    And yet...

    I couldn¡¯t dismiss the possibility entirely.

    It¡¯s probably nothing, I told myself, sipping the whiskey. There must be another exnation.

    But if there wasn¡¯t if this was something how did I feel about it?

    Respect, certainly. Gratitude, yes. A strangefort in his steady presence. But was there more?

    Could there be more?

 Chapter 28: The Deed and the Debt

    <h4>Chapter 28: The Deed and the Debt</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    "Are you sure you don¡¯t want Daniel to handle this?" Rachel asked, her concern clear in her voice as she sat beside me.

    I shook my head. "This needs to be done in person. I want to make it absolutely clear."

    The drive to the Simpson mansion was mercifully short. As we pulled up to the grand iron gates, I could already hear Mary Simpson¡¯s shrill voice echoing through the open windows. She was yelling at Jack what about, I didn¡¯t care anymore.

    I took a deep breath, straightened my spine, and stepped out of the car. Behind me, Rachel and the driver carefully carried the wrapped painting. As we approached the front steps, the massive doors flung open before we could even knock.

    Mary stood there, face pinched, eyes narrowing the moment she saw me. "I just knew it!" she spat, every wordced with venom. "Showing up first thing in the morning you¡¯re obviously looking for an excuse to reconnect with Jack!"

    A cold smile curved my lips. I didn¡¯t rise to the bait. Jack appeared behind her, face unreadable save for a flicker of emotion in his eyes guilt? Anger? Regret? He knew why I was here. And he hated it.

    "Mrs. Simpson, Mr. Simpson," I began evenly, my tone polite but utterly devoid of warmth, "the Shaw family doesn¡¯t ept rewards we haven¡¯t earned. My grandmother appreciates the sentiment behind your gift, but she cannot ept something so extravagant."

    I stepped aside so Rachel and the driver could set the painting down in the foyer. "She asked me to personally return it and express her gratitude. But it must be returned."

    Jack¡¯s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "Returning a gift after it¡¯s been given?" His voice was sharp. "Is this how the Shaw family conducts itself now?"

    "The Shaw family doesn¡¯t attach hidden agendas to our gifts," I replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I won¡¯t specte on your motivations, but your appearance at her birthday wasn¡¯t out of sincere well-wishes."

    Jack¡¯s face flushed an angry shade of red. He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. He had no good defense, and he knew it.

    "If that¡¯s all, I¡¯ll be going." I turned to leave, eager to escape the suffocating tension of this ce.

    "Stop right there," Jack snapped behind me. I paused, turning slowly.

    "Yes?" I asked, arching a brow.

    "But you epted the Skke mansion?" he challenged, eyes burning with usation. "My gift isn¡¯t good enough, but you¡¯ll happily take a two-hundred-million-dor estate from my uncle?"

    I almostughed at the absurdity. "Is that any of your business?"

    "Such principles you have," he sneered, stepping closer. "Too proud to ept my painting but eager enough to take Marcus¡¯s mansion. You couldn¡¯t be more transparent, Anna."

    Something inside me snapped.

    The weeks of stress, the public humiliation of our divorce, the constant whispers behind my back, the way he still tried to control the narrative it all surged like fire through my veins. I stepped forward and ced both hands on his shoulders. Jack stiffened, caught off guard by the gesture.

    I smiled sweetly.

    Then I drove my knee sharply into his gut.

    The sound of air rushing from his lungs was more satisfying than it should have been. He crumpled, clutching his stomach, stunned and breathless.

    I stepped back, lighter somehow.

    "Ms. Shaw," Rachel said, holding the car door open, her tone full of barely concealed admiration. "That was... impressive."

    "Standard form, wouldn¡¯t you say?" I slid into the back seat, my heart still thudding but my voice calm.

    "Textbook perfect," she agreed, climbing in beside me. "Though next time you might want to use a bit more force. Mr. Simpson looks like someone who needs a solid reminder to reconsider his life choices."

    I smiled faintly but said nothing.

    The moment of victory faded quickly. As we pulled away from the Simpson estate and toward the Murphy residence, a headache bloomed behind my eyes. I massaged my temples. Facing Marcus Murphy suddenly felt much more daunting than dealing with my ex-husband.

    When we arrived at the Murphy Estate, the car rolled silently to a stop at the base of the fountain-lined path. I clutched the folder containing the deed and turned to Rachel.

    "Wait here," I said. "This one I need to do alone."

    She nodded without question.

    In the garden ahead, Marcus stood by the fountain, as if waiting. For me. William was nowhere in sight. Without him, the familiar fa?ade of family friendship slipped away, leaving only unspoken tension behind.

    I swallowed and forced my steps forward.

    "Uncle Marcus," I called out, voice light. "Admiring the garden? Where¡¯s William?"

    Marcus turned slowly, eyes dropping to the folder in my hands. "My father isn¡¯t here."

    Disappointment settled in my chest. He motioned for a nearby servant to leave us and gestured to the terrace.

    "Let¡¯s sit," he said.

    The table was already set with coffee and pastries, as if he¡¯d known I wasing. He wiped his hands with a napkin and reached for the teapot.

    "Uncle Marcus, please, allow me," I said, keeping my tone airy as I took over pouring.

    He let me. I took the opportunity to speak, voice careful. "You scared my grandmother and mother yesterday. I only asked you to help find the buyer, not to gift us the mansion. We can¡¯t ept something so valuable. My mother couldn¡¯t sleep all night worrying over it. She insisted I return the deed."

    "I bought it for you," he said inly.

    My heart stuttered. Five simple words far too loaded.

    Iughed softly, ying dumb. "I know William cares about our family, but we really can¡¯t ept it. If you think it¡¯s appropriate, I could purchase the mansion instead?"

    "Not for sale," he replied, eyes never leaving mine. "I don¡¯t take back gifts. If you don¡¯t want it, donate it to charity."

    I nearly rolled my eyes. It was my family¡¯s ancestral home. Donate it?

    He was being difficult on purpose. But this was Marcus Murphy I couldn¡¯t afford to lose my temper.

    "You¡¯re putting me in an impossible position," I said carefully. "I don¡¯t know how to exin this to my mother. We simply can¡¯t ept such generosity it wouldn¡¯t be appropriate."

    "Why not?" he pressed.

    I bit down on my frustration, realizing the truth with stunning rity: he wasn¡¯t just being generous. He was interested in me.

    Me.

    Despite all my experience navigating corporate sharks and PR disasters, I felt my cheeks grow warm under his stare. I pinched my thigh discreetly beneath the table, gathering myposure.

    "Uncle Marcus," I began, keeping my brightest smile firmly in ce, "you¡¯re an incredibly wealthy man. I know this mansion doesn¡¯t mean much to you, but two hundred million dors is no small matter for us. Gifts like this create obligations we can¡¯t afford."

    He said nothing, but I saw the amusement in his eyes. He wasn¡¯t buying the innocent act.

    I tried again, pouring more tea. "People might misinterpret your intentions. Worse, what if your girlfriend misunderstands? That would be terrible."

    His pupils dted at the word.

    "Girlfriend?" he repeated.

    "Yes. Catherine mentioned you¡¯d met someone. I¡¯m looking forward to meeting her," I added with deliberate cheer.

    The look he gave me was unreadable except for one thing. He knew I was bluffing. And he liked it.

    Marcus¡¯s POV

    I never expected one house to win over Ann Song.

    The mansion was a gesture a calcted one. A way to test the waters while making my intentions clear, so she¡¯d stop seeing me as some harmless "Uncle Marcus."

    In that regard, I seeded. She yed dumb, but not cold. That was enough. If she truly resented my feelings, she would¡¯ve thrown the folder at my face and walked out without another word. That¡¯s the kind of woman she is.

    So I¡¯ll take it slow.

    I slid the folder across the table, my voice calm and unreadable.

    "Take it. Consider it repayment of a debt I owe your father."

    Her expression flickered curious, unsure. "My father? Uncle Marcus, were you and my dad close?"

    "Not particrly. But I owe him a debt of gratitude."

    She wasn¡¯t buying it, and frankly, I didn¡¯t me her. Her eyes said it all skepticism, suspicion, restraint. She was right to doubt me, but I had time. I could wait.

    "Some matters are better left for another time," I added smoothly. "Perhaps when the moment is right, you¡¯ll understand. You don¡¯t believe me?"

    Ann hesitated. Her instincts pushed her toward the truth, but she was too polite to call me out directly.

    "But Uncle Marcus¡ª"

    "If you don¡¯t want it, donate it to charity," I cut in.

    That silenced her. We both knew she wouldn¡¯t give away her mother¡¯s childhood home. Her fingers gripped the folder tighter, her lips pressing into a conflicted line.

    "I¡¯ll consider what you said," she murmured atst.

    She walked out with the folder still in hand a quiet victory that pleased me more than I¡¯d ever admit.

    I was still on the driveway when my father approached, cane tapping against the stone, his eyes already narrowed in disapproval.

    "I thought you were supposed to be the smart one," he grunted. "All that dramatic staging, dragging me into your little charade, and you still couldn¡¯t make your intentions clear. Annie¡¯s not the type to fall for theatrics."

    "Should I book my flight back to Europe then?" I asked dryly.

    He raised his walking stick like he was ready to swing it. "Don¡¯t test me. You think this¡¯ll end cleanly? Jack¡¯s going to be a problem. That boy¡¯s not giving up without a fight."

    "Toote," I said simply.

    He gave me a hard look. "Of all the women in this world, you had to fall for Ann Song? She calls you ¡¯Uncle Marcus¡¯ for God¡¯s sake. She calls me Grandpa William. Do you realize how messy this is?"

    "I don¡¯t care," I replied. "There won¡¯t be anyone else. Only her."

    He took a long drink from his sk, the whiskey catching in his throat. "You¡¯re creating chaos. How am I supposed to look Annie in the eye now? You stubborn boy."

    But I knew he was already scheming how to make this work for me.

    "Maintain our rtionship with the Shaw family," he warned. "That girl¡¯s already suffered enough because of our family once. Don¡¯t you dare hurt her again. And Jack once Mary finds out, she¡¯ll cause hell. You can¡¯t dismiss our family ties like they¡¯re nothing."

    "She¡¯d better stay out of my business," I said coldly.

    Just then, Peter approached with news.

    "Mr. Murphy, Mr. Phillip Murphy has invited you both to lunch at his residence today. He specifically asked for your presence."

    My father shot me a look. "See? It¡¯s already starting."

    I simply nodded. "Perfect timing. I have matters to discuss with him too."

    Ann¡¯s POV

    I stepped into Shaw Estate, the folder still clenched in my hand like it might disappear if I let go. My mother spotted me from across the room. Her gazended on the documents immediately.

    "You saw Marcus?" she asked, already worried.

    "I saw him," I said with a sigh, setting the folder on the entryway table. "He refused to take it back."

    Her face tightened. The worry was etched in every line. I could tell this unexpected ¡¯gift¡¯ disturbed her as much as it did me.

    "He said something odd," I continued. "That it was to repay a debt to Dad. Did either of you know Marcus had any connection to him?"

    My mother stiffened. Her gaze darted to Grandma Margaret, who responded only with silence.

    "No," she finally said. "Your father barely knew Marcus. They might¡¯ve crossed paths at functions, but there was never any real connection."

    Exactly what I¡¯d suspected. I dropped onto the sofa, exhausted.

    "I figured. It was just a convenient excuse."

    The folder sat on the table like it belonged there. Maybe it did.

    "This mansion belonged to our family," I said softly, brushing my fingers along the edge. "And now it¡¯s back. I don¡¯t want to give it up again. But Marcus won¡¯t ept payment. We need to find a way to repay him properly."

    I hadn¡¯t meant to sound so anxious, but my voice betrayed me.

    Grandma¡¯s expression shifted. Serious now, eyes sharp.

    "Did he say anything else? Anything... unusual?"

    I knew what she meant. The question struck a chord.

    "I yed dumb," I admitted. "He saw right through me. But he didn¡¯t press the issue."

    She nodded, relieved.

    "Marcus is clever," she muttered.

    My mother frowned, her thoughts racing. "But why buy the mansion in the first ce? He¡¯d just returned from Europe, hadn¡¯t even met you yet. Annie, are you absolutely sure you hadn¡¯t met him before? The way he acted the first time he visited calling you ¡¯Annie¡¯ so casually..."

    "I¡¯m positive. I¡¯d remember someone like Marcus Murphy. Believe me."

    I stood, suddenly restless. "He¡¯s returning to Europe anyway. I¡¯ll just avoid Murphy Estate until things settle."

    I forced a smile. "It¡¯s better to have someone interested than hated, right? I must be quite the catch."

    That earned a rareugh from Grandma. "That¡¯s right. It was never your fault to begin with."

    Then my phone rang. Catherine Murphy¡¯s name lit up the screen. I excused myself and hurried upstairs to answer.

    "Don¡¯t speak, just listen," she said the moment I picked up.

    And I did.

    The sound of the Murphy family in heated debate filled my ear. Catherine had deliberately looped me into their drama.

    I listened, frozen, as Mary Simpson¡¯s voice snapped through the noise.

    "We¡¯re all family here, so let¡¯s not pretend. Dad, exin what Marcus is thinking. Why would he hand over the Skke mansion to the Shaws? Doesn¡¯t he know Simpson Group has development ns for that entire area?"

    The war had officially begun.

 Chapter 29: Wrong Message, Right Man

    <h4>Chapter 29: Wrong Message, Right Man</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    William¡¯s voice was the first to cut through. Gruff, unimpressed. "Marcus makes his own decisions. That property belonged to him, not Simpson Group."

    "But the timing!" Mary snapped, indignationcing every word. "Just as we¡¯re about to announce the Skke development? Don¡¯t tell me that¡¯s coincidence!"

    "With me, nothing is coincidence," came Marcus¡¯s voice cool, unbothered.

    I bit my lip to suppress a smile. This man is something else.

    Voices erupted in protest. Then Phillip Murphy Marcus¡¯s older brother and Catherine¡¯s father tried to bring calm.

    "Marcus just returned to America. How could he possibly know Simpson Group¡¯s internal ns?"

    Mary¡¯s voice returned, practically vibrating with outrage. "He doesn¡¯t care about his own sister¡¯s family business, but he knows all about Shaw affairs. Let me make this clear: he can like whoever he wants, but Anna Shaw is off-limits. You might not care about appearances, but the Simpson family still has a reputation to maintain."

    The words stung, despite how many times I¡¯d heard variations of them over the years. Same old Mary. Always judging, never knowing.

    "You uncle and nephew," she continued, growing more shrill, "falling over yourselves to impress her at that party it was pathetic! Are there really no other women in the world?"

    I froze, nearly dropping my phone.

    Wait. Jack too? No way.

    Memories surfaced Jack¡¯s unexpected nces, the lingering tension between us, the oil painting I¡¯d thought was a maniption tactic. I¡¯d returned it without blinking. Was that actually sincere? Divorce does wonders for one¡¯s appeal, apparently. A dry smile tugged at my lips.

    "You can¡¯t dictate my choices," Marcus replied, voice like ice. "And the Simpson family¡¯s reputation is none of my concern."

    I had to respect his honesty. If he weren¡¯t Jack¡¯s uncle if things were different I might¡¯ve genuinely considered him. Our temperaments were uncannily aligned.

    "Marcus Murphy!" Mary practically screeched, forcing me to pull the phone away. "Are you truly willing to throw away blood ties for a divorced woman?"

    Before Marcus could speak, Jack¡¯s voice came in low, sharp. "Uncle Marcus, Anna is my woman."

    I choked on the water I was sipping.

    Excuse me? What kind of possessive nonsense was that? This wasn¡¯t a romance novel. He lost the right to im me when he chose Lucy over everything else.

    Mary erupted. "What do you mean your woman? Jack Simpson, let me tell you something: you need to forget her entirely! That... that loose woman will never cross the Simpson threshold again, not while I¡¯m alive!"

    Despite myself, bitterness surged. So that¡¯s how she¡¯ll always see me. A ¡¯loose woman.¡¯ No matter what I did, how I lived, her judgment clung like smoke.

    "Mind your words in front of the children," William cut in with disapproval. "Not appreciating Anna is Simpson Group¡¯s loss, not hers. Don¡¯t tter yourself."

    I heard Catherine stiflingughter through the line, and my lips curled in a real smile. Thank you, William. You say what I can¡¯t.

    Then George Simpson added his voice. "Anna was once our daughter-inw. Now that she¡¯s divorced, rumors involving her and Marcus would damage both families¡¯ names. Marcus, I urge you to think this through."

    Silence. I leaned closer to the phone, heartbeat ticking.

    "You¡¯re wee to disown me," Marcus said, steady as stone.

    My eyes widened. He actually said it. No hesitation, no second thoughts. The man was relentless.

    I didn¡¯t know whether to be ttered or concerned. Apparently I¡¯m worth family war now. But any swelling ego faded quickly. I didn¡¯t want this kind of attention not from Jack, not from Marcus. Entanglements with either would only bring chaos. Being single, sipping wine, calling the shots... that sounded much more appealing. Freedom. No emotionalndmines.

    Catherine¡¯s messages buzzed through secondster:

    [NOW I get it. Uncle Marcus bans me from clubs and won¡¯t let me take you out? Hidden agenda all along.]

    [Trying to seduce my best friend and cut my allowance? Unforgivable.]

    Iughed, shaking my head but my mind was already drifting. Mary had mentioned the Skke District. Marcus¡¯s people had brought it up too. The Simpson Group had clearly gotten insider info, which exined Jack¡¯s aggressive bidding at the auction.

    But now? The property was back in Shaw hands. Skke could be a turning point for our expansion.

    Mene and go. Business? That¡¯s forever.

    I stood at the head of the meeting table in Shaw Tower and addressed my team. "With Simpson Group still recovering from recent internal disputes, now is the perfect time to move. Let¡¯s stake our im on East Lake."

    The team buzzed with energy, nodding, taking notes. My thoughts, however, weren¡¯t far from Skke mansion. Owning it would anchor our expansion but that meant more contact with Marcus.

    A knock. I looked up.

    Sean stepped in, sharp in a tailored suit light years from the desperate man I¡¯d once met at Olympus Club.

    "Ms. Shaw," he greeted, cing keys on my desk. "Rosa Vi. I wanted to return them personally."

    I studied him for a moment. Capable. Ambitious. Quick to learn.

    "There¡¯s a senior strategy meeting in progress," I said, standing. "You weren¡¯t scheduled to join until next quarter, but since you¡¯re heree. Let¡¯s see what you can do."

    Sean¡¯s eyes widened with surprise before he nodded,posed. "Yes, Ms. Shaw."

    As he followed me into the boardroom, I felt it again that rity. Let others lose themselves in drama. I had no time for it. Not when legacy and power were mine for the iming.

    Marcus¡¯ POV

    Just as the elevator doors were about to close, I caught sight of a familiar figure slipping through the hotel¡¯s revolving entrance.

    Anna Shaw.

    Our eyes met for the briefest moment then she turned away as if she hadn¡¯t seen me.

    Joseph chuckled beside me, rocking slightly on his heels. "Would you look at that? The fearless Anna Shaw takes one look at you and bolts. Didn¡¯t realize you were that scary."

    I kept my expression impassive, though a strange tightness gripped my chest.

    "Perhaps she¡¯s just busy," I replied tly, watching the floor numbers ascend. Still, I couldn¡¯t shake the bitter taste her avoidance left behind.

    "Sure, sure," Joseph said with a smirk, clearly unconvinced.

    I didn¡¯t respond. He knew me well enough to know I wouldn¡¯t entertain the topic further. He pulled out his phone and began reviewing documents while I retreated into silence.

    She hadn¡¯t even acknowledged me. After what happened at her grandmother¡¯s birthday... after everything, she couldn¡¯t share an elevator with me?

    The meeting dragged on. Nearly three hours passed before I signed the final set of documents. As I stepped out into the hallway, my phone vibrated.

    The message made me freeze.

    I¡¯ve reserved room 3303 at Sapphire Sky Hotel long term. Come tonight.

    The sender: Anna.

    I stared at the screen. She¡¯d meant to send this to someone else her secret lover. But it hade to me.

    The irony hit me like a punch. She had no idea the man she was inviting tonight was the same one she¡¯d just run from in the lobby.

    The man she avoided in public... was the same one she waited for in private.

    A bitter smile twisted my lips.

    Without hesitation, I replied:

    OK.

    Rachel¡¯s POV

    It was nearly eleven by the time I stood waiting in the underground parking garage. Dinner had run long. When Ms. Shaw finally emerged from the restaurant with Sean beside her, she moved with the deliberate grace of someone who had had just enough wine to feel it but not enough to lose control.

    "Sean," she said, her tone blending warmth withmand, "Starting next week, you¡¯ll be joining the senior management meetings. It¡¯s time."

    Sean kept hisposure, but I could tell from the flicker in his eyes that he was surprised.

    "Thank you, Ms. Shaw. I won¡¯t let you down."

    "I know you won¡¯t," she replied calmly. "Just watch and learn."

    Once Ms. Shaw settled into the backseat, she caught my eye in the rearview mirror. "Let¡¯s go, Rachel. Sapphire Sky Hotel."

    I started the engine. Just as I turned toward the garage exit, two figures suddenly stepped into our headlights. I mmed the brakes.

    "Ms. Shaw," I gasped, staring wide-eyed at the windshield, "That¡¯s Joseph Walker... and Mr. Murphy?"

    Before she could respond, the rear door was yanked open. In a blur, a man was shoved into the backseat beside her.

    The scent of blood hit immediately.

    It was Marcus Murphy.

    His eyes were closed, face pale, and blood soaked through the front of his ck shirt.

    Joseph leaned in, voice taut with urgency. "Drive. Now."

    He mmed the door and vanished into the shadows.

    I stared at Ms. Shaw, frozen. This was beyond any job description I¡¯d signed up for.

    "Ms. Shaw?" I whispered.

    She stared at Marcus in shock but itsted only a heartbeat. Her voice turned sharp and decisive.

    "Go. Get us out of here."

    I elerated up the ramp, onto the street. The flush from her wine had vanished; her eyes wereser focused.

    "Uncle Marcus," she called, shaking his shoulder. "Uncle Marcus, wake up!"

    He groaned faintly. "Stop... shaking. Not... dead."

    Relief briefly softened her features. Then it vanished behind steely concern.

    "What happened? Where are you hurt? How serious is it?"

    No answer.

    "Hospital," she ordered. "Not the closest one take a longer route."

    I nodded. Smart. If someone was after him, they¡¯d check the nearest ER.

    But before I could turn, Marcus croaked out: "No hospital."

    "Don¡¯t be ridiculous," Ms. Shaw snapped. "You¡¯re bleeding."

    From the mirror, I could see how bad it was. Blood trickled through his fingers, dark and heavy. His jaw clenched as if trying to hold himself together.

    "Your ce," he said hoarsely.

    Ms. Shaw froze.

    I understood her hesitation. Taking him home was personal, risky.

    "Is there a reason you can¡¯t go to a hospital?" she asked. "Is someone... looking for you?"

    He gave the slightest nod.

    Ms. Shaw exhaled, low and resigned. "Rachel, take us to Rosa Vi."

 Chapter 30: Unspoken

    <h4>Chapter 30: Unspoken</h4>

    Rachel¡¯s POV

    By the time we arrived at Rosa Vi, Marcus¡¯s breathing had grown morebored, and Anna¡¯sposed facade was beginning to crack around the edges. I parked as close to the entrance as possible, then rushed to open the back door.

    "I¡¯ll prepare a guest room," I said, hurrying ahead to unlock the door while Ms. Shaw helped Marcus from the car. His imposing height made the task difficult, but somehow she managed to support him as they slowly made their way inside.

    I moved quickly through the vi, selecting the room that had until recently been Sean¡¯s temporary quarters. It seemed the most appropriate clean, recently vacated, and on the ground floor, which would spare Mr. Murphy the effort of climbing stairs. I hastily changed the sheets and turned down the bed before rushing back to help.

    Anna was guiding Marcus down the hallway, his arm draped heavily across her shoulders. Despite the obvious strain, she refused my offer of assistance with a quick shake of her head.

    "Uncle Marcus," she said as she helped him onto the bed, "I¡¯m sorry about the amodations. This room was recently upied, but it¡¯s clean. You¡¯ll have to make do until we figure out what to do next."

    In the bright overhead light of the bedroom, the full extent of Marcus¡¯s injury became visible. His ck dress shirt was soaked through with blood, the dark fabric glistening wetly where it clung to his abdomen. As he shifted position, a fresh surge of crimson seeped between the fingers still pressed against the wound.

    Anna¡¯s reaction was immediate and visceral. Her face drained of all color, eyes widening in horror before she pped a hand over her mouth and bolted from the room. The abrupt departure seemed to surprise even Marcus, whose eyebrows rose slightly despite his pain.

    I rushed after Ms. Shaw, finding her hunched over the toilet in the adjacent bathroom. I grabbed a bottle of water from the nearby mini-fridge and hurried to her side.

    "Ms. Shaw, are you alright?" I asked, concern overwhelming professional distance as I knelt beside her.

    She waved me away weakly, still unable to speak as another wave of nausea overtook her.

    "Go," she finally managed, her voice raw. "Check on Mr. Murphy."

    I left the water within her reach and retrieved the first aid kit from the hall closet before returning to the guest room.

    "Mr. Murphy, I apologize for Ms. Shaw¡¯s absence," I exined, opening the medical kit. "She has a severe reaction to blood. The smell doesn¡¯t bother her, but the sight..." I trailed off, handing him several sterile gauze pads. "She physically can¡¯t handle it."

    Something flickered in Marcus¡¯s expression surprise.

    "When did this start?" he asked, pressing the gauze against his wound with barely a wince.

    "I¡¯m not entirely sure," I answered, focusing on unpacking the first aid supplies. "She¡¯s been this way since I started working for her. There was an incident once, on our way to the office. We came across a car ident, and Anna Ms. Shaw saw the driver crawling out of an overturned vehicle, covered in blood. She fainted on the spot, then woke up vomiting uncontrobly."

    "Here," I offered, "these might help control the bleeding until the doctor arrives."

    Marcus took the bandages with a steady hand that belied his condition.

    "Go check on her," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I¡¯m fine."

    Just then, Oscar Porter came in a hurry, his medical bag clutched in one hand.

    "Where is she?" he demanded without preamble, his voice tight with concern. "What happened? Why isn¡¯t she at a hospital? Is she trying to bleed out in her living room?"

    Before I could exin, Anna emerged from the bathroom. Herplexion was ashen, her usual confidence momentarily diminished by physical weakness. Still, she managed an eye roll at the doctor¡¯s dramatic entrance.

    "I didn¡¯t call you here to lecture me," she said, leaning against the doorframe for support. "Your patient is in there."

    Oscar blinked in surprise.

    "What patient? Male or female?"

    Oscar¡¯s POV

    I followed Rachel into the room and immediately assessed the scene with professional detachment. A many on the bed, one hand pressed firmly against his abdomen. His ck clothing was soaked with blood, but his face remained remarkablyposed.

    "Dr. Porter," Rachel said formally, "this is Mr. Marcus Murphy."

    I froze momentarily. Marcus Murphy? The Marcus Murphy? I¡¯d never met him, but everyone in Skyview City knew of him. The genius businessman who¡¯d built an empire in Europe. Jack Simpson¡¯s uncle. The Murphy family¡¯s golden son.

    "So you¡¯re Marcus Murphy," I said, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm from my voice. "First time meeting, though your reputation precedes you."

    Before Rachel could finish introducing me, Murphy¡¯s eyes met mine directly.

    "Thank you foring, Oscar," he said, his voice steady despite his condition.

    The familiarity caught me off guard. I hadn¡¯t been introduced yet, but he already knew my name. The realization sent an ufortable chill down my spine. This man had likely investigated everyone in Anna¡¯s circle including me and my brother, Logan.

    "Let¡¯s see what we¡¯re dealing with," I said, snapping into professional mode as I approached the bed.

    I donned gloves from my kit and reached for the medical scissors.

    "I need to cut this shirt away."

    Murphy simply nodded. I cut through the expensive ck fabric, revealing the wound on his lower left abdomen.

    It was a deepceration, clean edged likely from a knife with a thin, sharp de. Though bleeding steadily, it appeared to have missed vital organs.

    "This is serious," I said, applying pressure while assessing the damage. "The wound is deep, but fortunately it doesn¡¯t appear to have prated the abdominal cavity. It needs proper suturing, preferably in a hospital setting. I strongly rmend¡ª"

    "No hospital," Murphy interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Handle it here."

    I raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze directly.

    "Mr. Murphy, I don¡¯t have proper anesthetics or a sterile environment here. Hospital would be the safest option."

    "Just do it here," he repeated, unflinching.

    I studied him for a moment, trying to understand his refusal. Was he running from something? Someone?

    The knife wound certainly suggested trouble the kind that might follow him to a hospital.

    "Fine," I conceded with a sigh. "But I want to state for the record that if infection orplications developter, that¡¯s not on me or my medical skills."

    His mouth curved slightly.

    "Understood. Proceed."

    I took out the suture kit from my bag, preparing the area around the wound. The cut was approximately four inches long and would require at least fifteen stitches. As I cleaned the wound with antiseptic, I couldn¡¯t help but notice his physical condition. Despite the injury, his body was in peak form well defined muscle structure, not an ounce of excess fat. This was a man who took exceptional care of himself.

    "This will hurt," I warned.

    He met my gaze evenly.

    "I can handle it."

    I began suturing without furtherment. The needle pierced his skin, and I watched carefully for a reaction a flinch, a sharp intake of breath, anything. There was nothing. Not even a twitch.

    Most men I¡¯d treated would be gritting their teeth, gripping the bedsheets, or at least tensing their muscles. Marcus Murphy did none of these things.

    As I continued working, my initial antagonism began to give way to reluctant respect. Whatever I thought of him personally, his self-control was remarkable. Each stitch closed the wound neatly, and still he showed no sign of difort beyond the asional measured breath.

    "Almost done," I murmured as I ced the final stitches. "You¡¯re going to have a scar. Shame about those perfect abs."

    Anna¡¯s POV

    Oscar had treated Marcus¡¯s wound, and I walked into the room, still smelling of blood. One look at Marcus¡¯s pale face made anxiety coil in my stomach. He didn¡¯t show much emotion, but the sweat beading on his brow and the unnatural pallor of his lips said enough.

    I asked Rachel to bring a warm towel, and just as I reached out to wipe his forehead, Oscar snatched it from my hands.

    "I¡¯ll do it. I¡¯m the doctor taking care of patients is literally my job," he said, his tone oddly sharp.

    Marcus and I both fell silent. Why did Oscar¡¯s voice sound so... grating?

    I mentally rolled my eyes but still asked, genuinely, "Uncle Marcus, how are you feeling? Are you sure you don¡¯t want to go to the hospital? Should I call Peter? Or Joseph?"

    Oscar cut in before Marcus could respond. "Anna, what¡¯s that supposed to mean? You doubt my skills now? Rx. Your Marcus uncle isn¡¯t going to die."

    The way he emphasized your Marcus uncle made it clear he wasn¡¯t just being defensive. He was aiming that jab directly at Marcus. I sighed inwardly, reminded of how Oscar had objected to my marriage to Jack Simpson and had even confronted Jack about it. The two of them hadn¡¯t spoken since.

    Looking at Oscar now, the bitterness hit me back then, everyone had seen clearly but me.

    I shot him a few warning nces. Don¡¯t start. Marcus wasn¡¯t Jack. The game was different this time. Besides, this was Marcus Murphy. I could reject his advances, but I couldn¡¯t disrespect him.

    Marcus spoke calmly. "No need. They¡¯lle after they¡¯ve handled things."

    When neither of us responded, he added, "Peter will find me."

    A tightness gripped my chest. After they¡¯ve handled things? I suddenly realized how little I truly knew about him. He was William Murphy¡¯s youngest son, a force in the family¡¯s financial empire... but beyond that?

    Later, Oscar pulled me aside. "Logan mentioned once Marcus has enemies in Europe¡¯s business circles. The market over there isn¡¯t like America. That he built an empire there? That says everything. He¡¯s ruthless. And you you just bring him into your home like it¡¯s nothing?"

    I quickly mped a hand over his mouth. "Lower your voice. Do you want him to hear you?"

    "That¡¯s the idea," Oscar replied, raising his voice instead.

    I dragged him to the living room. "If you¡¯re really worried about me, then keep what happened today to yourself. Uncle Marcus has helped me a lot. I trust he has his own ns. He wouldn¡¯t drag me into danger."

    Oscar scoffed. "He hasn¡¯t wronged me, no. But he¡¯s obviously into you. And you still call him Uncle Marcus? You¡¯ve got the nerve to say it, and he¡¯s got the nerve to answer?"

    His voice rose. "Haven¡¯t you learned from Jack Simpson? Now you¡¯re cozying up to the Murphy family? Do you know what you¡¯re walking into? Have you forgotten how it endedst time? Already?"

    He jabbed a finger at my forehead. Repeatedly.

    I grabbed it. "Ow! Watch it! You¡¯re going to break something."

    He yelped. "Agh how can a woman like you have such bad taste in men? Maybe I should just stop caring."

    I released him and sighed. "I know you care. And I appreciate it. But I¡¯m not going to let any man control my life again. Not Marcus, not anyone."

    I softened. "About the mansion in Skke District... Regardless of his motives, I need to return the favor."

    Oscar threw off his white coat. "Fine. I¡¯m done worrying. Where do I sleep?"

    "There are guest rooms upstairs. Take your pick they¡¯re all clean."

    When I returned to Marcus¡¯s room with hot water, his gaze met mine. My heartbeat stumbled. Had he heard what Oscar said earlier?

    "Uncle Marcus, feeling better? Want some water?" I kept my voice steady.

    He didn¡¯t answer immediately, just sat up slowly. I rushed to help him, propping pillows behind his back. My hand brushed his arm and under the crisp fabric of his shirt, I could feel lean muscle. He was strong. Solid.

    He finished the water in one gulp.

    "Want more?" I asked gently.

    "No, thank you," he said, his eyes lingering on mine.

    His voice... his look... for a strange moment, it reminded me of that night at the Sapphire Sky Hotel. Of the man who had kissed my back in the dark and asked if I wanted more. I had been too exhausted to answer. Too overwhelmed to move.

    And just like that, I remembered I was supposed to meet him tonight.

    A cold shock passed through me. It was already two in the morning.

    I had intended to draw clear boundaries tonight. To keep things strictly physical between us going forward. But with everything that had happened with Marcus, I hadpletely forgotten.

    And I never forget.

    "Uncle Marcus, would you like to lie down and rest?" I asked, reaching for my phone.

    He noticed. "Is something wrong? It¡¯s quitete."

    "Nothing urgent. Just need to reply to a message," I said with a smile.

    "Go ahead," he said smoothly. "I have something to tell you afterward."

    I sat on the edge of the bed, quickly typing out a message:

    [Sorry, something came up. Let¡¯s reschedule.]

    The second I hit send, Marcus¡¯s phone lit up on the nightstand.

    I nced at it instinctively.

    And in that instant, everything inside me went still. My mind nked.

    My heart skipped a beat.Anna¡¯s POV

    Oscar had treated Marcus¡¯s wound, and I walked into the room, still smelling of blood. One look at Marcus¡¯s pale face made anxiety coil in my stomach. He didn¡¯t show much emotion, but the sweat beading on his brow and the unnatural pallor of his lips said enough.

    I asked Rachel to bring a warm towel, and just as I reached out to wipe his forehead, Oscar snatched it from my hands.

    "I¡¯ll do it. I¡¯m the doctor taking care of patients is literally my job," he said, his tone oddly sharp.

    Marcus and I both fell silent. Why did Oscar¡¯s voice sound so... grating?

    I mentally rolled my eyes but still asked, genuinely, "Uncle Marcus, how are you feeling? Are you sure you don¡¯t want to go to the hospital? Should I call Peter? Or Joseph?"

    Oscar cut in before Marcus could respond. "Anna, what¡¯s that supposed to mean? You doubt my skills now? Rx. Your Marcus uncle isn¡¯t going to die."

    The way he emphasized your Marcus uncle made it clear he wasn¡¯t just being defensive. He was aiming that jab directly at Marcus. I sighed inwardly, reminded of how Oscar had objected to my marriage to Jack Simpson and had even confronted Jack about it. The two of them hadn¡¯t spoken since.

    Looking at Oscar now, the bitterness hit me back then, everyone had seen clearly but me.

    I shot him a few warning nces. Don¡¯t start. Marcus wasn¡¯t Jack. The game was different this time. Besides, this was Marcus Murphy. I could reject his advances, but I couldn¡¯t disrespect him.

    Marcus spoke calmly. "No need. They¡¯lle after they¡¯ve handled things."

    When neither of us responded, he added, "Peter will find me."

    A tightness gripped my chest. After they¡¯ve handled things? I suddenly realized how little I truly knew about him. He was William Murphy¡¯s youngest son, a force in the family¡¯s financial empire... but beyond that?

    Later, Oscar pulled me aside. "Logan mentioned once Marcus has enemies in Europe¡¯s business circles. The market over there isn¡¯t like America. That he built an empire there? That says everything. He¡¯s ruthless. And you you just bring him into your home like it¡¯s nothing?"

    I quickly mped a hand over his mouth. "Lower your voice. Do you want him to hear you?"

    "That¡¯s the idea," Oscar replied, raising his voice instead.

    I dragged him to the living room. "If you¡¯re really worried about me, then keep what happened today to yourself. Uncle Marcus has helped me a lot. I trust he has his own ns. He wouldn¡¯t drag me into danger."

    Oscar scoffed. "He hasn¡¯t wronged me, no. But he¡¯s obviously into you. And you still call him Uncle Marcus? You¡¯ve got the nerve to say it, and he¡¯s got the nerve to answer?"

    His voice rose. "Haven¡¯t you learned from Jack Simpson? Now you¡¯re cozying up to the Murphy family? Do you know what you¡¯re walking into? Have you forgotten how it endedst time? Already?"

    He jabbed a finger at my forehead. Repeatedly.

    I grabbed it. "Ow! Watch it! You¡¯re going to break something."

    He yelped. "Agh how can a woman like you have such bad taste in men? Maybe I should just stop caring."

    I released him and sighed. "I know you care. And I appreciate it. But I¡¯m not going to let any man control my life again. Not Marcus, not anyone."

    I softened. "About the mansion in Skke District... Regardless of his motives, I need to return the favor."

    Oscar threw off his white coat. "Fine. I¡¯m done worrying. Where do I sleep?"

    "There are guest rooms upstairs. Take your pick they¡¯re all clean."

    When I returned to Marcus¡¯s room with hot water, his gaze met mine. My heartbeat stumbled. Had he heard what Oscar said earlier?

    "Uncle Marcus, feeling better? Want some water?" I kept my voice steady.

    He didn¡¯t answer immediately, just sat up slowly. I rushed to help him, propping pillows behind his back. My hand brushed his arm and under the crisp fabric of his shirt, I could feel lean muscle. He was strong. Solid.

    He finished the water in one gulp.

    "Want more?" I asked gently.

    "No, thank you," he said, his eyes lingering on mine.

    His voice... his look... for a strange moment, it reminded me of that night at the Sapphire Sky Hotel. Of the man who had kissed my back in the dark and asked if I wanted more. I had been too exhausted to answer. Too overwhelmed to move.

    And just like that, I remembered I was supposed to meet him tonight.

    A cold shock passed through me. It was already two in the morning.

    I had intended to draw clear boundaries tonight. To keep things strictly physical between us going forward. But with everything that had happened with Marcus, I hadpletely forgotten.

    And I never forget.

    "Uncle Marcus, would you like to lie down and rest?" I asked, reaching for my phone.

    He noticed. "Is something wrong? It¡¯s quitete."

    "Nothing urgent. Just need to reply to a message," I said with a smile.

    "Go ahead," he said smoothly. "I have something to tell you afterward."

    I sat on the edge of the bed, quickly typing out a message:

    [Sorry, something came up. Let¡¯s reschedule.]

    The second I hit send, Marcus¡¯s phone lit up on the nightstand.

    I nced at it instinctively.

    And in that instant, everything inside me went still. My mind nked.

    My heart skipped a beat.

 Chapter 31: Warning

    <h4>Chapter 31: Warning</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The sudden chime of Marcus¡¯s phone still echoed in my mind as I stared at him, momentarily frozen. My thoughts raced at impossible speed, trying to process what had just happened. It couldn¡¯t be the timing was too perfect, too coincidental. I¡¯d just texted my mystery lover, and Marcus¡¯s phone had immediately chimed with a notification.

    I forced myself to take a breath, to think logically. The room felt suddenly airless, the softmplight that had seemedforting moments ago now felt exposing.

    Marcus had picked up his phone casually, ncing at the screen with no particr reaction before setting it back down. Now he was answering another call, his voice low and measured despite his injury.

    "It¡¯s been handled," he said into the phone. "Peter will be here shortly."

    He ended the call and turned his attention back to me. I realized I¡¯d been standing motionless, still processing the impossible thought that had shed through my mind. Could Marcus Murphy possibly be the same man I¡¯d been meeting at the Sapphire Sky Hotel? The mysterious lover whose face I¡¯d never clearly seen?

    I mentally shook myself. That¡¯s absurd. The timing of the notification could be pure coincidence. Besides, our first encounter at the hotel had happened before Marcus returned to America. The timeline simply didn¡¯t add up. Relief washed over me.

    Marcus¡¯s prating gaze studied my face. I had the distinct feeling he could read every thought crossing my mind, every emotion flickering across my features.

    "You¡¯re concerned," he observed. It wasn¡¯t a question.

    I hesitated, wondering if I should voice my actual concerns or deflect.

    "Those men who attacked you," I began carefully, "they¡¯re not from Europe, are they? They won¡¯t follow you here?"

    A hint of something amusement, perhaps? flickered in his eyes. "No. They won¡¯t be troubling you. This won¡¯t bring danger to your doorstep."

    I felt heat rising to my cheeks, embarrassed that he¡¯d so easily seen through my polite inquiry to the real fear underneath. Oscar¡¯s warnings echoed in my mind about Marcus¡¯s powerful enemies, about the potential danger of harboring him.

    "I¡¯m not afraid of trouble," I rified, lifting my chin slightly. "But I can¡¯t affordplications right now. You know the Shaw family¡¯s situation." I paused, vulnerability making my voice softer than I intended. "If anything happens to me, my grandmother and mother... they wouldn¡¯t survive it.

    Shaw Corp is all we have left."

    Marcus¡¯s expression remained unreadable. He nodded once, the gesture somehow conveying both understanding and reassurance more effectively than words could have.

    "You should stay here for now," I said, making a swift decision. "At Rosa Vi, I mean. You certainly can¡¯t return home in this condition William would be beside himself with worry." I gestured vaguely at the room around us. "This vi sits empty most of the time. Few people know about it.

    It¡¯s not much, but you could recuperate here without...

    plications."

    I expected him to refuse, to insist on returning to Murphy Estate, to remind me that a man of his resources had better options than hiding out in my spare property. Instead, his answer came without hesitation:

    "All right."

    The simple eptance caught me off guard. I nodded, suddenly uncertain what to do next.

    Before I could formte a response, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway broke the silence. Marcus seemed unsurprised, as if he¡¯d been expecting it.

    "That would be Peter," he said. "And likely Joseph as well."

    Half an hourter, I stood in the entryway of Rosa Vi, watching as Joseph and Peter entered. Peter lookedrgely unruffled his suit slightly creased but otherwise intact.

    Joseph, on the other hand, looked like he¡¯d been dragged backward through a hedge. His normally impable hair stuck out at odd angles, one sleeve of his designer jacket was partially torn, and there was a smudge of something dark on his cor that I sincerely hoped wasn¡¯t blood.

    "Anna!" Joseph greeted me with forced cheer, automatically reaching up to fix his disheveled hair. "Long time no see."

    I arched an eyebrow at his appearance but refrained frommenting directly. "Joseph. Peter. Marcus is in the first guest room down the hall."

    Joseph chuckled, straightening his tie or attempting to, since it was no longer properly attached to his cor.

    "I¡¯ve just recruited a new batch of young men at the club each one more handsome than thest. Even more stunning than your Sean. If you¡¯d like a membership card, I¡¯ll give you a twenty five percent discount."

    "Joseph, please don¡¯t joke about such things," I said, my tone cooling considerably. "I merely visited Olympus Club for a few drinks. Sean is a rare talent, and I value genuine ability. Those rumors about Sean are nothing but malicious gossip. He¡¯s now an official employee of Shaw Corp, and I¡¯d appreciate it if you could help clear his name rather than perpetuate false narratives."

    Joseph¡¯s eyes widened slightly, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.

    "Understood, understood."

    Something about his too easy acquiescence made me suspicious. Of course Joseph knew the truth. If Marcus was as thorough and intelligent as his reputation suggested, he would have investigated Sean¡¯s background and my connection to him long ago. Which meant Joseph was deliberately teasing me testing my reaction, perhaps.

    "You know," I said, deciding to return fire, "that disheveled look is quite distinctive on you, Joseph. If you ever decided to work the floor at Olympus Club yourself, you¡¯d put all your employees out of business."

    Joseph pointed at me, a genuineugh escaping him. "Such a sharp tongue on you! let your Uncle Marcus deal with you."

    Marcus¡¯s POV

    The door clicked shut behind Anna, her reluctant footsteps fading down the hallway. I shifted my position, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at the fresh stitches in my abdomen.

    Peter had maintained his professional silence during Anna¡¯s presence, but the moment she was out of earshot, he approached my bedside with urgency.

    "Sir," he began, his voice low and crisp, "I followed the car as instructed.

    Tracked it all the way to a residential area called Moonlight Cove."

    I nodded for him to continue, my mind already racing ahead, cataloging possibilities and connections.

    "The entiremunity is doing a great job of security," Peter continued, his usual stoic expression betraying a hint of frustration. "State-of-the-art security systems, private guards at every entrance. I couldn¡¯t risk following them inside without being detected."

    Joseph, who had been uncharacteristically quiet until now, suddenly perked up, unable to contain himself any longer.

    "Moonlight Cove!" he eximed, gesturing expansively with his hands.

    "One of the most exclusive residentialmunities in Skyview City. You practically need a background check just to drive past it these days. Real estate values have tripled there in thest five years alone. I tried to buy a ce there myself, but I was too slow ¡ª"

    "Joseph," I cut him off, not in the mood for his tangents. "Focus."

    He cleared his throat, looking only slightly chastened. "Right. Well, the interesting thing is who lives there." His eyes gleamed with that particr mix of gossip and intrigue that often made him invaluable in my informationwork. "Your nephew Jack Simpson has a residence there. So do most of his friends-that whole crowd from Simpson Group."

    "Jack Simpson?" I repeated, keeping my voice carefully neutral even as my mind rebelled against the implication.

    Joseph let out a low whistle, studying my face with undisguised curiosity. "Well, well. Your own nephew wants you dead. Family drama at its finest.

    I shot him a warning nce that silenced him immediately.

    "We don¡¯t know that," I said, forcing myself to consider all angles. "Let¡¯s not jump to conclusions."

    The possibility was absurd on its face. Jack and I had never been particrly close-my years in Europe had seen to that-but there had never been any significant animosity between us.

    Nothing that would warrant an attempt on my life.

    But then again, things had changed since my return. Anna. The Skke mansion. The Phoenix Project. My very public intrusion into what Jack clearly still considered his territory.

    I nced down at my wound, assessing it with clinical detachment. The attack itself told a story-one thrust, non-fatal but debilitating. If the intent had been to kill me, the assant had missed every vital organ.

    "If they wanted me dead," I said slowly, "I would be. This wasn¡¯t an assassination attempt."

    "Then what was it?" Joseph asked, his customary flippancy momentarily reced by genuine curiosity.

    "A message, perhaps. A warning." I straightened slightly, ignoring the sharp pain the movement caused. "Or possibly the first move in arger game."

    Joseph gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. "What about your lovely Anna? Can she keep a secret?"

    A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth without my permission.

    "She won¡¯t say anything."

    "You seem awfully confident," Joseph remarked, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

    I ignored him, turning back to Peter.

    "I¡¯ll stay here for now. Return to Murphy Estate tomorrow morning.

    When asked, tell them I¡¯m taking a few days away on business. Nothing more."

    Peter nodded once, his understandingplete. In the years he¡¯d worked for me, we¡¯d developed an unspokennguage of our own. He knew exactly what information to share, what to withhold, and how to deflect any unwanted questions.

    "Understood, Mr. Murphy."

    When I I woke up the next day. My internal clock told me it was early¡ªnot yet seven.

    I¡¯d just managed to push myself into a sitting position when the door opened, revealing Oscar Porter with his medical bag.

    "Good morning, Mr. Murphy," he greeted me with professional detachment. "Time to check those stitches."

    I said nothing as he approached the bed and began unwrapping the bandages. His hands were skilled but not gentle applying just enough pressure to be ufortable without being painful.

    "The wound is healing nicely," hemented, inspecting his handiwork. "No signs of infection. You¡¯re lucky it wasn¡¯t deeper."

    "Luck had nothing to do with it," I replied.

    Oscar¡¯s eyes flicked up to mine, assessing. He seemed about to respond when footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Anna appeared in the doorway.

    She hesitated at the threshold, her gaze sliding to my exposed abdomen before quickly averting to Oscar¡¯s face.

    "Uncle Marcus," she said. "I see Walker has left?"

    "Yes," I confirmed. "He couldn¡¯t stand being in the same clothes for more than eight hours."

    A flicker of something-amusement, perhaps crossed her features before she sobered again, her brow creasing with concern. "I just realized we don¡¯t have any clothes for you here." She twisted her hands slightly, a rare disy of uncertainty. "I could ask Rachel to purchase some essentials?"

    "That won¡¯t be necessary," I told her. "Peter will handle it."

    Oscar finished applying fresh bandages with a final, slightly aggressive pat to my abdomen. "There. All done." He packed his supplies back into his bag with quick, efficient movements. "The wound is superficial-just a clean slice through the abdominal wall. I¡¯ve seen C-sections more traumatic than this."

    He turned to Anna, his expression softening slightly. "He¡¯ll be fine, Annie. No need to wear that worried

    expression."

    Then, with a sideways nce at me that could only be described as challenging: "Though I wonder if Mr.

    Murphy here is nning on making this vi his permanent residence? "

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I watched Oscar¡¯s mouth-that perpetually moving instrument that never seemed to stop¡ªand thought to myself that if he ever got punched one day, it would definitely be because of that troublesome thing.

    "You¡¯re talking nonsense. Marcus just doesn¡¯t want William to worry," I countered, even asplicated emotions surged within me.

    I hurriedly pushed Oscar toward the door, not even offering him breakfast.

    My agitation made it impossible to tolerate his lengthy sermons any longer. "Alright, alright, you can go now. No need toe back unless there¡¯s an emergency, and remember to keep your mouth shut."

    Oscar looked annoyed as he reached out and pinched my cheek. His eyes brimmed with dissatisfaction.

    "Throwing me under the bus now, are we? Consultation fee, surgical fee, medication fee, hush money-who¡¯s going to settle up? You or your *Uncle Marcus*?"

    "Fine, fine, fine." Guilt washed over me; he had genuinely helped usst night. I immediately pulled out my phone and transferred him money, hoping this would silence him. "There, satisfied? Now get out."

    Oscar finally shed a pleased smile, but at the doorway, he turned back and lowered his voice: "Keep your distance from that Marcus. If nothing else, his business is all in Europe. Are you going to abandon Shaw Corp to follow him there?"

    His words made my chest tighten.

    What was he even talking about? I didn¡¯t have those kinds of feelings for Marcus-at least, that¡¯s what I kept telling myself. I knew Oscar was concerned about me, afraid I¡¯d get hurt again, so I forced myself to respond patiently: "You¡¯re overthinking this.

    I¡¯m not looking to get involved with anyone right now, okay? I swear on my life."

    "That¡¯s more like it." Oscar nodded, then suddenly remembered something and pulled an object from his pocket, tossing it to me. "Saw this, thought it looked nice, so I bought it."

    I caught it and looked¡ªa remarkably elegant diamond bracelet. From the casual way he¡¯d tossed it, I¡¯d half expected a random pebble he¡¯d picked up. My heart warmed at the unexpected gesture.

    "This is a luxury item, and you didn¡¯t even keep the packaging?" Despite my teasingint, the joy of receiving the gift made me smile. "I love it. Thanks."

    "Whatever," Oscar dramatically rolled his eyes and turned to leave. "Only useful when you need me, forgotten when you don¡¯t."

    After watching him leave, Rosa Vi suddenly felt quiet. I held the bracelet, my emotions conflicted. Marcus¡¯s return had left me uncertain how to behave. I was trying hard to maintain a polite distance, but somewhere deep inside, indefinable feelings stirred.

    Not long after, Marcus emerged, freshly washed. When I saw therge hole cut in his shirt, I couldn¡¯t help but smile. Last night, to treat his wound, Oscar had to cut open his clothes. Yet he seemedpletely unfazed by it, his ease making me feel almost embarrassed for finding it amusing.

    We ate the breakfast Rachel had bought. At the table, I tried to maintain a polite distance. "Uncle Marcus, the cook will be hereter. I¡¯ve already briefed her. She doesn¡¯t know your identity-just tell her whatever you¡¯d like to eat. I have a meeting this morning, so I can¡¯t stay home to keep youpany."

    "Alright," he replied simply.

    I sighed inwardly, pretending to be unfazed as I continued eating breakfast. I knew I was ying dumb, avoiding addressing his feelings for me.

 Chapter 32: The Cost of Proximity

    <h4>Chapter 32: The Cost of Proximity</h4>

    Jack¡¯s POV

    The moment I heard Marcus had been injured, something inside me snapped. It wasn¡¯t concern-not even close. Instead, a strange, almost feverish energy coursed through my veins as I instructed my driver to take me to Rosa Vi.

    The car pulled up to the gate, and I instructed the driver to wait. "I won¡¯t be long," I muttered, though I had no idea if that was true.

    As I walked up the curved driveway, the evening air felt unusually heavy.

    The gardens were immactely maintained, soft lighting illuminating the carefully pruned trees and shrubs.

    And then I saw him.

    Marcus Murphy¡ªmy uncle, my mother¡¯s brother, the Murphy family golden boy-was sittingfortably in the garden pavilion like he belonged there. Like he owned the ce. He looked surprisingly at ease for someone who¡¯d supposedly been injured. A booky open in hisp, and he was sipping what appeared to be tea from one of Anna¡¯s finest china cups.

    My blood boiled. Had Rosa Vi be Anna¡¯s secret ce to entertain men? And not just any man, but *Marcus*?

    His eyes flicked up, registering my approach with that same infuriating calm he always maintained. No surprise, no guilt, not even the courtesy of looking ufortable at being caught.

    "Jack," he greeted me, as if my arrival at my ex-wife¡¯s private vi was the most natural thing in the world.

    "I heard you were injured," I said coldly, not bothering with pleasantries. My gaze swept over him, searching for signs of physical distress but finding none. "You look perfectly fine to me."

    "A minor incident," he replied, closing his book and setting it aside.

    "Minor enough that you decided to recover here? At Anna¡¯s vi?" I couldn¡¯t keep the usation from my voice. "Do you realize your enemies have followed you to America? What were you thinking, bringing that kind of danger to her doorstep?"

    Marcus¡¯s expression remained impassive. "I have no intention of endangering Anna. And I prefer William doesn¡¯t worry unnecessarily."

    Iughed bitterly. "Since when do you care about sparing anyone worry?

    You¡¯ve always been perfectly happy to do exactly as you please, consequences be damned. Why the sudden concern?"

    "If you¡¯re so concerned about family," I pressed, "why not stay at Murphy Estate? Why here?"

    "If I didn¡¯t care about family," he replied, his voice dropping to a quieter register that somehow made his words more impactful, "Anna would have been mine six years ago."

    The statement hit me like a physical blow. I stood frozen, trying to process what he¡¯d just said. Six years ago?

    That would have been when...

    "My God," I whispered, pieces suddenly clicking into ce. "You¡¯ve beening back all this time for her, haven¡¯t you? Six years ago when her father died. During my marriage to her. And now, after our divorce."

    Memories cascaded through my mind ¡ªMarcus¡¯s rare appearances in Skyview City, always coinciding with significant moments in Anna¡¯s life.

    "How long?" I demanded, my voice barely controlled. "How long have you had feelings for her?"

    Marcus met my gaze directly. "Since before you even knew who she was."

    "It¡¯s over between you two, Jack," he continued, his tone matter-of-fact.

    "You can¡¯t make her happy. You never could. Don¡¯t forget¡ªyou¡¯re the one who threw her away."

    *You¡¯re the one who threw her away.* The words sliced through me, carrying the weight of undeniable truth. Images of Anna flooded my mind-not theposed businesswoman she¡¯d be, but the bright-eyed girl I¡¯d first met years ago.

    I remembered her at William¡¯s Christmas party, barely twenty,ughter spilling from her lips as she charmed everyone around her. Even Catherine, who typically viewed other women aspetition, had immediately taken to Anna, dering them "best friends" by the end of the night.

    Back then, she¡¯d called me "Mr. Simpson" with such careful politeness, her eyes briefly meeting mine before shyly looking away.

    And then the unthinkable happened¡ª her father died in a car ident. I remembered the funeral, watching this young woman stand straight-backed despite her grief, handling the arrangements with quiet dignity while her mother and grandmother copsed under the weight of their loss.

    Everyone had been so focused on consoling Elizabeth and Margaret that they¡¯d forgotten the most tragic part-Anna had been in that car too. She had watched her father die in her arms. William had been the one to step in, using his influence to shield her from predatory investors circling Shaw Corp like vultures.

    Our rtionship had begun so innocently. At Phillip Murphy¡¯s birthday celebration, I¡¯d found her alone on the terrace, staring into the distance with such profound sadness that I¡¯d feltpelled to offerfort.

    After that night, I¡¯d made excuses to have Catherine include Anna in more social events, telling myself I was merely helping a family friend.

    I¡¯d watched her navigate the treacherous waters of Skyview City¡¯s business elite, facing thinly veiled sexism with remarkable grace. When older executives attempted to intimidate her during negotiations, I¡¯d sometimes intervene, earning looks of gratitude that gradually transformed into something warmer, something that made my heart race despite myself.

    William had seen it happening before I was willing to admit it. "Jack," he¡¯d said one evening, "Annie would make you an excellent wife."

    I¡¯d protested vigorously. "She¡¯s like a sister to me!"

    But William had been persistent, and my resistance had gradually crumbled.

    After marriage, I¡¯d been deliberately cold, punishing her for feelings I couldn¡¯t acknowledge even to myself.

    I¡¯d stayed outte, ignored her attempts at conversation, found fault with everything she did.

    Phoenix had been her peace offering-a project she¡¯d poured her heart into, designed specifically to bring our families closer. When my mother had suggested giving management of the project to Lucy, I hadn¡¯t just failed to object; I¡¯d actively facilitated the handover, watching the hurt bloom in Anna¡¯s eyes with detached satisfaction.

    Marcus was right. *I* had thrown her away. I had taken a woman who once looked at me with nothing but love and systematically crushed her spirit until divorce seemed like her only escape.

    I don¡¯t remember leaving Rosa Vi.

    When I came back to myself, I was sitting in my car outside Shaw Tower, with no clear memory of instructing my driver to bring me here. How long had I been waiting? Minutes? Hours?

    "Mr. Simpson?" My driver¡¯s voice prated the fog of my thoughts.

    Shall I make a dinner reservation?

    Perhaps Ms. Shaw would join you?"

    I didn¡¯t answer, my attention caught by the revolving doors of the tower.

    And there she was-Anna, emerging from the building in conversation with Rachel, her ever-present assistant.

    A painful pressure built in my chest as I watched her. "Follow her," I instructed my driver, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears.

    My phone rang-Lucy¡¯s name shing on the screen. I silenced it without a second thought.

    "Mr. Simpson," my driver reminded me hesitantly, "you have dinner ns with your mother and Ms. Taylor tonight. Should I head to the restaurant now?"

    Something inside me snapped. "Why would I care about having dinner with *Lucy*?" I shouted, startling even myself with the force of my outburst.

    "NOT GOING!"

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I canceled my evening obligations, feigning exhaustion from back-to-back meetings. The truth was, I couldn¡¯t stop thinking about Marcus recovering at Rosa Vi. Leaving an injured houseguest alone all day, even one as self-sufficient as Marcus Murphy, didn¡¯t sit right with me.

    The Shaw Tower elevator felt particrly slow today as I anxiously checked my watch. The meetings had run longer than expected, and I was only now getting a chance to check my personal phone.

    My stomach dropped when I saw the screen. Multiple missed calls-Oscar, Logan, my mother, and several from Catherine. This many calls from different people within hours of each other never meant anything good.

    I was about to call Catherine back when my phone lit up with her name.

    I braced myself and answered.

    "Anna! Is it true? Uncle Marcus is injured? And he¡¯s staying at your ce?" Her voice burst through before I could even say hello, breathless with excitement.

    I froze mid-stride, nearly colliding with Rachel who was walking beside me.

    "Where did you hear that?" I kept my voice perfectly neutral, motioning Rachel to give me some privacy.

    "From my parents! Everyone¡¯s talking about it." Catherine¡¯s words tumbled out in a rush. "They¡¯re saying Uncle Marcus was stabbed and you¡¯re personally nursing him back to health at Rosa Vi."

    A cold feeling spread through my chest. Last night¡¯s incident had been witnessed by very few people. Joseph would never talk, and Oscar, for all his irreverence, could be trusted with secrets that mattered.

    "You won¡¯t believe this," Catherine continued, barely pausing for breath, "Aunt Mary stormed back to Murphy Estate today, but Dad stopped her from making a scene. I think Grandpa William is the only one who doesn¡¯t know about the injury yet, but literally everyone else does."

    *How the hell did this information get out?* My mind raced through possibilities, each more troubling than thest.

    "So you ARE with my uncle? What¡¯s going on, Anna?" The excitement in Catherine¡¯s voice was unmistakable.

    "Are you seriously considering bing my aunt? I¡¯m totally fine with it, by the way. If you marry into the Murphy family, Grandpa William and I would make sure nobody messes with you. Think about it, okay?"

    I nearly choked at her casual matchmaking. Before I could respond, she barreled on.

    "By the way, you probably haven¡¯t heard what people are saying about you two. These gossips should be writing romance novels-they ve turned you, Jack, and my uncle into some scandalous love triangle straight out of a drama series!"

    I leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with my day of meetings. One day. I¡¯d been gone from Rosa Vi for *one day*, and somehow the entire social elite of Skyview City was specting about my love life.

    "Catherine, I need to go. I¡¯ll call you backter." I ended the call before she could protest.

    By the time I arrived at Rosa Vi, dinner had been prepared and Marcus was already seated at the table. He wore casual clothes that somehow still managed to look expensive and tailored on his frame. Despite his injury, his posture remained impable.

    "Uncle Marcus, how did word of your injury get out?" I asked, keeping my voice carefully controlled. "I assure you, neither Oscar nor I said anything to anyone."

    "I know it wasn¡¯t you." His response was immediate and certain.

    I paused, reconsidering the possibilities. "It probably wasn¡¯t Jack either, and I doubt he had anything to do with your injury."

    Marcus¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied me. "Why are you so certain?"

    A bitter smile tugged at my lips. "He was my husband, after all. I¡¯d like to think I know what kind of person he is." The words brought with them a strange ache-the remnants of what had once been love now transformed into something more like detached understanding.

    Marcus held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, the intensity in his eyes making my pulse quicken. Then he gestured toward the dining room. "The rumors were deliberately spread.

    Someone is setting up a scenario involving you, me, and Jack." He waited for me to take my seat before continuing. "If my guess is correct, this is about the Skke District development. Simpson Group is determined to secure thatnd, but I¡¯m not entirely sure who¡¯s behind this particr move."

    "Skke District?" I hadn¡¯t expected our conversation to turn in this direction.

    "I¡¯ve had people look into it," he exined. "The eastern part of Skyview City is ted for major development next, making the Skke District prime real estate. Simpson Group seems to be taking the lead on this." His expression softened slightly.

    "Now that your mother¡¯s family mansion is back in your hands, you ve been dragged into this as well. I¡¯m sorry for bringing this trouble to your doorstep."

    The hint of regret in his voice touched something in me. I hurried to reassure him. "You haven¡¯t caused me any trouble. I was nning to buy back that mansion anyway. If anything, I should be thanking you, Uncle Marcus." I couldn¡¯t keep the edge from my voice as I added, "If Jack had gotten his hands on it, there wouldn¡¯t be a single brick left standing."

    My mind was already racing ahead, calcting angles and opportunities.

    Skke District was partially protected wends, but the developable areas were substantial. High-end residences marketing their proximity to a nature preserve wouldmand premium prices. The property values alone would skyrocket once development began.

    *No wonder Jack was so desperate to acquire my mother¡¯s ancestral home.*

    The realization made me grateful all over again for Marcus¡¯s intervention at the auction- even if epting such a gift still made me ufortable.

    "What are your thoughts on Skke District?" Marcus asked, watching me closely.

    I decided to bepletely transparent.

    "I hadn¡¯t given much thought to Skke before, as you know, Shaw Corp doesn¡¯t have the resources for a project that size." The admission stung my pride, but there was no point pretending otherwise. "But now the situation is forcing my hand¡ªif I want to protect my mother¡¯s ancestral home, I need to secure this project." I straightened my shoulders, a surge of determination flooding through me.

    "I¡¯ve already formed a project team.

    I¡¯m definitely going topete for Skke."

    Discussing business brought me back to familiar territory, confidence recing the uncertainty I¡¯d felt earlier.

    He nodded approvingly. "Impressive.

    You have vision and courage. If you need any assistance, don¡¯t hesitate to ask."

    His ready support caught me off guard. "You think I can seed?"

    "Why wouldn¡¯t you? If you have the courage to pursue it, you¡¯ll seed." His conviction was unwavering, his faith in me absolute.

    I felt something expand in my chest at his words. The Skke project team had been an impulsive decision, born more from emotion than strategy. In the cold light of day, I¡¯d realized that Shaw Corp attempting to secure Skke was like a fox trying to steal from a wolf pack.

    Yet here was Marcus Murphy, believing in me without reservation.

    "I believe I can do it too. How will I know what I¡¯m capable of if I don¡¯t try, right?" I raised my ss to him, feeling almost light-headed with possibility. "Uncle Marcus, I have to thank you again. You¡¯ve been a true blessing in my life."

 Chapter 33: The Woman with the Leverage

    <h4>Chapter 33: The Woman with the Leverage</h4>

    Jack¡¯s POV

    I was nursing a drink in the study when my mother and Lucy burst through the front door of the Simpson mansion. Their faces were flushed, their gestures animated as they exchanged heated whispers. I knew instantly that the afternoon tea at Harper Watson¡¯s hadn¡¯t gone well.

    Mother spotted me and made a beeline in my direction, her eyes shing with indignation. "Can you believe the nerve of that woman?"

    I didn¡¯t need to ask which woman she meant. There was only one who could ruffle my mother¡¯s feathers to this degree.

    "Anna?" I asked, setting down my ss.

    Mother copsed into an armchair, her voice rising with each word. "She¡¯s deliberately positioning herself as the gatekeeper to Skke District.

    Everyone was falling over themselves trying to secure her favor." She shot a withering nce at Lucy. "And you just stood there, letting her make a fool of you."

    Lucy¡¯sposure faltered. "I tried to put her in her ce, but she turned my words against me."

    "You weren¡¯t assertive enough!"

    Mother snapped. "She made you look like a social-climbing fool in front of everyone who matters in this city."

    I watched the exchange with a growing sense of unease. My mother had never approved of Anna, even during our marriage. But her vehemence now seemed excessive, even for her.

    "Mary, that¡¯s enough," my father¡¯s voice cut through the tension as he entered the room. "What¡¯s all thismotion about?"

    Mother immediately redirected her ire.

    "George, that Shaw woman is trying to get her hands on the Skke District project." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "She¡¯s going around boasting that Shaw Corp is prepared to bid against Simpson Group."

    I felt my stomach drop. "Anna is interested in Skke District? Are you sure you didn¡¯t misunderstand?"

    "I didn¡¯t misunderstand anything," she hissed. "She was practically gloating about it. That mansion Marcus gave her is the perfect foothold. She¡¯s been nning this all along."

    Father¡¯s expression grew serious as he took a seat across from me. "If Shaw Corp intends topete for Skke, we need to reconsider our approach.

    Their stock has been performing surprisingly welltely, and with that historic property in their possession.." He trailed off, his fingers drumming against the armrest.

    "We could try to bring them in as a minor partner," he continued thoughtfully. "Neutralize them aspetition while still maintaining control of the project."

    He looked directly at me. "Jack, this would be your responsibility. You know Anna better than anyone.

    Approach her, see if Shaw Corp would be amenable to a partnership on favorable terms."

    I nodded mechanically, my mind already racing.

    "T¡¯ll handle it," I said, rising to my feet.

    "T¡¯ll go see her tonight."

    Lucy¡¯s hand caught my wrist.

    "Tonight? Jack, it¡¯s already gettingte."

    I pulled away without looking at her.

    "The sooner we address this, the better."

    Minutester, I was in my car, directing my driver toward Shaw Estate. The rational part of my brain knew this was a business errand, nothing more.

    My phone vibrated insistently. Lucy again. I silenced it without looking, unwilling to be distracted.

    The car pulled to a stop in the circr driveway. As I stepped out, I noticed only a few lights illuminating the ground floor. It waster than I¡¯d realized. Perhaps this wasn¡¯t the best time for a business discussion after all.

    But before I could reconsider, the front door opened, spilling warm light onto the steps. Anna stood in the doorway, her silhouette perfectly outlined against the glow from within.

    "Mr. Simpson," she greeted me, her voice cool and controlled. "What a surprise."

    I straightened my tie, "Anna. I apologize for thete visit. May Ie in? It¡¯s about a business matter."

    She hesitated, then stepped aside, allowing me to enter.

    "I¡¯m afraid my mother and grandmother have already retired for the evening," she said, leading me into the living room. "Would you like some tea? Or perhaps something stronger?"

    "No, thank you," I declined, taking a seat on the sofa. "This won¡¯t take long."

    She remained standing, arms crossed, regarding me with that guarded expression I¡¯d grown to recognize in thetter days of our marriage.

    The silence between us stretched ufortably. I cleared my throat.

    "I understand you¡¯ve expressed interest in the Skke District development project."

    "News travels fast," she remarked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

    "My mother and Lucy attended Harper¡¯s tea," I exined.

    "Ah, that exins it." Her lips curved in a smile that didn¡¯t reach her eyes.

    "Mr. Simpson, could I ask you a favor?"

    The unexpected question caught me off guard. "What is it?"

    "Could you please stop showing up at my home unannounced? People might get the wrong idea."

    Her words stung more than they should have. "What people? Your Uncle Marcus?"

    A sh of something-annoyance, perhaps-crossed her features before she regained herposure. She ignored my jab and took a seat across from me, smoothing her skirt with practiced grace.

    "I heard you¡¯re interested in Skke District," I said, bringing the conversation back to business.

    "Yes, I am," she replied simply. "Is that why you¡¯re here? To confirm rumors?"

    I leaned forward, struggling to maintain my professional demeanor.

    "Is it true that Shaw Corp ns to bid on the development project?"

    "And if it is?" Her eyebrow arched in challenge.

    The confirmation sent a jolt of both rm and inexplicable anger through me. "You¡¯re seriously going after Skke District? Anna, do you have any idea what you¡¯re getting yourself into?"

    She tilted her head, studying me with those perceptive eyes. "I believe I do.

    Why does that concern you?"

    "Because it¡¯s not a game," I snapped, my facade of calm business discussion crumbling rapidly. "You think you can just waltz into major property development with Shaw Corp¡¯s resources? You¡¯re out of your depth."

    "Do you have any idea how many powerful interests are eyeing Skke?"

    I continued, frustration rising in my chest. "Just because you happen to own one historic property there doesn¡¯t mean you can handle a project of this magnitude. You¡¯ll be eaten alive."

    Anna¡¯s eyes narrowed. "Are you finished? Because if you came here just to insult me, you can leave now."

    "I¡¯m not insulting you, damn it. I¡¯m trying to warn you!" The words burst from me with more emotion than I¡¯d intended. "Anna, you have no idea what you¡¯re walking into. The development sector isn¡¯t like manufacturing or research. It¡¯s cutthroat in ways you can¡¯t imagine."

    "Warn me?" Sheughed, a cold, sharp sound that made me wince. "That¡¯s rich. Since when do you care what happens to me or Shaw Corp?"

    "Anna," I tried again, moderating my tone. "I¡¯m here representing Simpson Group. My father believes it might be beneficial for both ourpanies to coborate on this project, rather thanpete."

    She rose to her feet in one fluid motion. "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, Mr. Simpson?"

    I stood as well, frustration building to a dangerous level. "You know what?

    You¡¯ve always been stubborn to the point of self-destruction. Just because you own that mansion now doesn¡¯t make you qualified to handle Skke District."

    "You¡¯re not here out of concern," she countered, her voice losing its polite veneer. "You¡¯re here because you¡¯re worried Simpson Group might face actualpetition."

    "Competition?" I scoffed, moving closer to her. "You think Shaw Corp ispetition for us? Don¡¯t be naive, Anna. You¡¯re not in our league."

    "Is that so?" Her eyes shed dangerously. "Then why are you here, practically begging for a partnership? "

    She held my gaze unflinchingly. "You never respected me, Jack. Not as your wife, and certainly not as a businesspetitor. That hasn¡¯t changed."

    "That¡¯s not true," I protested, though even to my own ears, it sounded weak.

    She insisted. "But it doesn¡¯t matter anymore. I¡¯m not going to sell my mother¡¯s childhood home to Simpson Group, and I¡¯m certainly not going to back down from Skke District."

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The evening sky had already darkened by the time my car pulled up to Shaw Estate.

    Yet as I pushed open the front door, I found my mother and grandmother both seated in the living room, their postures rigid with tension.

    Mother sat with her back perfectly straight, a tea cup bnced delicately in her hands, though judging by the full cup, she hadn¡¯t actually been drinking it. Beside her, Grandmother maintained her customary elegance, but the worried crease between her brows betrayed her concern. They both looked up as I entered, relief washing over their faces.

    "I¡¯m sorry. The meeting ran longer than expected." I leaned down to kiss her cheek, then did the same for Grandmother. "Have you both been sitting here waiting all this time?"

    Mother¡¯s hand caught mine, her grip surprisingly firm as she pulled me down to sit beside her.

    "Annie," she began, her voice soft but determined, "we¡¯ve been talking, your grandmother and I..."

    I braced myself. That particr tone never preceded anything good.

    "Maybe... maybe you should consider selling that mansion, Annie," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Buildings are just structures, but people-you¡ªare irreceable. I don¡¯t want to see you in danger because of a property. Your grandfather would never want us to cling to bricks and mortar at the expense of your safety. Your wellbeing is more important than anything else."

    I heard the slight tremor in her voice, saw the tears glistening in her eyes.

    For her to suggest selling her childhood home the ce filled with her happiest memories, the mansion she¡¯d spent hours describing to me in vivid detail throughout my childhood ¡ªshe must truly be terrified for my safety.

    "Your mother is right," Grandmother added, her aged voice firm despite its quaver. "If the city is nning to develop the Skke District, it will inevitably be a focal point forpeting interests. Annie, people are what matter most to our family. By owning that historical building, you now hold a key resource, which makes you a target."

    I drew a deep breath, my decision already crystallized in my mind. This mansion wasn¡¯t just our family¡¯s foundation; it was my opportunity to elevate Shaw Corp to new heights. I couldn¡¯t abandon it¡ªI wouldn¡¯t.

    "Mom, Grandmother, please don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll handle this properly." I squeezed Mother¡¯s hand reassuringly.

    "As for Marcus, there¡¯s no need for concern. All those rumors... perhaps you could pay attention to people¡¯s reactions at social events."

    I deliberately kept my tone light and confident, not wanting to add to their anxiety. But Mother¡¯s furrowed brow told me she remained unconvinced.

    "Harper Watson has organized an afternoon tea, "she said, reaching for an elegantly embossed invitation on the side table. "Perhaps you could apany me?"

    I nodded, both to cate her and to gather intelligence on the current situation. Social events were battlefields of a different sort-ones where information flowed as freely as champagne.

    "Of course. It would be my pleasure."

    The moment we entered Harper Watson¡¯s sunlit tea room, the subtle shift in atmosphere was unmistakable.

    Conversations paused briefly before resuming with renewed vigor¡ªa sure sign that I had be today¡¯s hot topic. I straightened my spine, linked my arm gracefully through Mother¡¯s, and acknowledged familiar faces with polite nods.

    Catherine practically barreled toward me, concern etched across her features.

    "Anna, what are you doing here?" she whispered urgently. "Don¡¯t you realize you¡¯re the talk of Skyview City right now? Coming here is just asking to be the subject of their gossip."

    Warmth spread through my chest at my friend¡¯s protective instinct. "What¡¯s so frightening about being gossiped about? I¡¯m curious to hear what they¡¯re saying."

    I kept my tone deliberately casual, though I¡¯d mentally prepared for battle the moment I¡¯d epted the invitation.

    "They won¡¯t gossip to your face," Catherine muttered, leaning closer.

    "Everyone knows your family now owns that mansion in Skke. If anyone wants development rights in the Skke District, they¡¯ll need to go through you first."

    There was a hint of satisfaction and schadenfreude in her voice as she continued: "Mary is absolutely furious with my uncle. Isn¡¯t it ironic? When Jack¡¯s family received inside

    information, they didn¡¯t share it with the Murphy family either. Serves them right for trying to monopolize the project."

    She patted my shoulder, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. "She used to look down on you. Now you need to stand tall and make her realize she can¡¯t reach your level."

    I couldn¡¯t help smiling at Catherine¡¯s characteristic bluntness and loyalty.

    Her straightforward nature always had a way of lifting my spirits.

    "Here shees, wearing that fake mask of hers," Catherine warned under her breath.

    Following her gaze, I spotted Lucy approaching, her lips curved in a practiced smile. I steeled myself internally.

    "Anna, you¡¯re here too?" Lucy¡¯s voice dripped with artificial sweetness, but the barb in her words was unmistakable. "You¡¯re so busy, I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d join us idledies for afternoon tea."

    I inwardly smirked. Since she was initiating the challenge, why should I hold back?

    "Ms. Taylor, do you understand the nature of high society gatherings?" I deliberately raised my voice to ensure the surrounding women could hear.

    "How could you refer to thesedies as ¡¯idle¡¯? Harper has always been a supportive partner to business elites and a role model for us all. I came specifically today to learn from her."

    I felt a flicker of satisfaction watching Lucy¡¯s smile freeze on her face. In these social skirmishes, I refused to yield an inch.

    "Our Anna always knows exactly what to say," Harper Watson interjected smoothly, sping my hand warmly. "I simply enjoy gathering with friends.

    It¡¯s my honor that everyone makes time to attend."

    Lucy stood awkwardly to the side, clearly defeated in this round.

    As the afternoon progressed, I navigated the gathering with practiced ease while keenly observing each person¡¯s true intentions and underlying interests. I noticed how every woman¡¯s gaze held a new assessment when they looked at me no longer Jack Simpson¡¯s ex-wife, but the holder of a valuable Skke District asset.

    "Anna," Harper eventually approached during a rtively private moment, revealing her true agenda, "I hear the city is nning to develop the Skke District. Does Shaw Corp have any ns? If you¡¯re making a move, perhaps the Watson family could have the privilege of participating?"

 Chapter 34: Power Isnâ€™t Given

    <h4>Chapter 34: Power Isn¡¯t Given</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The more he underestimated me, the more determined I became to pursue the Skke District project. His condescension had only crystallized what I already knew:we were never meant to walk the same path.

    Back at the office the next morning, I found my mother had forwarded me a flurry of emails and texts. Just as I¡¯d anticipated, invitations had been pouring in¡ªall of them conspicuously addressed only to her and me. Some requested our presence for afternoon tea, others for dinner gatherings. One socialite from the arts circle had even sent show tickets.

    "Annie," my mother¡¯s voice was tentative when she called mid-morning, "I¡¯ve never seen so many invitations. It¡¯s rather overwhelming."

    I smiled grimly. "The Shaw family suddenly has excellent social currency, it seems."

    "What should I do?" she asked.

    I replied. "I¡¯ll look through the listter and decide which ones are worth our time."

    After ending the call, I stared at the growing pile of invitations on my desk. The Skke District project had elevated our family¡¯s status overnight.

    People who had once whispered behind our backs were now eager to curry favor.

    An idea began forming in my mind, taking shape with surprising rity.

    Almost unconsciously, I found myself driving toward Rosa Vi that afternoon. It wasn¡¯t until I spotted Marcus sitting on the terrace that the realization hit me: why had I instinctivelye to him for counsel?

    Thinking about it logically, there really wasn¡¯t anyone else suitable. My grandmother and mother, while intelligent and resilient, were out of their depth in modern corporate warfare. William was too elderly to burden with such matters, and more importantly, he was Jack¡¯s grandfather -asking him to help mepete against his own grandson would be inappropriate. As for Marcus...

    I sighed inwardly, not denying there was an element of exploitation in my seeking his help. But as long as he didn¡¯t explicitly mention his feelings for me, I would be willing to do whatever he asked of me. *Within reason, of course.*

    I hesitated at the entrance, debating whether I should proceed, when Rachel¡¯s voice broke through my thoughts.

    "Ms. Shaw, Mr. Murphy has already seen you."

    Taking a deep breath, I decided that since I was already here, I might as well continue to leverage his assistance.

    I put on my most charming, most attractive smile.

    "Uncle Marcus, I brought you chicken soup."

    The soup had been specially prepared by my chef, filled with premium ingredients selected for their healing properties. After Rachel brought a bowl, I personallydled a portion for Marcus, feeling somewhat guilty but feigning concern.

    "Uncle Marcus, how¡¯s your injury? I¡¯ve been so busy I haven¡¯t had a chance to check on you."

    Marcus observed me quietly, seemingly waiting for the next act in my performance. I enthusiastically continued, "Please try the soup, Uncle Marcus. It contains herbs that help your body."

    He took a sip, responding simply,

    "That¡¯s thoughtful of you."

    "It¡¯s the least I could do." Seeing him drink the soup, I finally revealed my purpose. "Uncle Marcus, I¡¯d like your advice on something."

    He gave me a level look, as if he had already seen through my intentions.

    "Go ahead."

    I exined about the flood of family invitations we¡¯d received, then said earnestly, "You know Shaw Corp is nowhere near the scale of Simpson Group. If I want topete for Skke District, I¡¯ll need allies."

    Marcus cut straight to the point.

    "Murphy Global hasn¡¯t been involved in real estate development in recent years. I¡¯m afraid Skke District might not interest them."

    I¡¯d considered this possibility but wanted to try anyway. "But Skke has natural advantages. If developed properly, it would certainly be profitable. Might your brother reconsider?"

    He finished the soup in a few quick sips, then countered with a question of his own. "Have you considered that if Murphy Global agreed to work with you, would you still maintain control?"

    I froze. I had thought about this on my way here, but too simplistically. I¡¯d forgotten that Phillip Murphy was a highly sessful businessman-if Murphy Global truly became interested in Skke, why would they let someone else take the lion¡¯s share?

    They could easily monopolize the entire Skke District, just like Simpson Group had tried to do. Like with the Phoenix Project¡ªbecause Simpson Group was more powerful than Shaw Corp, Jack had brought Lucy in, and I couldn¡¯t refuse.

    Seeing my serious expression, Marcus continued, "You can forget about my brother, but as for me, you might want to consider my offer."

    I was stunned, hardly believing what I was hearing. "Uncle Marcus, what-what do you mean?"

    He poured himself a cup of tea, saying calmly, "William is getting old. I¡¯m nning to gradually shift my business operations back to America.

    Skke District could be my first investment here."

    I eximed, "You mean you want to invest in Skke District?"

    He looked directly at me. "So I¡¯m telling you-go for it. You¡¯ll seed.

    Your Uncle Marcus has plenty of money."

    I felt my adrenaline surge, my heart beating faster. This man really knew how to apply pressure, targeting my vulnerability with almost surgical precision. Indeed, what Shaw Corpcked was capital. But such an arrangement would entangle me more deeply with Marcus Murphy.

    I inwardlyughed coldly: *He likes to use William as a shield.* If he were truly that filial, all these years it wouldn¡¯t have always been William flying back and forth to see his son.

    No wonder he had been so supportive of me¡ªhe had probably anticipated I woulde seeking help today.

    Coming back to myself, I forced a casualugh. "Ha ha, Uncle Marcus, you must be joking. Your business empire is entirely overseas¡ªa small project like Skke District hardly seems worth your attention."

    I thought to myself: *Do I really have enough allure to make Marcus Murphy abandon his international business and return to America? That¡¯s absurd.* While I had confidence in my attractiveness, I wasn¡¯t blindly self-assured. Besides, sacrificing myself for the Skke project? I wasn¡¯t that foolish.

    Marcus seemed to see through my thoughts, saying unhurriedly, "I¡¯m just giving you something to think about.

    You can go back and consider it carefully."

    Remembering something, he emphasized, "Rest assured, regarding Skke District, we¡¯re only discussing business cooperation."

    Marcus¡¯s POV

    I watched Anna¡¯s retreating figure as she practically fled Rosa Vi, herposed exterior betrayed by the hastiness of her departure.

    Once her car disappeared down the driveway, I turned to Peter who stood silently nearby, awaiting instructions.

    "You think she¡¯ll be back tomorrow?" asked casually, though I already knew the answer.

    Peter considered the question carefully.

    "I doubt it, sir. You made your position quite clear, and Ms. Shaw seemed... unsettled by the conversation."

    A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "Actually, I¡¯m betting Anna goes straight to Murphy Estate from here."

    Peter¡¯s eyebrows rose slightly-the closest he ever came to expressing surprise. "After what you just told her?

    She seemed eager to leave, sir."

    "That¡¯s exactly why," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Anna Shaw doesn¡¯t retreat; she regroups and counterattacks. It¡¯s in her nature."

    I sipped my tea, contemting theplex woman who had upied my thoughts for so long.

    "She won¡¯t believe what I¡¯ve told her without testing it herself," I continued.

    "She needs to see the rejection with her own eyes before she¡¯ll truly ept it."

    Peter nodded, his expression carefully neutral.

    Half an hourter, Peter¡¯s phone rang.

    I watched as he answered it, listened intently, then nced at me with a look of barely concealed surprise.

    "Thank you for the information," he said before ending the call and turning to me. "Mr. Murphy, you were right.

    Ms. Shaw just arrived at Murphy Estate. She went there directly after leaving here."

    I continued typing an email, my fingers never pausing on the keyboard.

    "She¡¯s predictable in her unpredictability," I replied, allowing myself a small smile of satisfaction.

    "That¡¯s her nature-she needs to verify everything personally, especially information that contradicts what she wants to believe."

    "What¡¯s the status of our investigation?" I asked, deliberately changing the subject.

    Peter¡¯s tone immediately shifted, professionalism masking his earlier surprise. "I apologize, Mr.Murphy, but we¡¯re facing significant constraints in Sky-view City. Our team can¡¯t operate with the same freedom we have in Europe. We¡¯ve confirmed Mr. Simpson returned to Moonlight Cove after the incident, but we couldn¡¯t track his movements or contacts once he entered themunity. The security there is... substantial."

    I processed this information silently.

    The pieces were aligning exactly as I¡¯d suspected.

    "If my assessment is correct, we¡¯ll see new developments soon," I said finally, my voice calm despite the gravity of the situation. "They¡¯ve made their first move. They¡¯ll be watching for our reaction before determining their next step."

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The drive to Murphy Estate had been impulsive. Marcus¡¯s offer to invest in Skke District seemed too convenient, too perfectly timed. I needed to verify his ims about Murphy Global¡¯sck of interest myself, directly from his brother. If Phillip Murphy confirmed what Marcus had said, I¡¯d be forced to reconsider my options.

    Now, sitting across from Phillip in his meticulously organized study.

    "If Murphy Global were to enter Skke District," Phillip said, leaning forward in his leather chair, "our share would have to be at least eighty percent." His tone was friendly, but his words cut through my hopes like a de. "Anna, you¡¯re a young person I greatly admire, so let¡¯s set everything else aside¡ªyou should understand this isn¡¯t me taking advantage of you. And if I partner with you, I¡¯d inevitably offend the Simpson family, which is something I must consider. Purely from a business perspective, I hope you won¡¯t take it personally."

    My chest tightened, but I maintained myposure. "I won¡¯t take it personally," I replied quickly, "thank you for being so candid with me. I understand." The words felt hollow in my mouth, a thin veneer over the bitter disappointment settling in my stomach.

    Phillip nodded, seemingly satisfied with my response. Then those weathered eyes-eyes that had witnessed decades of business triumphs and failures-fixed on me with unmistakable meaning. "You¡¯re a smart young woman. Let me be clear:

    Murphy Global has no interest in Skke District. Whoever you partner with, we have no objections."

    My heart skipped a beat, my expression sharpening involuntarily.

    This business veteran¡¯s perceptiveness was remarkable-had he already deduced I¡¯d juste from Marcus?

    More than that, his words carried implications beyond Marcus, possibly extending to the Simpson family. Was he subtly suggesting that regardless of whether I chose to work with Marcus or Jack Simpson, he wouldn¡¯t oppose it?

    Feeling heat rise to my cheeks, I struggled to maintain my poise.

    "Thank you for your advice. I won¡¯t take up any more of your time. I¡¯ll go find Catherine for a chat."

    I found Catherine in the garden pavilion, sprawledfortably across a chaise longue, scrolling through her phone with practiced disinterest. When she spotted me, her face lit up with genuine warmth.

    "The business talk is over already?

    That was quick," she remarked, patting the space beside her.

    "Your father made his position quite clear," I admitted, unable to keep the disappointment from my voice.

    Catherine sat up straighter, her eyes sparkling with sudden enthusiasm.

    "Girl, you go for it! I¡¯m totally supporting you. My aunt Mary has been looking down on you all this time, right? You need to show her what you¡¯re made of."

    The mention of Mary Simpson brought an unexpected smile to my face.

    Catherine and Mary¡¯s strained rtionship was well-known among those close to the family. Years ago, during Catherine¡¯s college days, she¡¯d secretly dated a young man¡ªa rtionship unknown to the Murphy family until Mary identally discovered it.

    Mary, who had been trying to match Catherine with a Simpson family nephew, was furious-more so than Catherine¡¯s own mother. After investigating and finding the boy¡¯s family was of modest means, Mary had gone to his parents¡¯ home and humiliated them. I never learned the full details, only that Catherine eventually broke up with the boy.

    Since then, she¡¯d lived freely and uninhibitedly, harboring not a shred of affection for her aunt Mary.

    "My father won¡¯t invest, but I will," Catherine dered, mentally calcting her resources. "I can put up two or three hundred million.

    Would that be enough?"

    Hearing that figure, a wave of bitterness washed over me. This heiress had hundreds of millions in idle funds while doing nothing, and here I was, having worked tirelessly for years with a worth nowhere near hers.

    "Don¡¯t be so quick to jump in," I said, forcing a casual tone. "Wait until I crack this Skke District tough nut, then I¡¯ll bring you aboard."

    Catherine grinned happily. "Then I¡¯ll just wait to ride your coattails!"

 Chapter 35: An Invitation Laced with Motives

    <h4>Chapter 35: An Invitation Laced with Motives</h4>

    Jack¡¯s POV

    The news that Anna Shaw had spent several hours at Murphy Estate spread through Skyview City¡¯s business circles with astonishing speed. umors in this city grew wings, particrly when they involved the Shaws and the Murphys.

    I sat in the grand living room of the Simpson mansion, watching my mother¡¯s face settle into that familiar expression of contempt that seemed permanently etched there whenever Anna¡¯s name was mentioned.

    "Phillip told me himself he has no interest in Skke District," my mother dered, her voice dripping with schadenfreude as she delicately stirred her tea. "Can you believe the audacity of that woman? Going to the Murphy family for help? Who does she think she is?"

    Herugh was brittle,cking any genuine humor. I remained silent, watching the steam rise from my untouched coffee on the table between us.

    "Jack." My father¡¯s authoritative voice yanked me back to reality. "Your uncle Phillip might not care about Skke, but don¡¯t forget, there¡¯s still your younger uncle Marcus."

    He leaned forward, "As for Anna, you need to figure something out. That historic mansion is in her hands now.

    Even if we secure the Skke project, it¡¯ll be nothing but trouble without her cooperation."

    I kept my silence, *Fix things with Anna?* We were practically strangers now, the bitter remnants of our marriage like a wall between us that grew taller with each passing day.

    "Perhaps I should have a talk with Elizabeth," my mother suggested suddenly, her thin lips curving into a smile that made my stomach tighten.

    "That woman has always been spineless. Easy to persuade."

    I was about to object when my father¡¯s expression turned cial as he regarded my mother. "Keep your meddling to yourself," he snapped. "If it weren¡¯t for your constant criticism of Anna, driving them to divorce..." He paused, gathering himself. "We wouldn¡¯t be in this position with Phoenix Project or Skke District if you hadn¡¯t pushed the Simpson family into this corner."

    The color drained from my mother¡¯s face, her shock at being openly rebuked in front of me evident in her widened eyes and parted lips. Clearly, she hadn¡¯t expected my father to cast me so directly.

    "George, how *dare* you me me?" she hissed, her voice trembling with indignation. "When have you ever involved yourself in family matters?

    When have you *ever* taken responsibility for anything beyond those spreadsheets and contracts of yours?"

    "Then focus on family matters and leavepany business alone," my father countered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

    I watched as understanding dawned across my mother¡¯s rigid features. Her eyes darted between us, suddenlyprehending that my father¡¯s anger stemmed from something deeper than just the Skkeplications. This was about the Murphy family-about Marcus specifically and the growing threat he represented to our business interests.

    "Jack," my father said abruptly, rising to his feet. "Come to my study. We need to talk."

    I silently stood and followed him.

    "Shaw Corp has no chance of securing Skke District on their own," my father began without preamble, settling into his chair. "Now that Phillip has rejected her, Anna will be looking for other allies."

    He pulled out a cigar but didn¡¯t light it, rolling it between his fingers thoughtfully. "Arrange a business dinner. There are certain people who need to be reminded where their loyalties should lie."

    I nodded slightly, my voice deliberately neutral. "Of course. I¡¯ll set it up immediately."

    My father fell silent for a moment, studying me with the same prating gaze he used to evaluate potential acquisitions. "Without allies, Anna has only one viable option for Skke partnership with Simpson Group."

    The implication hung heavy in the air as he gave me a meaningful look.

    "Don¡¯t worry," he continued, apparently reading my difort.

    "She won¡¯t partner with Marcus."

    He leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking more like the shrewd businessman who had expanded Simpson Group into what it was today.

    "She understands what cooperation with Marcus would mean. Anna¡¯s greatest vulnerabilities are Elizabeth, Margaret, and Shaw Corp. She won¡¯t abandon her family to follow Marcus to Europe."

    My father¡¯s assessment was coldly urate. Anna would never leave her grandmother and mother behind, nor would she relinquish control of thepany her father had entrusted to her.

    "Women," my father concluded with a dismissive wave, "can be easily persuaded with the right approach.

    Surely you haven¡¯t forgotten how to charm her?"

    I felt my brow furrow deeply, aplex mixture of emotions churning inside me.

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I first noticed it three days after my visit to the Murphy Estate. The usual flood of invitations had slowed to a trickle. My phone, which typically buzzed with social requests, remained suspiciously silent.

    Something was off.

    "Rachel," I called, setting down my cup. "Has there been a decrease in our social invitations this week?"

    Rachel looked up from her tablet, her expression carefully neutral. "I was wondering when you¡¯d notice. Yes, there¡¯s been a significant drop since Tuesday."

    "The day after we visited William." I frowned, connecting the dots. "That¡¯s not a coincidence."

    "Probably not," Rachel agreed. "And there¡¯s something else. Simpson Group is hosting a g next weekend.

    They ve invited practically everyone who matters in Skyview City."

    *My mother¡¯s neighborhood.* The realization hit like ice water. Jack knew exactly how much that property meant to my family. This wasn¡¯t just social maneuvering it was a direct attack.

    That evening, I¡¯d arranged to meet Oscar Porter at signature restaurant. I was looking forward to catching up with my old friend. What I hadn¡¯t expected was the tall figure standing beside him in the private dining room.

    Logan Porter.

    Oscar¡¯s older brother looked annoyingly impable in a tailored suit that highlighted his broad shoulders. I felt a flutter of that old nervousness seeing him again-the same feeling I¡¯d had years ago when he¡¯d tutored me in calculus with that stern, unforgiving demeanor.

    "Porter sir." I shot Oscar a death re, silently cursing him out. He could have at least warned me Logan would be here.

    "It¡¯s been a while," Logan said, his gaze lingering on me with an expression I couldn¡¯t quite decipher.

    "I¡¯m ¡¯Porter sir¡¯ now?"

    There was a hint of disapproval in his tone that made me even more ufortable. Thankfully, Oscar jumped in to diffuse the tension.

    "You¡¯re dressed like you¡¯re going to a wedding, of course she¡¯s going to be formal. You really needed to dress like this just to see Annie? Who are you trying to intimidate?" Oscar¡¯s teasing helped ease the tension.

    Logan shot Oscar a cold look before turning back to me. "Are you going to sit down? Or just stand there?"

    "Oh, right, Logan." I responded quickly, nervously choosing the seat next to Oscar, as if seeking some sort of protection.

    As the waiter presented the dishes we¡¯d pre-ordered, I realized we needed to add something for Logan¡¯s unexpected appearance. "Could we add a mushroom soup and the baked cod, please? Thank you," I told the server, remembering years of family dinners together. I knew the brothers¡¯ tastes too well.

    When Rachel came by to pour our tea, Oscar and I were already deep in animated conversation. He always had endless stories, sparing no one from his bitingmentary-from the head of the medical department to his assistants. I nodded along, trying to ignore Logan¡¯s scrutinizing gaze.

    "Ahem." Logan¡¯s sudden cough interrupted our conversation, his expression unusually serious. "Anna, did you receive an invitation from the Simpson family?"

    Anna¡¯s POV

    "No, I haven¡¯t," I shook my head in response to Logan¡¯s question about the Simpson invitation, then thought for a moment before asking, "Have you received one, Logan?"

    Logan nodded, his expression as measured as ever. "Yes, just today.

    From what I understand, not only have families close to the Simpsons like the Turners and Hills received invitations, but also the Watsons, Harrisons, and even the Fosters." His gaze settled on my face, studying my reaction. "What do you think, will Jack send you an invitation?"

    Aplex mix of emotions churned inside me. Jack and I had just argued over Skke District, so logically he shouldn¡¯t invite me. But with the historic building now in my possession, Simpson Group would need to go through me if they wanted to develop Skke. Whether through acquisition or force, Jack would inevitably approach me again. Before I could sort through my thoughts, Logan had already drawn his conclusion.

    "I suspect you¡¯ll receive an invitation very soon," he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

    Oscar pped the table, his voice filled with undisguised contempt for Jack.

    "He has the nerve to invite Anna?

    Don¡¯t go. I won¡¯t be going either."

    Logan gave Oscar a dismissive nce before turning back to me. "Right, I won¡¯t attend either. I have little interest in Skke."

    I looked at him with confusion.

    "Doesn¡¯t the Porter family have real estate operations?"

    "Notrge enough, and frankly, I don¡¯t care topete with them," Logan replied with a self-deprecating smile.

    "Besides, Simpson Group clearly views Skke as already theirs. Anyone else who wants a piece will have to partner with them..."

    "Don¡¯t worry, Anna. We Porters would never work with that bastard Jack," Oscar jumped in, finishing his brother¡¯s thought.

    I looked at Logan, feeling a wave of warmth as he continued: "However, if you¡¯re interested in Skke, I might consider helping you raise some capital."

    Faced with the Porters¡¯ sincerity, I decided to be honest in return. "I do have some ideas for Skke, but if even the Porter family can¡¯t handle this project alone, Shaw Corp certainly can¡¯t manage it independently. But if I want to protect my mother¡¯s ancestral home, I have no choice but to get involved in the Skke project."

    As we approached Goldenleaf Manor after dinner, I spotted Jack leaning against his sedan, smoking. Irritation immediately rose within me.

    "Don¡¯t stop. Drive straight in," I instructed Rachel.

    "Ms. Shaw, Mr. Simpson is probably here to invite you to the g," Rachel reminded me.

    Only then did I remember the invitation matter and hesitated. "Fine, stop outside." I certainly didn¡¯t want to invite Jack inside.

    As I stepped out of the car, Logan happened to call. The conversation was brief but warm. When I hung up, I turned to find Jack staring at me, his brows furrowed.

    "Were you just with Logan Porter?" he asked, his tone rigid.

    "Is there something you need?" I didn¡¯t bother answering his question.

    Seeing my impatience, his irritation visibly red. "I¡¯m asking if you were just with Logan Porter?"

    "What if I was? How is that any of your business?" I felt talking to him was aplete waste of time. "If there¡¯s nothing else, you should go." I turned to walk toward the gate.

    "I¡¯m hosting a dinner tomorrow evening, and I hope you¡¯ll attend," Jack said, restraining his temper, his voice deep.

    Surprised that he was indeed here to invite me, I quickly considered my options and decided to investigate further. "Fine, I¡¯ll be there."

    "Could you open the gate? I¡¯d like to talk inside," he said, clearly agitated.

    I looked at him, puzzled. "Wasn¡¯t that all you needed to say? It¡¯s gettingte, and I won¡¯t be inviting you in. It wouldn¡¯t be appropriate for us to be alone together."

    Jack stared at me in disbelief, evidently unable to process my current attitude.

    "Anna, my thoughts have been... confusedtely. I think we need to talk properly," his tone carried aplexity I couldn¡¯t immediately decipher.

    "What could we possibly have to discuss?" I asked, genuinely perplexed.

    "I¡¯ve realized my feelings for you have changed," he said, his expression conflicted. "Could we sit down and talk calmly? I admit I wasn¡¯t good to you before, that I hurt you, but I was suffering too. You need to give me time to sort through my feelings. You can¡¯t just turn my life upside down and then walk away."

    I couldn¡¯t make sense of what he was saying. "What are you implying? That everything is somehow my fault?

    Falling in love with you was my fault, marrying you was my fault, and now the divorce is my fault too? Jack Simpson, you can¡¯t just be unreasonable because your family has money."

    "I¡¯m not saying you¡¯re at fault. I¡¯m asking for another chance," he exined urgently. "Anna, I¡¯ve been thinking a lottely, struggling with this for a while, and I¡¯ve realized... I think I might be falling for you."

    I stood there dumbfounded, hardly believing my ears.

    Though I¡¯d heard from Mary Simpson that Jack might have feelings for me, I never expected him to confess at a moment like this.

    "What?" Once I recovered, I couldn¡¯t help butugh bitterly. "Mr. Simpson, surely you understand how impure your motives seem right now?"

    "I know. Not just you, even my father would probably think I¡¯m trying to manipte you for that old mansion," Jack said, clearly frustrated. "But that¡¯s not the case. The mansion is one thing, my feelings for you arepletely separate."

    I nodded, my eyes filled with sarcasm.

    "Is that so? Then why don¡¯t you hand over the Skke District project to me?

    Can you do that?"

 Chapter 36: No Room for Love

    <h4>Chapter 36: No Room for Love</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    "Not possible. Skke District project belongs to the Simpson family. You¡¯ll see tomorrow. Going against the Simpson family? You have absolutely no chance of winning." Jack¡¯s cold snort apanied his words, his eyes filled with unwavering certainty.

    My heart sank. This wasn¡¯t the answer I wanted to hear, but it precisely confirmed his serious attitude. I had intended to test him¡ªif he had easily agreed, he would have just been cating me. But his refusal actually convinced me that he was serious about both Skke District and me.

    This sincerity irritated me to no end.

    I stepped away from him, the cool night air a wee relief against my heated skin. "Good night, Mr. Simpson. I¡¯ll see you at dinner tomorrow."

    Inside, I leaned against the door, exhaling slowly. Jack Simpson was thestplication I needed right now.

    His sudden change of heart was as unwee as it was suspicious. After everything we¡¯d been through, did he honestly think he could waltz back into my life with a few earnest words?

    And conveniently just as I gained possession of a property crucial to his family¡¯s business interests?

    *What does he take me for? A fool?*

    The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains as I stood before my closet, contemting the evening ahead. This dinner wasn¡¯t just a social gathering¡ªit was a battlefield, and I needed the perfect armor.

    "When dining with a group of men," I exined to Rachel as she helped me select my outfit, "your clothes can¡¯t be too sexy, lest they feel self-important and think you¡¯re trying to seduce them.

    But they can¡¯t be too conservative either, or you¡¯ll be their true opponent, and they¡¯ll show no mercy when they strike. The bnce needs to be just right."

    I finally settled on a deep blue dress with a tasteful V-neck, paired with a dark green zer and white heels.

    Pearl ne and earrings would showcase my softer side, preventing me from appearing too sharp during potential disagreements.

    "Notify Sean that he¡¯ll be apanying me to dinner tomorrow night," I said casually to Rachel.

    Rachel¡¯s eyebrows shot up. "Ms. Shaw, won¡¯t Jack... explode when he sees Sean?"

    I couldn¡¯t suppress a lightugh.

    "Whether he explodes or not is his business. Who I bring is my freedom.

    Besides, there will be many more asions like this in the future. Sean needs to get familiar with them as well."

    The restaurant was predictably upscale ¡ªthe kind where the menus don¡¯t list prices and the waitstaff move like ghosts between tables. Sean and I arrived precisely on time, neither early enough to appear eager norte enough to seem disrespectful.

    The moment we walked in, I felt the shift in atmosphere. Every head turned, conversations momentarily paused, and eyes widened at the sight of Sean by my side.

    Jack¡¯s face when he spotted Sean was worth every ounce of potential fallout.

    His expression transformed from anticipation to shock, then settled into barely contained fury. The muscle in his jaw twitched violently as he clenched his teeth.

    "Anna, wee!" George Simpson smiled with unprecedented warmth¡ªan expression I¡¯d never witnessed during my entire marriage to his son.

    "Today is just a casual dinner gathering. Everyone here is a family friend. Don¡¯t be nervous. Take this opportunity to learn from these sessful individuals."

    "Yes, Mr. Simpson," I responded respectfully, while inwardly mocking an expression I¡¯d never witnessed during my entire marriage to his son.

    "Today is just a casual dinner gathering. Everyone here is a family friend. Don¡¯t be nervous. Take this opportunity to learn from these sessful individuals."

    "Yes, Mr. Simpson," I responded respectfully, while inwardly mocking his transparent facade.

    I was seated next to Jack, a cement I epted with apparent indifference.

    Sean came to pick up my coat, bag and other things, he was my assistant, assistant driver and other people eat outside.

    Jack leaned toward me, his voice a forced whisper. "Would you like something to drink?"

    I turned to him, my expression deliberately innocent. "Do you know what I like to drink?"

    His confidence faltered, uncertainty flickering across his features. He nced at the menu, then at me, clearly at a loss.

    "T¡¯ll just have water for now," I said, savoring his difort.

    Momentster, Sean caught a waiter¡¯s attention. "Could we get a specially brewed lemon green tea for Ms. Shaw, please? Steeped for exactly four minutes, with the leaves removed before serving."

    The waiter nodded, and Jack¡¯s expression darkened further.

    "You¡¯re doing this on purpose, aren¡¯t you?" Jack hissed under his breath.

    My lips curved into a slight smile. "I don¡¯t understand what Mr. Simpson is suggesting. But I do understand your father¡¯s intentions. I just want to know, if I don¡¯t listen to the Simpson family, if I don¡¯t cooperate with the Simpson family, will Shaw Corp go bankrupt?" My voice wasn¡¯t loud, but each word dripped with sarcasm.

    "Who else would you partner with if not me?" Jack stared at me, his gaze burning. "My uncle? Don¡¯t forget, in America, he¡¯s nothing but money.

    Anna, you¡¯ve been in the business world for several years now. You can¡¯t be naive enough to think that money alone can secure Skke District?

    Remember, Skke District is *Skyview City¡¯s* Skke District."

    My heart sank, but I maintained my smile. "From your expression, I thought you were going to say Skke District is the Simpson family¡¯s Skke District." I was deliberately provoking him.

    The conversation around the table flowed with practiced ease, but I could sense the underlying currents. Every seemingly casualment carried weight, every anecdote served a purpose. Calvin Turner and Luke Hill both made pointed remarks about the benefits of partnering with Simpson Group, their loyalty to Jack¡¯s family painfully obvious.

    "The market has been particrly challengingtely," Calvin remarked, swirling his wine. "Those without strong backing might find themselves in precarious positions."

    Luke nodded, his gaze sliding meaningfully toward me. "Absolutely.

    That¡¯s why strategic alliances are more crucial than ever. The Simpson family has always known how to choose the right partners."

    Their coordinated performance was almost amusing. These men were being forced to side with the Simpson family as a way to pressure me into "being sensible." The message couldn¡¯t have been clearer if they¡¯d spelled it out.

    Finally, George Simpson turned to me with that same artificial smile. "Anna, let me ask you, what are Shaw Corp¡¯s ns? Are you interested in taking a stake in the Skke District project?

    We¡¯re not strangers, after all. We could reserve a substantial share for you.

    What do you think?"

    The table fell silent, all eyes trained on me.

    "A substantial share? You mean...rger than the Simpson family¡¯s share?" I asked innocently, my eyes wide with feigned naivety.

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The silence around the table was deafening. I could practically hear the gears turning in everyone¡¯s minds as they processed my audacious question.

    George Simpson¡¯s artificial smile froze on his face, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly.

    "Arger share than the Simpson family?" Calvin Turner broke the silence with a disbelievingugh.

    "Anna, you can¡¯t be serious."

    "Miss Shaw, you¡¯re quite young, but your appetite is remarkablyrge," Calvin continued, his voiceced with mockery.

    Iughed lightly, giving a casual shrug. "Just making conversation.

    Daydreaming doesn¡¯t cost anything, does it?"

    Turning back to George Simpson, I deliberately adopted a wide-eyed, harmless demeanor. "Mr.Simpson

    understands Shaw Corp well. We¡¯re just a smallpany. How could we possibly have designs on Skke District? I¡¯m really just here for the free food and drinks." I gestured around the table with exaggerated politeness. "Please, gentlemen, continue your discussion. Don¡¯t mind me."

    I watched as the warmth drained from his eyes, reced by something colder and more calcting. He¡¯d finally realized I wasn¡¯t going to y along with whatever game he¡¯d arranged this dinner for.

    "Anna," he said, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone that sent warning signals through my body, "you shoulde by the house sometime. Mary has been asking about you."

    *Mary Simpson asking about me?*

    Even he couldn¡¯t deliver that lie with conviction. The mere suggestion that the woman who had once called me a "loose woman" to my face was now inquiring after my wellbeing with anything resembling genuine concern wasughable.

    A wave of disgust rolled through me.

    I¡¯d yed nice long enough.

    "Mary¡¯s been asking about me?" I echoed, my voice honeyed but eyes sharp. "I suppose I shouldn¡¯t have argued with her so much in the past.

    After all, she is *family*

    The sarcasm in my voice was unmistakable. Everyone at the table stiffened, clearly catching my meaning.

    George Simpson¡¯s face turned an interesting shade of purple as he realized his attempt to manipte me had failed spectacrly.

    "Let¡¯s eat, let¡¯s eat," he finally said, raising his ss in a forced gesture of conviviality. "Everyone brought their drivers tonight. Let¡¯s have a toast."

    I set my napkin on the table and rose to my feet with deliberate grace. "Mr. Simpson, gentlemen, I won¡¯t continue to dampen the evening¡¯s atmosphere.

    Please, enjoy your dinner. Another time, I¡¯ll host and treat you all."

    Tack¡¯ POV

    I watched as Anna made her excuses and left the private dining room with that practiced smile she¡¯d perfected over the years-polite, distant, andpletely imprable. The moment she disappeared through the doorway, my father shot me a look of unmistakable disappointment. I ignored him, pushing back my chair and following her out.

    I strode forward, grabbing her wrist before she could reach the elevator. "I don¡¯t think you understood what I was saying yesterday," I said, my voiceing out harder than I¡¯d intended. I could feel her trying to pull away, but I held firm, desperate to make her listen.

    "I understood perfectly," she replied, her tone cial as she sessfully extracted her wrist from my grip.

    "Then why won¡¯t you cooperate with Simpson Group? It¡¯s the best option for everyone involved. Do you even realize what you¡¯re doing?" I couldn¡¯t keep the edge of pleading from my voice.

    I saw Sean and Rachel tensing, ready to step in, but Anna raised her hand slightly, stopping them with that quiet authority she carried so effortlessly now. When had she be so self- possessed?

    "Cooperate with your family?" She met my gaze directly, unflinching. "Let me ask you something. What exactly are Simpson Group¡¯s ns for my mother¡¯s historic mansion in Skke District?¡¯

    The question caught me off guard. I¡¯d been so focused on securing her cooperation that I hadn¡¯t anticipated she¡¯d already seen through to the heart of the issue.

    "If Skke District is being developed into real estate, that historic building sits right at the edge of the nned area. You can¡¯t have an ancient structure in the middle of a modern luxurymunity, can you? Are you nning to demolish it?"

    My silence must have confirmed her suspicions. The truth was, our development ns *did* call for that building¡¯s removal, but I hadn¡¯t wanted to confront that particr detail just yet.

    "We can discuss the building," I offered, trying to sound reasonable. "If you really want to preserve it-"

    "That building will absolutely not be demolished," she cut me off, her voice steel-edged with conviction.

    She held my gaze for a moment longer, then delivered the blow I¡¯d been dreading since I began to recognize my own feelings. "Jack Simpson, I don¡¯t care why you¡¯ve suddenly decided you have feelings for me again. It has nothing to do with me. As far as I¡¯m concerned, we¡¯re done. Whatever feelings I had for you werepletely dealt with when we divorced."

    "I¡¯ll never love you again."

    Each wordnded like a physical blow. The finality in her voice left no room for hope.

    "And I don¡¯t like your family either. I don¡¯t like your parents. My values arepletely at odds with your family¡¯s.

    So you¡¯d better stop wasting your time on me. I won¡¯t respond to any of it."

    I opened my mouth, though what I could possibly say in response, I had no idea. But she wasn¡¯t finished.

    "We won¡¯t be lovers, Jack. Onlypetitors."

    With that, she turned and walked away, Sean and Rachel falling into step beside her. I stood frozen, watching her retreat, feeling something vital and irreceable slipping through my fingers.

    "Another," I muttered, pushing my empty ss across the polished bar at Olympus Club.

    Calvin settled onto the stool beside me, sipping his own drink with infuriating moderation. "Want to talk about it?"

    I snorted, epting the fresh whiskey ced before me. "Not particrly."

    "Suit yourself," he shrugged, motioning for Luke to join us.

    Luke slid into the seat on my other side, eyeing me with curiosity. "Did I miss something?"

    "He had another run-in with Anna,"Calvin exined, his tone carefully neutral. "After she left the dinner."

    Luke winced sympathetically. "The dinner didn¡¯t go well, huh? I noticed she brought that Sean guy. That was... unexpected."

    "Judging by Jack¡¯s father¡¯s expression, it was more than unexpected," Calvin added. "It was a deration of war."

    I downed half my whiskey in one swallow, weing the burn. "I¡¯m..." I began, then faltered, struggling to articte the chaos of emotions coursing through me. "I¡¯m done."

    "What do you mean ¡¯done"?" Luke leaned closer, concern evident in his expression.

    I stared at the ceiling, feeling strangely hollow and overfull at the same time.

    "I¡¯ve fallen in love with Anna."

    Calvin choked on his drink, coughing violently while Luke¡¯s eyes widened toical proportions.

    "You¡¯re joking," Luke managed after a moment of stunned silence.

    "Jesus, Jack." Calvin wiped his mouth, still recovering from his coughing fit.

    "Your timing is impable. Did you tell her?"

    "Yep." I emptied my ss and signaled for another. "She shot me down. Thoroughly."

    "You can¡¯t me her," Luke pointed out. "After everything that happened between you two..."

    Calvin was less diplomatic. "What did you expect? You let her spend your wedding night alone. Just that alone what woman would forgive that?"

    I didn¡¯t bother defending myself.

    There was no defense.

    "Your timing couldn¡¯t be worse," Luke sighed. "She probably thinks you¡¯re only interested because of that mansion. The historic building in Skke."

    I shook my head slowly, feeling the room tilt slightly. "She knows better.

    She knows exactly how I feel." Iughed mirthlessly. "That¡¯s the worst part. She believes me. She just doesn¡¯t care."

    "She rejected me because she doesn¡¯t love me anymore," I continued, the truth of it settling like a stone in my stomach. "It¡¯s that simple."

 Chapter 37: The Price of Possession

    <h4>Chapter 37: The Price of Possession</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    "Are you alright, Ms. Shaw?" Rachel asked softly as we walked to the car, her concern evident in her voice.

    I nodded curtly, "I¡¯m fine."

    Sean had already left, taking a taxi home after the dinner.

    Rachel opened the car door for me as we reached the vehicle. "Where to, Ms. Shaw? Goldenleaf Manor?"

    "Sapphire Sky Hotel," I decided, settling into the backseat. "I need some time to think."

    The drive provided a wee reprieve, allowing me to gather my thoughts. I had known going up against Simpson Group would be challenging, but tonight had confirmed just how ruthless they were prepared to be. George Simpson had made it abundantly clear: either I cooperated with Simpson Group, or Shaw Corp would face the consequences. The implied threat wasn¡¯t subtle cross us, and we¡¯ll ensure no one in Skyview City does business with you again.

    I gazed out at the city lights, weighing my options. Shaw Corp wasn¡¯trge enough to develop Skke District alone that much was true. But surrendering to Simpson Group would mean watching my mother¡¯s childhood home get demolished, reced by whatever monstrosity they deemed fitting for their "luxurymunity."

    By the time we reached the hotel, I had made my decision. I would not back down. Whatever consequences came from defying the Simpsons, I would face them head-on.

    On the way to the hotel, I pulled out my phone and sent a quick message to the mysterious stranger.

    *Are you avable tonight?*

    The response came almost immediately: *Always for you.*

    I made my way to room 3303. I slid the keycard into the lock, and the moment I pushed the door open, strong arms wrapped around me from the darkness. He was already there, waiting for me in the pitch-ck room. His embrace was immediate and possessive, pulling me against his solid chest before I¡¯d even had a chance to step fully inside.

    I linked my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his. "I can keep my eyes closed," I whispered, standing on tiptoe to brush my lips against his. "I don¡¯t need to know who you are. I like what we have just as it is."

    I felt his body tense slightly, his breath catching. Encouraged, I continued kissing him softly, my voice dropping to a seductive murmur between kisses.

    "We should set some ground rules, though. Keep things clean, respect boundaries, either of us can stop this anytime. Would that work for you?"

    There was a moment of silence, his body rigid against mine. Then, a single word: "Yes."

    I ran my hands down his chest, suddenly aware that he was still fully dressed. My fingers found the buttons of his shirt, slowly unfastening them.

    "Why not take this off?" I asked, curious about his reluctance to undresspletely during our encounters.

    I had only managed to undo three buttons when his hands caught mine, stopping their progress. In one fluid motion, he pinned both my wrists above my head, pressing me back against the cool tile wall. His mouth found mine in a kiss that was more demanding, more possessive than any we¡¯d shared before.

    The intensity sent a shiver through me, my body responding instinctively to his dominance. This was exactly what I needed tonight-to surrender control, to lose myself in sensation, to forget about Simpson Group and Skke District and all theplications waiting for me in the morning.

    At noon the next day,I arrived at Rosa Vi, my mind still reying the disastrous dinner with the Simpsons from the night before. The moment I stepped through the door, the faint metallic scent of blood hit me, sending a jolt of concern through my chest.

    "Uncle Marcus, your wound still hasn¡¯t healed?" My brow furrowed as I found him in the guest room, just finishing changing his bandages. The white gauze was spotted with fresh crimson, making my stomach tighten. Thinking of Oscar¡¯s usual boasting about his medical expertise, I felt heat rising to my face. "Oscar talks big about his medical skills, but a simple wound has taken days to heal? What kind of doctor is he?"

    I pulled out my phone, ready to call Oscar and demand an exnation.

    Marcus gave me one of his characteristic cool stares, effectively stopping me in my tracks.

    "It has nothing to do with Dr. Porter," he stated calmly, his voice betraying nothing as he adjusted his position on the edge of the bed. "I identally reopened the wound myself."

    Hearing this, half my anger subsided, but my concern only intensified. I put my phone away and stepped closer, my voice softening despite myself.

    "Uncle Marcus, you need to be careful.

    Reopening the wound will just make it heal more slowly." Inwardly, I berated myself for noting to check on him earlier, too caught up in my own business battles.

    Marcus didn¡¯t borate, simply buttoning his shirt in silence before abruptly changing the subject: "How did the dinner with the Simpson family go?"

    This was precisely why I¡¯de today.

    I sighed, feeling a wave of defeat wash over me as I sank into the chair across from him. "T¡¯ve offended the Simpson family. By now, the news must be all over Skyview City."

    To my surprise, Marcus personally poured me a cup of tea, his movements gentle and attentive despite his injury. His voice carried a hint of amusement: "Weren¡¯t they already offended?"

    I paused, thenughed at myself, the sound unexpectedly genuine. He was right-from marriage until now, I hadn¡¯t done a single thing that pleased Jack Simpson. Looking back, our rtionship was truly a mismatch from the start, with neither of us finding peace in it.

    "But now, no one will dare partner with me," I sighed again, lifting the teacup to my lips. The tea was the perfect temperature, and I found myself taking several consecutive sips, emptying the cup before I realized it.

    Seeing this, Marcus refilled my cup, his eyes never leaving my face. His voice was deep and steady, somehow dispelling the anxiety in my heart:

    "There¡¯s no rush. The development permits haven¡¯t been issued yet. Even if development ising, it¡¯s still early."

    He looked at me, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly in a smile filled with deeper meaning: "Even if someone is in a hurry, it shouldn¡¯t be you."

    Marcus¡¯s POV

    Anna sat across from me, her slender fingers tapping restlessly against the armrest of her chair. Despite herposed exterior, I could sense her inner conflict.

    "Uncle Marcus, why don¡¯t you just sell me that historic building?" she finally said, breaking thefortable silence between us. "I feel ufortable asking you to transfer the property without paying for it. I just can¡¯t bring myself to ask you toplete the paperwork."

    I studied her carefully, admiring the proud tilt of her chin and the determined set of her shoulders. There was something captivating about her stubbornness, a quality that simultaneously amused and attracted me. Her independence had always been one of her most endearing traits ¡ªand one I knew I could use to my advantage.

    "Anna," I began, my voice deliberately measured, "I have a proposition for you."

    Her eyes met mine, curiosity flickering across her features. "I¡¯m listening."

    "How about this-you don¡¯t pay me directly. Consider the $200 million as my investment." I kept my voice deliberately casual, though the proposal was anything but. "In the Skke District project."

    Anna¡¯s eyes widened slightly as she processed my words. "You... want to invest in Skke?"

    "I told you I was nning to shift some operations back to America." I shrugged, as if we were discussing something as trivial as the weather.

    "This could be a suitable starting point."

    She fell silent, her mind clearly racing through implications and possibilities.

    "That would make us partners," she said finally, her tone carefully neutral.

    "In a manner of speaking, yes. I¡¯d have a stake in Skke¡¯s development, but Shaw Corp would maintain operational control." I paused, allowing her time to consider. "You get your family¡¯s mansion back, and 1 secure a promising investment. A practical solution for both parties."

    The tension in her shoulders eased slightly. "I need to think about it."

    "Of course." I nodded, already knowing what her answer would be.

    Anna Shaw was nothing if not practical, and this offer solved her immediate problem while keeping her pride intact. "Take all the time you need."

    By afternoon, Rachel arrived with the drafted agreement. Anna had moved quickly, as I knew she would. The contract was elegant in its simplicity¡ª a straightforward investment arrangement that outlined my financial stake while preserving Shaw Corp¡¯s decision-making authority.

    "Everything appears to be in order," I remarked, scanning the document.

    Anna sat beside me at the dining table, her pen poised. "You¡¯re sure about this? Two hundred million is a significant investment."

    "I¡¯m sure." I signed my name with deliberate strokes, then watched as she did the same.

    "Uncle Marcus, once you¡¯ve recovered from your injury, we should goplete the property transfer," she said, extending her hand across the table. "To a sessful partnership."

    As she reached toward me, the sleeve of her blouse slid back slightly, revealing her wrist. My attention caught on a faint circle of reddish marks around the delicate skin¡ª marks I recognized immediately. I had left those marks myself the previous night in room 3303 of the Sapphire Sky Hotel, when I¡¯d pinned her wrists above her head against the cool wall.

    Heat surged through me at the memory, though my expression remained impassive.

    "A sessful partnership," I echoed, my voice deeper than I¡¯d intended.

    "I insist we handle the transfer as soon as possible," I said, redirecting the conversation. "My injury is minor. We shouldplete the paperwork tomorrow to avoid anyplications."

    She nodded, relief evident in her posture. "If you¡¯re certain you¡¯re well enough."

    The following day, wepleted all legal formalities with efficient precision. As the final papers were processed, I watched Anna¡¯s face transform. The relief that washed over her was palpable this historic building, this piece of her mother¡¯s childhood, was finally back where it belonged.

    In that moment, I glimpsed something beneath her carefully maintained exterior¡ªa vulnerability she rarely allowed others to see. Her hand trembled slightly as she received the property deed, and I resisted the sudden, inexplicable urge to reach out and steady it with my own.

    "Thank you, Uncle Marcus," she said quietly, once we were alone. "This means more to my family than I can express."

    "Your mother will be pleased," I said quietly.

    She nodded, carefully cing the deed into her leather portfolio. "More than pleased. This means everything to her."

    As we walked down the grand marble steps of the Municipal Hall into the bright afternoon sunlight, Anna turned to me with unexpected warmth in her expression.

    "Uncle Marcus, let me take you to dinner," she offered. "My treat."

    I looked down at her, enjoying how even in her high heels, she barely reached my jawline. Something about this height difference brought me a strange satisfaction.

    "Another thank you?" I asked, my tone lightly teasing.

    "Yes," she admitted freely, her smile genuine and unguarded. "I¡¯m truly grateful. Without you, my mother and I would have had to watch my grandfather¡¯s historic building be demolished. You have no idea what this means to us."

    I studied her for a moment, finding myself drawn to the sincerity in her expression. "Dinner sounds perfect."

    Anna chose a discreet, upscale restaurant tucked away from the bustle of downtown. The moment we entered, I recognized it as the type of establishment that catered to an exclusive clientele who valued privacy as much as exceptional cuisine.

    "Ms. Shaw!" The owner, a striking woman in her forties, approached immediately with obvious familiarity.

    "Your usual table is ready." Her eyes darted to me with unconcealed interest.

    She led us to a secluded corner booth, then leaned closer to Anna, her voice dropping to what she clearly thought was a whisper. "He¡¯s quite something, isn¡¯t he? So much more sophisticated and substantial than your ex-husband."

    I pretended not to hear, studying the wine list with apparent concentration while hiding my amusement.

    The owner wasn¡¯t finished. She leaned even closer to Anna¡¯s ear, though not nearly quietly enough. "Trust my judgment-this man looks extremely *capable*. Have you tried him out yet?"

    Anna¡¯s face flushed an attractive shade of pink. "Reba!" she hissed, mortified.

    Rebaughed, patting Anna¡¯s shoulder before backing away. "¡¯ll send over our best bottle of Bordeaux. On the house."

    Once we were alone, Anna struggled to meet my eyes. "Uncle Marcus, the restaurant owner can be rather direct and casual. Please don¡¯t take offense."

    I held her gaze steadily, allowing a small smile to y at the corners of my mouth. "She¡¯s right, you know. You should try it."

    Anna froze, her expression one of absolute shock. "*What?*"

    "How will you know she¡¯s not right unless you try?" I continued, enjoying her flustered reaction far too much.

    My voice dropped lower, more intimate. "I¡¯ve wondered about it myself."

 Chapter 38: Sweeter Stakes

    <h4>Chapter 38: Sweeter Stakes</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I quickly poured myself a ss of water to calm my nerves, feeling my heart about to leap out of my chest. In my mind, Marcus Murphy had always embodied stability, reliability, and integrity¡ªan uncle I could trust without question. But now, his meaningden gaze and ambiguous words stirred unprecedented unease within me, a sense of disillusionment washing over me.

    "Uncle Marcus, what are you saying? I don¡¯t understand." I struggled to maintain myposure, forcing a smile while desperately changing the subject. "By the way, this restaurant¡¯s signature dish is really exceptional.

    You should definitely try more of it."

    Marcus simply smiled without responding, his gaze seeming to prate my facade. I couldn¡¯t bring myself to meet his eyes.

    "I¡¯ll be sure to savor it," he finally replied, his deep voice tinged with amusement.

    His stare made my entire body tingle ufortably, as if I stood exposed before him. I endured the difort, barely finishing my meal before hastily fabricating an excuse about urgent work and making my escape.

    Even after getting into my car, I could still feel the heat of his gaze-that direct, intense scrutiny that made me want nothing more than to flee.

    Rachel caught my eye in the rearview mirror, her face etched with concern.

    "Ms. Shaw, has something happened?"

    I closed my eyes, pretending to rest.

    "Nothing. I¡¯m just feeling a bit tired."

    The phone¡¯s ringtone interrupted my thoughts. It was Logan Porter inviting me to dinner, mentioning he wanted to introduce me to a friend. Seeing that it was still early, I decided against going to Shaw Corp and instead headed home to pick up my mother so we could visit the historic building in Skke District that we¡¯d just reimed.

    Outside the tall Victorian-style house, my mother took the keys from Rachel¡¯s hand and carefully unlocked the heavy oak door. In that moment, I could clearly see the emotions swirling in her eyes¡ªnostalgia, sadness, and joy all intertwined.

    "T¡¯ll find professionals to handle the restoration and preservation work," I said softly, stepping forward to embrace her, feeling her body tremble slightly against mine. "Mom, what are your thoughts? Would you like to restore itpletely to its original appearance? Once it¡¯s fixed up, we could stay here asionally."

    Tears glistened in my mother¡¯s eyes as she gently stroked the damaged banister. "Just maintaining its historic character would be fine. Such arge house would feel too empty with just the two of us living here."

    Despite her words, I could see how attached she was to this home filled with memories. After returning to Goldenleaf Manor, I called Rachel over.

    "I need you to contact the best architectural restoration experts, especially those specializing in Victorian-era buildings."

    "Ms. Shaw, are you nning to restore the historic building in Skke?" she asked.

    I nodded firmly. "Since we¡¯ve bought it back, we certainly can¡¯t let it continue to deteriorate. Find a professional historic building restoration team. I want to restore it to its original appearance as much as possible." I had already decided internally that regardless of the cost, I would ensure my mother could reim the home filled with her memories.

    At six o¡¯clock that evening, I arrived punctually at Sapphire Sky Hotel to meet Logan Porter. Just as I stepped out of my car, a flirtatious whistle sounded from behind me. I frowned slightly but ignored it, continuing toward the hotel entrance.

    "Excuse me, beautifuldy... Holy shit, it¡¯s you!"

    Turning around, I was surprised to see the same man Peter Reed had escorted out of the charity event earlier. His expression quickly shifted from flirtation to distaste, and I really couldn¡¯t be bothered to engage with such childish behavior.

    When I reached our reserved private room and saw that the person engaged in animated conversation with Logan was none other than the man from moments ago, I froze in my tracks.

    "Anna! Come in," Logan greeted me enthusiastically. "Samuel, this is Anna Shaw I¡¯ve been telling you about, the CEO of Shaw Corp, one of the youngest executives in Skyview City.

    Anna, this is Samuel Griffin, heir to Heritage Group."

    My eyes widened in shock. The heir to Heritage Group? This was amercial powerhouse from Sovereign City, and I had mistaken him for nothing more than a spoiled rich kid.

    I quickly extended my hand, struggling to maintain professionalism.

    "Mr. Griffin, pleased to meet you. I¡¯m Anna Shaw."

    Samuel nced at my hand, his lips curling into a smirk. "I wouldn¡¯t dare shake that hand. What if your boyfriend has me thrown out again? I do have some dignity to maintain."

    Logan looked between us, confusion evident on his face. "You two... know each other?"

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I stood there awkwardly, realizing this dinner might be far moreplicated than I had anticipated. Logan stood between us, clearly baffled by the unexpected situation.

    "We¡¯ve... crossed paths before," I offered diplomatically, lowering my hand. "There seems to have been a misunderstanding."

    Samuel scoffed, settling back in his chair with an exaggerated casualness.

    "Misunderstanding? That¡¯s what you¡¯re calling it? You drenched me in champagne, and then your boyfriend had me thrown out of the charity g like somemon gatecrasher."

    My stomach tightened as I watched Logan¡¯s eyes widen in shock. *Great.

    Just great.* Of all the business magnates in the world, Logan had to introduce me to the very man I¡¯d publicly humiliated. The heir to Heritage Group¡ªamercial powerhouse that could either be a powerful ally or a devastating enemy.

    "He¡¯s not my boyfriend," I corrected automatically, then immediately regretted giving Samuel the satisfaction of a response.

    "Whoever he is," Samuel continued, his voice dripping with contempt, "I don¡¯t forget insults easily, Ms. Shaw."

    I forced myself to take a deep breath.

    For Shaw Corp, for the Skke District project, for my mother¡¯s ancestral home¡ªI needed to swallow my pride.

    The painful reality of business was crystallizing before me: sometimes you had to smile at the people you¡¯d rather p.

    "It truly was a misunderstanding, Mr. Griffin," I said, making my voice as conciliatory as possible. "And I apologize for how things unfolded that evening." The words felt like ss in my throat.

    "This is unexpected," Logan interjected, clearly trying to salvage the situation. "But surely we can move past it? We¡¯re all professionals here."

    Samuel¡¯s eyes never left my face. "T¡¯ll tell you what¡ªl¡¯m feeling generous tonight. Let¡¯s make this simple. I¡¯ll ept your apology... after you¡¯ve properly atoned." His smile was all teeth and no warmth.

    "I¡¯m willing to make amends," I said carefully. "What did you have in mind?"

    "Let¡¯s see..." He reached for a bottle of Scotch whisky that had been ced on the table and set it directly in front of me. "Finish this, and we¡¯ll call it even."

    My heart sank as I stared at the amber liquid. The bottle was nearly full-at least 700ml of high-proof alcohol.

    "Samuel, that¡¯s excessive," Logan protested, finally finding his voice.

    "Anna¡¯s here for a business discussion, not to_"

    Before he could finish, I reached for the bottle. *For Skke. For Shaw Corp. For everything my father built.* I unscrewed the cap in one decisive motion and brought the bottle to my lips.

    The first swallow burned like fire down my throat, bringing involuntary tears to my eyes. I¡¯d never been much of a drinker-two sses of wine was typically my limit. But I forced myself to take another gulp, and another.

    "Jesus, Anna! Stop!" Logan tried to take the bottle from me, but I jerked it away.

    My throat was on fire, my eyes watering so badly I could barely see Samuel¡¯s smug expression. After a few more desperate swallows, I finally choked, setting the bottle down hard on the table as I dissolved into a coughing fit.

    "You actually tried to drink it," Samuel remarked, sounding genuinely surprised. "I¡¯m impressed by your dedication, if nothing else."

    "Enough, Samuel," Logan said firmly, sliding the bottle away from me. "This isn¡¯t what I brought you two together for. Can we please behave like adults?"

    Samuel eyed me with what might have been grudging respect. "Fine. Consider us even, Ms. Shaw. For now."

    I nodded, still unable to speak through my burning throat. A waiter appeared with water, which I gratefully gulped down, feeling the alcohol already beginning to affect my system.

    "Well, I¡¯ve already ordered some appetizers," Logan said, clearly trying to steer us back to normalcy. "Why don¡¯t we start there and see where the evening takes us?"

    Twenty minutester, I managed to pull Logan aside while Samuel was distracted by a phone call.

    "What the hell, Logan?" I whispered harshly once we were in the hallway outside. "You could have warned me you were introducing me to *him*!"

    "I had no idea you two had... history,"

    Logan defended himself, looking genuinely apologetic. "Sam just mentioned he was interested in new projects in Skyview City, and I thought connecting you two might be mutually beneficial."

    A suspicion sparked in my mind.

    "Why is Samuel Griffin suddenly interested in Skyview City? Heritage Group is based in Sovereign City, right?

    They¡¯ve never shown interest in our market before."

    Logan¡¯s expression confirmed my suspicion before he even spoke. "I¡¯m sure you ve already guessed. He¡¯s here for Skke District."

    My pulse quickened. "So that¡¯s it. He¡¯s here to discuss potential partnership with Simpson Group, isn¡¯t he?"

    "Anna," Logan continued, his voice dropping lower, "if you¡¯re serious about Skke, this could be your opportunity. Heritage Group has the capital and resources you need. They could be the perfect counterweight to Simpson Group."

    I nodded slowly, my mind already racing ahead to map out possibilities.

    "I need to get back in there before he finishes his call."

    When we returned to the private room, I approached Samuel with renewed purpose. The stakes had just risen dramatically¡ªif I could convince Heritage Group to back Shaw Corp instead of Simpson Group, the bnce of power would shiftpletely.

    "Mr. Griffin," I began, carefully pouring him another ss of wine, I forced a self-deprecatingugh. "Perhaps we could start fresh?"

    Samuel studied me with those calcting eyes. "You¡¯re suddenly very amodating, Ms. Shaw."

    "I respect what Heritage Group has aplished," I said, choosing my words carefully. "And I believe there could be valuable opportunities for coboration here in Skyview City."

    "Such as?" He leaned back, watching me with undisguised amusement.

    "Skke District, for one," I said directly, seeing no point in ying coy.

    "It¡¯s poised to be the most significant development project in the city¡¯s history."

    Samuel¡¯s eyebrows rose slightly-the first genuine reaction I¡¯d seen from him. "You¡¯re well-informed."

    "I try to be." I took a small sip of water, allowing my next words tond with appropriate weight. "Simpson Group seems confident they¡¯ve already secured it, but their position isn¡¯t as unassable as they believe."

 Chapter 39: Poise

    <h4>Chapter 39: Poise</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I watched Samuel¡¯s face carefully as I leaned slightly forward, my voice deliberately casual despite the weight of my words.

    "Simpson Group wants to secure Skke District, which isn¡¯t particrly difficult for them. But Mr.Griffin, what you may not know is that there¡¯s a historic building in Skke that belongs to a private owner. For Simpson Group to develop Skke, they must first resolve the issue of this building."

    I intentionally left my words hanging, noting with satisfaction how Samuel¡¯s eyes sparked with interest. He set down his ss slowly, studying me with newfound attention.

    "And this building is significant because...?" he prompted, his tone still dismissive but his bodynguage betraying his curiosity.

    "Whoever controls that historic property essentially controls the development rights to the most valuable section of Skke District," I exined, taking a small sip of water to ease my still-burning throat.

    Samuel nced at Logan, then back at me. "So what you¡¯re saying is¡ª whoever gets this building, gets Skke?"

    "More or less," I answered vaguely, calcting my next move carefully. I needed to hook him without appearing desperate.

    His eyes narrowed as he leaned back in his chair. "I see. And you two-" he gestured between Logan and me with his fork, "¡ªyou¡¯re both interested in this Skke project together?"

    "Mr. Griffin is quite perceptive," I conceded, deciding to drop all pretense. "Yes, I am the owner of that historic building. It¡¯s my mother¡¯s family ancestral home, already in my name. If you¡¯re interested, we could potentially coborate."

    Samuel¡¯s lips curled into something between a smile and a sneer.

    "Coborate? With you? What was your name again? Anna... something?

    I apologize, but I¡¯ve never heard of any prominent Shaw family in Skyview City."

    My throat tightened at the deliberate slight, but I maintained my smile. He knew I needed him more than he needed me, and he was making sure I felt it. But I¡¯d developed a thick skin over years in business, so I only smiled more brightly.

    "Shaw Corp certainly can¡¯tpare to Simpson Group," I admitted. The decision was immediate. "But the Simpson family will undoubtedly take the lion¡¯s share of any partnership.

    You surely didn¡¯te all the way from Sovereign City just to pick up scraps from someone else¡¯s table, did you?"

    Samuel¡¯s eyebrow arched slightly.

    "Why bring in a partner at all? Why not develop it myself?"

    "There¡¯s a saying-outsiders struggle to navigate local markets," I responded confidently, raising an eyebrow with a self-assured smile that I knew conveyed both confidence and challenge.

    Samuel studied me for a long moment before standing up. "Interesting proposition, Ms. Shaw. But if you want me on board, you¡¯ll need to prove your worth."

    With that, he nodded curtly at Logan.

    "Porter, good seeing you. I¡¯ll be in town for a few days. We¡¯ll talk again."

    As soon as the door closed behind him, my face copsed into exhaustion. I slumped back in my chair, directing a frustrated re at Logan.

    Logan pushed a ss of water toward me, concern evident in his expression.

    "If I¡¯d known about your previous... encounter, I never would have arranged this meeting."

    "Don¡¯t worry about me," I waved dismissively. "I have Rachel to handle things. Besides, if he¡¯s truly interested in Skke, he¡¯ll think carefully about what I said tonight. "

    "I¡¯ve already spent the entire evening pretending to be nice," I sighed, fatigue evident in my voice. "When you¡¯re the one asking for favors, you have to perform well enough to make others willing to invest."

    Logan nodded sympathetically. As the waiter cleared our barely-touched meals, I hesitated before asking the question that had been lingering in my mind.

    "By the way, Logan, are you truly not interested in Skke?"

    His eyes softened as he looked at me.

    "Didn¡¯t I already tell you? If you need additional capital, I¡¯ll help you raise it."

    A warmth spread through my chest at his words. In a business world where loyalty was as rare as genuine

    altruism, Logan¡¯s steadfast support was something I¡¯de to treasure.

    As we walked toward the exit, he lightly tapped my forehead with his knuckles a gesture so familiar it immediately transported me back to our childhood, when we were neighbors and he¡¯d do the same thing whenever I said something he found amusing or naive.

    I rubbed my forehead with exaggerated indignation. "Stop hitting me. We¡¯re not kids anymore."

    Hisugh echoed in the quiet hallway.

    "Some things never change, Annie."

    That night, I dreamed of my father.

    We were at a charity g, simr to the ones I now attended regrly, but everything felt slightly distorted. My father stood in a corner, dressed impably as always, but somehow smaller than I remembered him.

    My heart ached as I watched other business leaders barely acknowledge him, offering perfunctory nods before moving on to more "important" conversations. Though my father¡¯s smile never faltered, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the subtle strain around his eyes. The powerful executives circted through the room, gravitating toward the Simpson and Murphy patriarchs while treating my father as though he were invisible.

    I woke with a start, my heart pounding against my ribs, a cold sweat coating my skin. The darkness of my bedroom at Goldenleaf Manor pressed around me, but the feeling of determined anger lingered.

    Iy awake until dawn, my resolve hardening with each passing hour.

    Shaw Corp would not be erased. I would not allow it.

    "Find out Samuel Griffin¡¯s preferences," I instructed Rachel as we drove toward Shaw Tower the next morning. "You¡¯l personally oversee all arrangements for him these next few days. Don¡¯t worry about the cost-just make sure he¡¯s satisfied."

    Rachel hesitated, her fingers hovering over her tablet. "Ms. Shaw, I discovered something else. There¡¯s someone in Skyview City he¡¯s... involved with. Apparently, she apanies him whenever he visits.

    She¡¯s quite a well-known socialite here, though you two move in different circles so you¡¯ve never crossed paths."

    I immediately looked up, my interest piqued. "Who?"

    "Nora Price."

    Anna¡¯s POV

    "Nora would be perfect for entertaining Samuel Griffin," I mused . "Her poise, her ability to navigate even the most awkward social situations..." I trailed off, already mentally calcting how to approach her.

    Rachel cleared her throat softly. "There might be a slight problem with that n, Ms. Shaw. ording to her social media, Ms. Price left for Paris yesterday. Fashion Week. She won¡¯t be back for at least three days."

    I let out an exasperated sigh. "Of course she did. Nothing can ever be simple, can it?" I drummed my fingers against the desk, recalibrating. "Find someone else then. Someone sophisticated, beautiful, capable of handling delicate situations.

    We need to keep Samuel Griffin thoroughly entertained while he¡¯s in Skyview City."

    Rachel nodded, already typing notes.

    "T¡¯llpile a shortlist by this afternoon."

    "Good. Now, for the quarterly meeting _"

    My phone vibrated against the desk, the screen lighting up with an iing call. The name disyed made my stomach drop: Samuel Griffin.

    I nced at the conference room visible through my office¡¯s ss wall, where Daniel Davis was already organizing the quarterly review meeting. Perfect timing, as always.

    "I need to take this," I told Rachel, waving her toward the door. "Tell Daniel to start without me."

    As soon as Rachel left, I took a deep breath,posed myself, and answered with my most professionally pleasant voice. "Mr. Grifin, what a pleasant surprise."

    "Is it?" His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Because I¡¯m not feeling particrly pleasant at the moment.

    The amodation your assistant arranged is... disappointing."

    I bit back a retort. Rachel had booked him into one of Skyview City¡¯s most exclusive boutique hotels. "I¡¯m terribly sorry to hear that. We can certainly arrange alternative lodging. Perhaps the Sapphire Sky Hotel? Their presidential suite is quite spectacr."

    "It¡¯s not about the money, Ms. Shaw." I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "I¡¯s about hospitality. You extend an invitation to discuss business, yet you pawn me off on hotel staff rather than showing proper courtesy yourself."

    *This entitled asshole.* I kept my expression neutral even though he couldn¡¯t see me.

    "Jack Simpson called yesterday," he continued casually. "Invited me for drinks to discuss Skke District. Very attentive, wouldn¡¯t you say?"

    My grip tightened on the phone. The message couldn¡¯t have been clearer: y by my rules, or I¡¯ll take my business to Simpson Group.

    "You¡¯re absolutely right, Mr. Griffin.

    My hospitality has beencking." I smoothed my voice into something conciliatory. "¡¯a be happy toe by personally. What time would be convenient for you?"

    "Now would be good," he replied without hesitation.

    I nced at the conference room, where executives were already settling in for the meeting I was supposed to lead. "Of course. I¡¯ll be there shortly.

    And I¡¯ll bring some exceptional wine from my personal collection."

    "Perfect."

    "T¡¯ll see you soon," I said, already nning my strategy as I hung up.

    My expression hardened the moment the call ended. Samuel Griffin wasn¡¯t just testing my interest in a potential partnership¡ªhe was testing the limits of what I would tolerate.

    I nced at the conference room again. Rachel was out running errands, and Daniel was busy with the meeting.

    Who could I bring along? Going alone was out of the question.

    *Sean.*

    I headed to my office¡¯s discreet liquor cab, selecting two bottles of the premium vintage I¡¯d been saving for a special asion. Then I grabbed my purse and keys, shooting a quick text to Sean asking him to meet me at the Phoenix project office in fifteen minutes.

    When I pulled up to the Phoenix building, Sean was already waiting outside, looking impable in his tailored suit.

    "Get in," I instructed as I stopped the car.

    Sean slid into the passenger seat without question.

    "Samuel Griffin is being difficult," I exined as I pulled back into traffic.

    "He wants me to personally entertain him at his hotel. We¡¯re going there now."

    "The Heritage Group heir?" Sean¡¯s eyebrows rose slightly. "I¡¯ve heard he can be... challenging."

    I let out a shortugh. "That¡¯s putting it mildly. He¡¯s arrogant, entitled, and absolutely crucial to our ns for Skke District. So we¡¯re going to smile and be charming, no matter what."

    Sean nodded, eyes forward as I navigated through downtown traffic.

    "I may need to drink with him," I continued, my voice taking on a more serious tone. "You¡¯re not there to help me avoid alcohol-that would only insult him. You¡¯re there for my safety and to ensure I get home afterward.

    Understood?"

    "Completely, Ms. Shaw."

    When Samuel Griffin opened the door to his presidential suite at the hotel, he was wearing nothing but a white hotel towel wrapped loosely around his waist. His hair was wet, droplets of water still clinging to his broad shoulders, making it abundantly clear he¡¯d just stepped out of the shower.

    I kept my smile firmly in ce, refusing to show even a flicker of difort. "Mr. Griffin, I hope we¡¯re not interrupting." I extended the wine bottles toward him like a peace offering.

    His eyes moved from me to Sean, lingering on him with obvious assessment before his lips curved into a smirk. "Bringing reinforcements, Ms Shaw? Your reputation for poor alcohol tolerance must be well-earned."

    I maintained my pleasant expression.

    "This is Sean Smith, my assistant. He¡¯s driving today."

    Samuel stepped aside to let us enter, making no move to dress more appropriately. "What happened to the other guy? The one who had me thrown out of the charity g? You seem to change malepanions quite frequently."

    I took a slow breath, keeping my voice level. "That was Marcus Murphy, a family elder. He¡¯s my little uncle."

    "Little uncle?" Samuel repeated with exaggerated interest, his eyes drifting to Sean. "And this one? Another rtive? Ms. Shaw?"

    "Mr. Smith is my assistant," I repeated calmly. "He¡¯s responsible for driving and carrying things." I set my purse down on a nearby table. "But you¡¯re right about appreciating aesthetics, Mr. Griffin. I believe we share that quality.

    Your reputation precedes you."

    He nodded disapprovingly, then ripped off his swimming towel in front of me, turning to walk toward the indoor pool that dominated one side of the massive suite.

    "Care to join me for a swim?" he called over his shoulder.

    I kept my eyes carefully fixed on his face. "I¡¯m afraid I didn¡¯t bring a swimsuit. Perhaps I can prepare some tea while you enjoy your swim?"

    He shrugged, diving gracefully into the water. "Suit yourself."

    I exhaled slowly once he was in the pool, recalling what Trevor Torres had mentioned about Samuel Griffin: *He pushes boundaries constantly, but he knows exactly where the line is. He¡¯ll never cross it, just dance right along the edge.*

    The sound of a knock at the door came as a wee interruption. Hotel staff entered with a rolling cart of lunch and wine. I directed them to set up near the pool area but intercepted the server who was about to ce a vase of red roses as the centerpiece.

    "No roses, thank you," I said quietly, handing the arrangement back.

    As the staff departed, Samuel emerged from the pool, toweling his hair dry but once again wearing only the hotel towel around his waist. Watching him approach, something strange happened ¡ªa sh of memory hit me so suddenly I almost gasped.

    *A different suite. A different man.

    Stepping out of a bathroom, towel around his waist, water droplets on powerful shoulders.*

 Chapter 40: Whiskey & Power Plays

    <h4>Chapter 40: Whiskey & Power ys</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    Standing before me, Samuel Griffin was undeniably fit, his physique speaking to regr workouts and a disciplined lifestyle. His arms looked powerful, his abdominal muscles well-defined beneath droplets of water that clung to his skin.

    I quickly averted my eyes, focusing instead on arranging the wine bottles on the table with steady hands that belied my inner turmoil. *Could Samuel possibly be..?* No, that was absurd. The timing, the build, the height... it could be pure coincidence.

    But the seed of suspicion had been nted, and I couldn¡¯t shake it.

    "How often do you visit Skyview City, Mr. Griffin?" I asked, keeping my tone conversational as I uncorked one of the bottles.

    Samuel raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. "Why the sudden interest in my travel schedule, Ms. Shaw? nning to arrange more *attentive* hospitality for my future visits?"

    His deliberate emphasis on "attentive" made my skin crawl, but I maintained my pleasant smile. "Just curious. For someone based in Sovereign City, you seem quite familiar with Skyview."

    He didn¡¯t answer directly, merely epting the ss of wine I offered.

    ¡¯This hotel has quite decent facilities, don¡¯t you think? Though their service leaves much to be desired."

    I noticed Samuel¡¯s face darkening when he saw the flowers on the table.

    "Can¡¯t this hotel even fulfill a customer¡¯s requests?" His tone turned sharp, genuine annoyance breaking through his carefully calcted demeanor.

    Before he could berate the server, I smoothly intervened. "I¡¯m allergic to roses, so I asked the staff not to ce roses. It¡¯s entirely my fault for not mentioning it earlier," I said softly.

    "Allergic?" he repeated once we were alone again. "How convenient."

    Samuel finally moved to the dining table, gesturing for me to join him.

    Sean positioned himself discreetly by the door, his presence both reassuring and necessary. I¡¯d never been more grateful for hispany.

    "So, Ms. Shaw," Samuel began as we settled into our meal, "tell me about your personal life. Do you have a boyfriend? Husband? Significant other of some description?"

    I nearly choked on my wine at the abrupt change of subject. "I don¡¯t see how that¡¯s relevant to our business discussions."

    "Indulge me," he insisted, cutting into his steak with precise movements. "I like to know who I¡¯m dealing with."

    "I¡¯m currently single," I answered simply, seeing no reason to lie about something so easily verified.

    Samuelughed, the soundcking genuine mirth. "Of course you are.

    Women like you-corporate sharks in stilettos-rarely maintain rtionships.

    No man wants topete with a boardroom for attention. You should know how to use your advantages, understand?"

    "Business and pleasure needn¡¯t be mutually exclusive," he continued suggestively, his eyes deliberately wandering over me in a way that made my skin crawl. "In fact, I find they oftenplement each other quite... satisfyingly."

    The implication was too obvious. My grip tightened on my knife, but my expression remained pleasantly neutral.

    "Are you suggesting what I think you¡¯re suggesting, Mr. Griffin?" I asked directly, setting down my utensils and meeting his gaze. "That if I sleep with you, you¡¯ll help me secure the Skke District project?"

    "Always straight to the point, aren¡¯t you? I admire that." He took a leisurely sip of his wine. "But yes, that¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m suggesting. It¡¯s a simple exchange. You give me something I want, I give you something you want."

    I leaned back in my chair, studying him with a detached curiosity that seemed to unsettle him slightly. "For the Skke District project?" I let out a small, deliberateugh. "Mr. Griffin, I¡¯m afraid you severely overestimate the value of a single night¡¯spany.

    If I were to make such a trade, it would have to be for something far more significant than a mere real estate development."

    I saw surprise sh across his face before he masked it with another smirk.

    "You¡¯re an interesting woman, Anna Shaw," Samuel finally said. "Most would have either pped me or eagerly epted by now."

    "I¡¯m not most women," I replied simply. "And the Skke District, while important to me, isn¡¯t worth that particr sacrifice."

    Something like genuine respect flickered across his features. "Fair enough. But securing my investment won¡¯t be easy either. I have standards."

    I smiled. "Then I suggest you take your time to properly evaluate Shaw Corp¡¯s potential. You can slowly assess my sincerity, Mr. Griffin."

    "Perhaps," he conceded, finishing his wine. "But for now, how about you show me around Skyview City?"

    "Ms. Shaw has meetings this afternoon," Sean interjected smoothly from his position by the door.

    Samuel¡¯s lips twitched in a slight sneer,pletely ignoring Sean: "Anna, your sincerity doesn¡¯t seem very impressive."

    "Cancel them. I¡¯ll apany Mr. Griffin," I decided immediately.

    Samuel¡¯s smile widened. "Excellent.

    Give me a few minutes to change."

    As soon as he disappeared into the bedroom, I turned away, pulling out my phone and dialing Rachel¡¯s number.

    "Rachel," I whispered urgently when she answered. "I need you to look into Samuel Griffin¡¯s travel schedule for the past two months. Every visit to Skyview City, every hotel he¡¯s stayed at."

    I need to figure out whether Samuel is actually that man from 3303.

    If he is, then this Samuel is quite frightening. What if he has some kind of ulterior motive...

    Now is not the time for wild guesses. I steady my nerves, deciding to wait until Rachel confirms everything.

    After a while, Samuel came out.Baseball jacket, sneakers, dressed very casually.

    I stepped forward and asked, "Should I make arrangements or do you have somewhere in mind?"

    Samuel put his hands in his pockets:

    "Follow me."

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I stared at the converted warehouse before me, its industrial fa?ade illuminated by flickering electric blue neon lights. This was definitely not the upscale venue I had expected Samuel Griffin to choose.

    "A pool hall?" I asked, unable to keep the surprise from my voice as I adjusted my zer - suddenly acutely aware of how out of ce my attire would be inside.

    Samuel shed me that insufferable smirk of his. "Disappointed? I thought corporate sharks in stilettos liked to slum it asionally."

    I ignored his bait and followed him through the heavy metal door. The moment we entered, my senses were assaulted by the cacophony of rock music ring from speakers, the sharp crack of pool balls colliding, and the distinctive smell of beer, leather, and motor oil.

    The space was a strange juxtaposition of elements -vintage motorcycles disyed like museum pieces between pool tables, while the industrial ceiling remained exposed, with iron rafters from which hung various motorcycle parts that had been converted into light fixtures. The second floor overlooked the main area through wire mesh barriers, where a small crowd of leather-d enthusiasts were headbanging to the music.

    I¡¯d never been anywhere remotely like this ce, and despite myself, I felt a spark of curiosity.

    "Who the hell came in?" someone shouted over the music.

    Samuel didn¡¯t answer, just sauntered in with an irritating swagger. I followed behind him, taking in the environment. At the far end was a well-stocked bar where several women with dreadlocks and leather skirts sat drinking and scrolling through their phones.

    As we moved deeper into the space, I became increasingly aware of the stares. Like a monkey in a zoo, I was the main attraction - a woman in a tailored suit amid a sea of leather and denim.

    Surprisingly, Samuel Griffin, heir to Heritage Group, seemed perfectly at home here. He nced back at me, clearly expecting me to be intimidated, but found only curiosity in my expression.

    "Holy shit, if it isn¡¯t Griffin!" A man with bleached blond hair leapt over a pool table and grabbed Samuel in a rough embrace after fist-bumping him.

    "Long time no see, man. Can¡¯t believe you still remember us little people."

    "That¡¯s why I¡¯m here, aren¡¯t I?" Samuel responded easily.

    The blond man looked me over, clearly impressed. "New girlfriend? Griffin, you lucky bastard, they just keep getting prettier."

    Samuel didn¡¯t bother to correct him, just tilted his head toward me.

    "Weren¡¯t you going to drink with me?

    Let¡¯s go."

    I sighed inwardly. I¡¯d hoped Samuel wouldn¡¯t try to get me drunk, but clearly, that had been his n all along. People started cheering, and within moments, the bar waspletely cleared for us. Even the rock musicians upstairs put down their guitars to peer through the wire mesh at the spectacle.

    Samuel leaned against the bar, his smile devilish. "Ms. Shaw, now let¡¯s see just how sincere you really are."

    I wanted to scratch that handsome face of his, but considering I¡¯d just had my nails done, I decided against it. If he wanted to drink, we¡¯d drink. This bastard could try his best to get me drunk. But I wouldn¡¯t be drinking for nothing.

    "Mr. Griffin, I¡¯ve brought an agreement." I pulled a folder from my bag, deciding to be direct. "Let¡¯s be clear-if I drink with you today, you¡¯ll sign it, correct?"

    Samuel looked slightly surprised, a sh of respect crossing his features.

    "Already trying to get me to sign a contract? Ms. Shaw, aren¡¯t you overestimating yourself?"

    I smiled back. "Mr. Griffin, surely you realize you¡¯re not my only option. I¡¯m simply trying to avoid owing favors, which is why I¡¯m seeking alternate partnerships."

    Samuel narrowed his eyes, and I knew he¡¯d investigated my connections to the Murphy family.

    "It¡¯s not professional favors you¡¯re trying to avoid, it¡¯s personal entanglements, isn¡¯t it?" Samuel taunted. "Ms. Shaw, Skyview City¡¯s celebrated female CEO-you¡¯ve got an uncle and his nephew, an ex-husband and a potential lover, all wrapped around your finger."

    That infuriated me internally, as if I¡¯d deliberately seduced Marcus and Jack.

    My smile faded, but I maintained myposure.

    "Just as you enjoy games with willing participants, Mr. Griffin, I do business with principles," I stated firmly. "Don¡¯t try to provoke me. Even without Uncle Marcus, without you, I¡¯m confident others would be willing to venture with me. Because while many people like you are interested in Skke District, there¡¯s only one historic building."

    Samuel¡¯s eyes shed with what seemed like appreciation for my response.

    I grew tired of our verbal sparring. My gaze swept over the row of already opened bottles on the bar, and without another word, I grabbed one and started drinking.

    The crowd erupted in cheers as I drained one bottle after another. By the end, the world was spinning around me. I leaned against the bar, my consciousness bing hazy, not noticing the sudden silence that fell over the room.

    After finishing thest bottle, I carelessly tossed it aside, slurring, "More... bring more alcohol."

    Suddenly, my body was lifted into someone¡¯s arms. I opened my eyes, unable to focus properly, and saw a familiar figure wavering before me.

    "Hmm, I think I see... Uncle Marcus," I mumbled groggily, feeling an unexpected warmth and dependence wash over me.

 Chapter 41: Scars Beneath the Surface

    <h4>Chapter 41: Scars Beneath the Surface</h4>

    Jack¡¯s POV

    The door to my office flew open with unusual urgency. Pax, my assistant, burst in without his typical measuredposure.

    "Mr. Simpson, we¡¯ve located Mr. Griffin." His voice carried a tension that immediately captured my attention.

    My heartbeat quickened despite my efforts to remain outwardly calm.

    "Where is he?"

    Pax hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other¡ªa nervous tell I¡¯d rarely seen from him. That split-second pause triggered an immediate sense of foreboding.

    "Mr. Griffin arrived in Skyview City and checked into Golden Ember Hotel, but he¡¯s just left the premises with..." He paused again, clearly ufortable with whatever he was about to reveal.

    "With Ms. Shaw."

    "Anna?" The name escaped my lips before I could contain it. A torrent of questions flooded my mind, none of them yieldingfortable answers. My voice rose involuntarily. "What the hell is she doing with him? Are you absolutely certain?"

    Pax nodded quickly, clearly sensing my growing agitation. "Positive, sir. They were also apanied by Sean Smith as the driver."

    At the mention of Sean, something hot and vtile ignited in my chest. "Let¡¯s go," I ordered, my voice dropping to an icymand.

    When we arrived at the bar, I saw Marcus carrying Anna as he walked out. Her eyes were closed, her hair and clothes soaked with the smell of alcohol, her bodypletely limp in his arms. Her eyes were closed, her hair and clothes drenched, her entire body emanating the smell of alcohol,pletely limp in his arms.

    "Uncle Marcus," I called out, my voice steadier than I felt.

    He acknowledged me with a brief nod as he passed, but didn¡¯t slow his stride. In his arms, Anna looked smaller, more vulnerable than I¡¯d ever seen her. Her face was pale, a strand of wet hair stered across her cheek.

    The sight of her in such a state sent a surge of protective rage through me that I hadn¡¯t felt in years.

    Samuel Griffin approached with that infuriating smirk that made me want to rearrange his face.

    "Mr. Simpson, what a surprise," he drawled, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Too bad your uncle got here first. Quite the shining knight, isn¡¯t he?"

    Something in me snapped. Before I could even process what I was doing, my fist connected with his jaw, the impact sending a satisfying shock up my arm. I grabbed him by his shirt cor, yanking him close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath.

    "You bastard," I snarled, my voice barely recognizable even to my own ears. "You dared to get her drunk?

    What the hell were you trying to do?"

    My knuckles ached, but the fury pumping through me drowned out any pain. All I could see was Anna¡¯s helpless form in my uncle¡¯s arms, and all I could think was that this man was responsible.

    Pax rushed forward, his voice urgent.

    "Mr. Simpson, please let go of Mr. Griffin. This isn¡¯t the ce-"

    I ignored him, my grip on Griffin¡¯s cor tightening. Griffin, to my increasing rage, actually ughed*¡ªa soft, mocking sound that made me want to hit him again.

    "Such a temper," he taunted, eyes flicking toward the door where Marcus had disappeared with Anna. "Look at your uncle-so mature, soposed.

    No wonder she prefers hispany to yours."

    That was a deliberate jab, and we both knew it. Griffin¡¯s smug expression told me he understood the dynamics between Anna, Marcus, and me far better than he should have. This wasn¡¯t a random encounter-he¡¯de prepared.

    I shoved him away with disgust. "Stay away from Anna," I warned, my voice dropping to an icy growl. "If you go near her again, you¡¯ll regret it."

    I turned on my heel, suddenly desperate to check on Anna, to make sure she was alright.

    Pax hurried after me, panic evident in his voice. "Mr. Simpson, you just assaulted Mr. Griffin! Your father will ¡ª"

    "I don¡¯t care," I cut him off, pushing through the revolving door into the cool evening air. "Let him sue me if he wants to."

    Marcus¡¯s POV

    Anna¡¯s body felt impossibly light in my arms as I carried her from the bar to the waiting car. Her head lolled against my chest, the scent of whiskey clinging to her clothes and hair. Even through the overwhelming smell of alcohol, I could detect traces of her perfume-subtle and elegant, just like her.

    I slid into the back seat, deliberately keeping her in my arms rather than setting her beside me. Sean sat stifly in the passenger seat, his eyes carefully avoiding the rearview mirror. Smart man. He seemed to understand that looking back would be crossing a line.

    Anna stirred slightly, her face pressing against my neck as she mumbled something incoherent. The feeling of her warm breath against my skin sent a jolt of possessiveness through me. I tightened my hold instinctively, drawing her closer.

    "Drive to Rosa Vi, " I instructed, my

    voice betraying none of theplex emotions churning inside me.

    When we reached our destination, Peter silently opened the car door.

    "Ms. Shaw has people who can take care of her," Sean said from beside the car, a hint of caution in his voice. "I should stay with her."

    Peter stepped forward before I could respond. "Ms. Shaw has people to care for her here," he stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You may go now."

    Sean hesitated, then finally extracted a small package from his pocket.

    "This contains Ms. Shaw¡¯s sobering medicine," he said, handing it to Peter.

    "She¡¯ll need it when she wakes up.

    Please take good care of her."

    "Your nephew is here," Peter informed me quietly as I gentlyid Anna on the bed.

    I frowned, my fingers lingering as I brushed a strand of hair from her face.

    Jack¡¯s timing was impable as always -and entirely unwee.

    "Tell him Ms. Shaw is asleep," I replied coldly, my eyes never leaving Anna¡¯s face.

    I carefully removed her shoes, then pulled theforter over her sleeping form. She looked peaceful now, the tension that usually marked her featurespletely absent in slumber.

    My hand moved of its own ord, gently tracing the delicate curve of her cheek with my fingertips.

    I knew I should leave, give her privacy. Yet I found myself sitting in a chair not far from the bed, content to simply watch over her as she slept.

    Jack¡¯s POV

    I sat alone in the back seat of my car.

    My knuckles throbbed, a dull reminder of their recent connection with Samuel Griffin¡¯s jaw. The satisfaction that had momentarily red through me had already begun to fade, reced by the cold reality of what I¡¯d just done.

    *What the hell was I thinking?*

    Pax cleared his throat from the front seat, his eyes catching mine in the rearview mirror before quickly darting away. He was worried-and rightfully so. I¡¯d just assaulted the heir to Heritage Group in public, potentially sabotaging Simpson Group¡¯s business interests in one impulsive moment.

    "Mr. Simpson," he began hesitantly,

    "regarding Mr. Griffin..."

    I noted the uncertainty in his voice, the carefully measured concern. Pax had always been steady, reliable. The fact that even he seemed unsettled by my actions spoke volumes about the severity of my misstep.

    "I know, Pax. I was out of line," I admitted, massaging my temple as the image of Anna¡¯s limp body in my uncle¡¯s arms shed through my mind again. The sight had ignited something primal in me, a protective rage I hadn¡¯t felt in years. But now, with the adrenaline ebbing away, all I could think about were the consequences.

    "My father is going to be furious."

    The Skke District partnership with Heritage Group¡ªa cornerstone of our expansion strategy¡ªnow hung by a thread. My father had spent months cultivating that rtionship, and I¡¯d potentially destroyed it with one punch. Not to mention the way Marcus had stepped in, soposed and authoritative, making me look like a reckless hothead inparison.

    "You realize what this means for the East Lake project, right?" I voiced the concern that weighed heaviest on my mind. "Our entire approach with the Sovereign City investors..."

    *Ruined. All because I couldn¡¯t control myself when it came to Anna.*

    "Sir, would you like me to go apologize to Mr. Griffin personally?" Pax offered, always thinking three steps ahead.

    "Perhaps with an appropriate gift..."

    "Yes," I said firmly, cutting him off.

    "Take care of it tonight. Make it substantial."

    Anna¡¯s POV

    Sunlight sliced through the curtains, mercilesslynding across my face. I groaned, immediately regretting the sound as waves of pain rippled through my skull. My eyes squinted open reluctantly, taking in the familiar decor and furnishings as I gradually recognized I was at Rosa Vi.

    I blinked several times, piecing together fragmented memories from the night before. Samuel Griffin¡¯s taunting face. Bottles lined up on a bar. The thunderous cheers of leather-d bikers. And then... Marcus? Had I really seen Marcus at that pool hall, or was my alcohol-soaked brain ying tricks on me?

    Beside the bed stood a small table with a pitcher of water, a ss, and two pills that I recognized as my preferred hangover remedy. A folded towel and a fresh change of clothes sat neatly on a nearby chair. Someone had taken meticulous care of me.

    As I pushed myself up to sitting position, a fresh wave of nausea forced me back down. I pressed my palms against my throbbing temples, fragments of memories shing behind my closed eyelids-Samuel¡¯s smug face as I drained bottle after bottle, the roar of the crowd, the world tilting sideways, and finally, the sensation of being carried in strong arms.

    I tried to clear my head and only then noticed that Marcus had been sitting in a chair in the corner of the room the whole time, with aptop in front of him, apparently working. Seeing that I was awake, his expression softened.

    "You¡¯re up," he observed, closing hisptop and standing to walk toward me, his voice deliberately low as if he understood exactly how fragile my head felt. "How are you feeling?"

    "Like someone¡¯s using my brain for a drum solo." I managed a weak smile, reaching for the pills and water. "Was it you who brought me back?"

    "Yes." His voice remained gentle as he poured me a cup of tea that smelled faintly of ginger and honey. The temperature was perfect-hot enough to soothe but not scalding.

    He handed me the tea, which I epted gratefully. "Thank you," I murmured, taking a small sip. The warm liquid eased its way down my throat, bringing unexpectedfort.

    "Uncle Marcus, how did you know toe to that pool hall?" I asked, studying his face carefully.

    "Not just me. Jack was there too." He replied calmly.

    My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Jack was there for Samuel, but why were you there?"

    Marcus sat in the chair beside the bed, maintaining a respectful distance. "I was concerned about you," he admitted simply. "I¡¯ve had people watching over you."

    The revtion should have made me angry, but all I felt was a confusing mix of irritation and warmth. "You¡¯ve been having me followed?"

    "Protected," he corrected immediately, his voice firm. "Whoever stabbed me is still out there."

    I looked away, processing this unexpected information. Although the feeling of being monitored wasn¡¯t pleasant, Marcus was only thinking about my safety.

    "You didn¡¯t need to worry. I had Sean with me, and Samuel wouldn¡¯t have done anything to harm me." Even as I said it, I wasn¡¯t entirely convinced of

    my own words.

    "Are you certain?" Marcus leveled his prating gaze at me. "Do you really know what kind of man Samuel Griffin is?"

    I hesitated, mentally cataloging what I knew. "Heritage Group heir, notorious yboy, business prodigy with as many sessful projects as rumored girlfriends."

    Then it suddenly dawned on me.

    "Uncle Marcus, do you suspect Samuel was behind your attack?" My heart rate elerated at the thought.

    "It¡¯s unclear," he answered, his expression guarded. "But his behavior yesterday was strange, almost as if he deliberately lured Jack and me there."

    "Why would he do that?" I asked, bewildered.

    Marcus¡¯s eyes held mine, his gaze intense. "To make us jealous over you."

    The bluntness of his statement caught me off guard. I swallowed hard, pretending not to hear him.

    I changed the subject, "Whatever he¡¯s doing, his target is the Skke District project."

    "So you¡¯d rather risk dealing with someone like Samuel than partner with me?" Marcus¡¯s voice had softened, but I didn¡¯t miss the hurt beneath his words.

    "Uncle Marcus..." I began, struggling to find the right words. "I just can¡¯t ept your feelings. It¡¯s not because there¡¯s anything wrong with you, it¡¯s just that..."

    "Because I¡¯m older and you see me as family?" His eyes revealed a vulnerability I rarely witnessed in him -hope mingled with insecurity.

    "No, that¡¯s not it." I hurried to correct him, fearing I¡¯d wounded him more deeply than intended. "You¡¯re only seven or eight years older than me, that¡¯s nothing. And you¡¯re certainly not old ¡ªquite the opposite, you¡¯re incredibly handsome and distinguished."

    I didn¡¯t dare admit that he was exactly my type.

    I paused, formting my thoughts carefully. "Since my divorce, I haven¡¯t wanted another rtionship. I just want to focus on thepany, to take care of my mother and grandmother the way my father would have wanted.

    I¡¯m sorry, I can¡¯t ept your feelings, nor can I ept your kindness. I¡¯ll work hard topete for the Skke District project. If I can secure it, I will; if I really can¡¯t, then there¡¯s nothing I can do. In any case, I¡¯ll do my best to preserve the historic mansion."

    "I understand," Marcus said after a moment, his expressionposed once more. "I won¡¯t pressure you."

    I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me. "Thank you, Uncle Marcus. I appreciate your understanding."

    "As for Samuel," he continued, switching back to business mode seamlessly, "don¡¯t rush into anything.

    I¡¯ll_"

    Later, I walked into the master bathroom, sighing with relief as I submerged myself in the warm water.

    The heat worked its magic on my aching muscles, releasing tension I hadn¡¯t even realized I was carrying.

    Samuel Griffin had yed me, and all that alcohol wasn¡¯t drunk for nothing ¡ªmy head and stomach were still aching. I decided I wouldn¡¯t suffer this pain for nothing.

    I reached for my phone beside the tub and dialed Samuel¡¯s number.

 Chapter 42: The Party

    <h4>Chapter 42: The Party</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    "Awake?" Samuel¡¯s somewhat excited voice came through the phone, the music in the background softer but still clearly audible.

    Hearing that simple "awake," I immediately realized Marcus was right ¡ªthis bastard had deliberately gotten me drunk, luring Marcus and Jack to the bar. His tone was infuriatingly smug, filled with obvious malice. I bit my lip but decided not to let him see my anger.

    "I tricked you into drinking with me.

    Did your uncle scold you?" he asked with fake concern.

    I refused to let him treat me like his entertainment. Suppressing my rage, I deliberately softened my voice: "Mr. Griffin, I certainly did drink as promised. I wonder if you felt my sincerity?" I reminded him of our deal.

    "I felt your sincerity, but it¡¯s not enough," he replied, the dismissiveness in his tone making my blood boil.

    He clearly had no intention of honoring our agreement. I¡¯d anticipated this, but I¡¯d still won this round. I wouldn¡¯t let him see my disappointment.

    "As long as you felt it, that¡¯s fine. I¡¯m not in a hurry," I kept my face impassive, though my voice remained intentionally friendly. "Are you out drinking, Mr. Griffin? I can rmend a truly excellent ce.

    Olympus Club is very famous in Skyview City. Feel free to go and spend as much as you like-put it on my ount." I already had a n forming in my mind.

    After hanging up, Rachel entered the room.

    "Ms. Shaw, will Mr. Griffin go to Olympus Club?" she inquired.

    "Yes," I answered briefly, my mind already working through the next steps.

    "That¡¯s good. I¡¯ve already made arrangements at Olympus, Ms. Shaw.

    Please don¡¯t worry," Rachel¡¯s words brought me relief¡ªshe was always reliable.

    "By the way, Ms. Shaw, I heard that Mr. Simpson punched Mr. Griffin today," she suddenly mentioned, catching me off guard.

    "Punched him?" I asked in surprise.

    "Isn¡¯t the Simpson family trying to connect with Heritage Group? Why would he punch Samuel?" This made no sense.

    "Apparently it was because of you, Ms. Shaw. Mr. Griffin got you drunk, and Mr. Simpson became angry."

    Hearing Rachel¡¯s words, I felt a momentary flutter in my chest, but quickly shook my head, reminding myself, "What Jack does has nothing to do with us."

    That evening when I went downstairs at Rosa Vi, I saw that Marcus was still awake, with Peter Reed changing his bandages.

    "Uncle Marcus, your wound still hasn¡¯t healed?" I asked with concern.

    Peter nced at me: "Miss Shaw, Mr. Murphy¡¯s wound opened again today."

    "How did it open ag-" I stopped mid-sentence, my face suddenly burning. Iughed awkwardly: "Uncle Marcus, your injury really is having a tough time healing, isn¡¯t it?"

    Marcus¡¯s deep eyes met mine: "If a certain someone would behave, my wound would heal faster." His tone carried a hint of that familiar teasing I¡¯de to recognize.

    As Peter finished the bandaging, my gaze inadvertently fell on the skin visible beneath Marcus¡¯s ck silk robe hanging loosely on his body.

    "What are you looking at?" he quickly noticed my stare and swiftly adjusted his clothing.

    "Uncle Marcus, is that a birthmark or a scar on your shoulder?" I couldn¡¯t help asking, curious about the mark roughly the size of a quarter.

    Marcus gave me a long look before buttoning his robe, his tone t: "A scar."

    In that moment, I felt a flutter of awe, thinking of the various rumors about him-this man had reportedly faced down criminal organizations overseas.

    "Uncle Marcus, you¡¯ve had that scar for many years, haven¡¯t you?" I asked carefully.

    He looked at me deeply again: "Yes."

    His brief answer contained an unwillingness to discuss it further, so I didn¡¯t press the issue.

    The next day, I toured the historic building in Skke District with restoration experts. Walking through the rooms, I felt a powerful connection to my mother¡¯s childhood memories.

    One expert pointed to the ceiling.

    "These are quite rare now. If you want to maintain the historical integrity of the building, we should preserve as many of these elements as possible."

    "Whatever it takes," I replied without hesitation. "I want this ce restored to its original glory. Spare no expense."

    When we finished touring the house, my phone rang with an iing call.

    Samuel Griffin again.

    "Ms. Shaw," his voice was unnervingly cheerful. "¡¯ve been thinking about our conversation. Perhaps I was a bit harsh yesterday."

    I kept my tone neutral: "What can I do for you, Mr. Griffin?"

    "I¡¯ve been enjoying your hospitality at Olympus Club. But I¡¯m quite bored being alone."

    An idea began forming in my mind.

    "How about a wee party for you?

    I could host it, introduce you to some of Skyview City¡¯s prominent figures."

    "That sounds perfect," he replied, the smirk almost audible in his voice.

    After ending the call, I immediately dialed Rachel.

    "Arrange a wee party for Samuel Griffin at Olympus Club," I instructed.

    "Send invitations to everyone who matters in Skyview City. Let¡¯s see who shows up."

    Jack¡¯S POV

    I stood in my father¡¯s study as he fumed over the invitation that arrived today. The cardy on his desk like a deration of war.

    "What happened with Griffin? Weren¡¯t you watching him? How did Anna Shaw get to him first?" Father¡¯s face turned purple as he red at me.

    I felt irritated but kept my expression neutral. "Sean Smith introduced them.

    I didn¡¯t know he knew Griffin. They connected right after Griffin arrived."

    Mother snatched the invitation. "This is a challenge to the Simpson family!

    Who does Anna think she is, hosting a wee party for Samuel Griffin at Olympus Club?" Her voice rose sharply. "She¡¯s announcing their partnership to all of Skyview City!"

    Father ignored her outburst, his eyes fixed on me. "Fix this, Jack. Heritage Group is critical for our expansion in Sovereign City. We can¡¯t lose Griffin to Shaw Corp."

    I nodded. "I understand. I¡¯ll speak with Griffin again."

    "Speaking isn¡¯t enough." Father¡¯s voice dropped. "Win him over. Whatever it takes."

    He paused, "As for Anna Shaw, bring her to our side if possible. If that proves impossible..." His eyes met mine. "Then we¡¯ll need to take extraordinary measures."

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The party at the Olympus Club was ready to go. The borate event wasn¡¯t just to wee Samuel Griffin, it was to draw out the man behind the stabbing of Marcus Murphy.

    The thought of Marcus¡¯s wounds made my heart pound like iron.Someone in Skyview City¡¯s elite circle had nned the attack, and my instincts told me that when they were faced with such an unexpected alliance between Shaw Corp and the Heritage Group, they were bound to show their hand tonight.

    My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the first guests; Logan and Oscar Porter pushed through the door at the same time, followed by Catherine Murphy, whose designer gown somehow seemed both casually elegant and deliberately pretentious.

    "Anna!" said Oscar as he came towards me with open arms, trying to give me a hug, which I gracefully sidestepped." This ce looks fantastic. Are you trying to dwarf the Simpsons¡¯ dinner party?"

    Before I could answer, Catherine had frowned and stepped between us." You wouldn¡¯t even recognize Grace if she pped you upside the head, Porter.Shouldn¡¯t you be in the hospital sewing up other people¡¯s wounds?"

    The easy smile on Oscar¡¯s face immediately disappeared." My surgical skills are impable, thank you very much. Unlike some people-"

    "Uncle Marcus¡¯ wounds haven¡¯t healed by now," Catherine interrupted, her eyes narrowing dangerously." How do you have the nerve to show up at a party when a so-called doctor like you has patients who are still suffering?"

    I watch Oscar¡¯s face redden with irritation." That¡¯s not fair! I told him to rest and avoid strenuous activity. If he-"

    "If he what?" Catherine challenged, crossing her arms.

    I sighed, watching these two near-thirty-year-olds turn into children before my eyes." Can we just act like adults tonight? The guests will be here any minute."

    Catherine wasn¡¯t finished." Fat girl, I¡¯m not done. You can question my character all you want, but never my medical skills."

    I could see the mischievous glint in Oscar¡¯s eye when he heard the childhood nickname.Catherine-now a stunning woman with a perfect body-had obviously never lost her sensitivity to being called a "fat girl."

    "Don¡¯t you dare," she hissed, clenching her hands into fists.

    "Fat girl, fat girl, fat girl," Oscar taunted her in a sing-song voice that looked more like a five-year-old¡¯s than a respected doctor¡¯s.

    "I swear to God, I¡¯ll get you,"

    Catherine growls, taking a threatening step forward.

    I did some silent math: two people approaching thirty with abined mental age of about five. Perfect.

    "That¡¯s enough," I say firmly, physically getting between them." Catherine, why don¡¯t you help me greet my guests? Oscar, the bar needs your expert opinion on whiskey."

    Having temporarily separated these two warring parties, Catherine pulls me aside, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

    ?Where¡¯s Uncle Marcus? He¡¯ll be here, won¡¯t he?"

    I was too busy adjusting the floral decorations to avoid eye contact with her." I... Didn¡¯t invite him."

    "What?" Catherine¡¯s shock is real, her eyes wide." You¡¯re hosting such a major power struggle without the support of Uncle Marcus? Are you insane? All the important people in Skyview City will be here, observing which side they should choose in the battle for the Skke District."

    A pang of guilt twisted my chest. The truth is, I don¡¯t want Marcus anywhere near this party-especially when I suspect that the person who stabbed him might be among tonight¡¯s guests. I couldn¡¯t risk him getting hurt again because of me.

    "I can¡¯t always depend on your uncle," I said, forcing a casual tone." I need to be independent on my own."

    Catherine surveyed my face thoughtfully, then slowly broke into a smile." You have the audacity to throw

    a party like this that might even piss off half of Skyview City¡¯s elite, including my father. That¡¯s pretty bold." She gives a thumbs up." I respect you. But I still think you¡¯re crazy."

    Her approval warmed me and strengthened my resolve at the same time. I would find the culprits who hurt Marcus and make them pay.

    The club began to fill with Skyview City¡¯s young elite-the sons and daughters of powerful families, rising executives, and socialites eager to position themselves in the shifting powerndscape. I noticed a few faces that had been at the Simpson dinner, people who just a few days ago had sided with the Jacks and were now betting on both sides of the fence by attending my party.

    "Ms. Shaw, Mr. Griffin has arrived," Rachel whispers in my ear.

    I turned to see Samuel Griffin striding into the entrance with a stunning woman on his arm. She wore a tight silver gown that left little to the imagination, and her lustrous ck hair fell down her back like a waterfall. It took me a moment to recognize her as Mia, one of the most sought-after hostesses at Club Olympus.

    Samuel¡¯s arm wraps possessively around her waistline as he greets a few guests, looking like the man she just spent the night with. As he exchanges pleasantries with the Turners, I notice Mia slipping over to Rachel, who¡¯s standing by the pir.

    "He didn¡¯t touch me," I overhear Mia whisper eagerly to Rachel." Let me sleep in the guest room and told me not to tell anyone. And he froze for thirty seconds when he first saw me.

    He looked at me strangely - like he¡¯d seen a ghost. Do I look like someone he used to know?"

    I saw satisfaction sh in Rachel¡¯s eyes before her face returned to its professional mask. Of course - she specifically chose Mia because she looked like Samuel¡¯s first love. It was

    another carefully calcted move in ourplicated game.

    "It¡¯s great as long as he keeps you around," Rachel instructs softly." Stay sweet, keep him happy, and text me if anything important happens."

    Amotion in the entryway caught my attention.Jack Simpson had arrived, and Lucy Taylor was holding onto his arm like a life preserver. He takes that familiar long-legged stride that used to make my heart race. Now, as I watch him search the room and inevitably find me in the crowd, I feel nothing but cold transcendence.

    Samuel appeared beside me with a mischievous glint in his eye." Ms. Shaw, Mr. Simpson has arrived," he announces superfluously, studying my reaction.

    Jack walks toward us, standing beside me in a territorial stance that gives me goosebumps. I move away subtly, putting distance between us. We were divorced; he had no right to act like my husband.

    "Simpson and Shaw are such a great couple," Samuelments in an exaggeratedly innocent tone." I do wonder why such a perfect match would get divorced."

 Chapter 43: Locked with My Mistake

    <h4>Chapter 43: Locked with My Mistake</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I stood in the center of the grand banquet hall at Olympus Club, watching the tension between Jack Simpson and Samuel Griffin gradually escte. My meticulously nned party was slowly turning into a psychological battlefield, with Samuel deliberately provoking Jack at every opportunity.

    I quickly interjected: "Mr. Griffin, both Mr. Simpson and I aren¡¯t people who settle for less. Our divorce simply means we¡¯re both better off going our separate ways. Isn¡¯t that right, Mr. Simpson?"

    Something shed in Jack¡¯s eyes-hurt, perhaps, or anger-but he quickly masked it with a smile. "Ms. Shaw¡¯s personal affairs aren¡¯t any of your concern, Griffin." He took three flutes of champagne from a passing server¡¯s tray. "I¡¯mte. I believe that means I owe a penalty."

    Jack downed all three sses in session, his eyes never leaving Samuel¡¯s face.

    He set the empty sses on the table.

    Without another word, he walked away toward Logan at the other side of the room.

    "Your nephewcks his uncle¡¯s maturity," Samuel called out, loud enough for others to hear.

    Jack¡¯s back stiffened momentarily, but he didn¡¯t turn around.

    Samuel¡¯sment confirmed my suspicion-he knew far too much about the rtionships between Jack, Marcus, and me. He wasn¡¯t just testing waters; he was deliberately stirring trouble.

    The evening continued, with me moving between various groups. I raised my ss frequently, toasting to partnerships, prosperity, and other diplomatic titudes.

    Catherine caught my arm. "Don¡¯t get drunk again," she warned, "I won¡¯t take care of you if you pass out."

    Iughed. "That won¡¯t happen tonight."

    Logan approached, concern in his eyes:

    "Anna, you should drink less."

    "Don¡¯t worry," I replied, "I¡¯ve improved my tolerance recently."

    Only Rachel and I knew that my ss contained mostly water. The real alcohol only appeared when necessary for show.

    Samuel materialized beside me again.

    "Speaking of drinking," he announced, drawing the attention of nearby guests, "I wonder who was carried home unconscious just days ago, rescued by none other than Mr. Murphy himself."

    The room didn¡¯t fallpletely silent, but I could feel the shift in attention, whispers mentioning my name. I saw Jack gripping his ss so tightly it might shatter.

    Damn it. Samuel was deliberately bringing up Marcus, knowing exactly what this implied to everyone especially to Jack.

    "Uncle Marcus happened to be at the bar when Mr. Griffin was testing my alcohol tolerance," I exined, "He took me home when I couldn¡¯t drive.

    My mother lectured me afterward, all thanks to you, Mr. Griffin."

    Samuel¡¯s smile remained unchanged:

    "Ms. Shaw, I¡¯m a man of my word.

    Show enough sincerity, and our partnership agreement can be signed anytime."

    I changed the subject: "Mr. Griffin, alcohol is harmful to health. Could we discuss our partnership some other way?"

    "Drink! Drink!" The crowd began to chant. I recognized this ritual¡ªa business gathering custom where alcohol served as both a social tool and a symbol of power. How many deals had been made or broken based on someone¡¯s drinking capacity? I detested it, silently vowing to change this culture someday.

    Samuel watched me expectantly, enjoying my predicament. The crowd grew louder. This was his test-how badly did I want the Skke District project?

    I signaled Rachel, who brought over a special bottle-one that looked like vodka but contained water.

    "Mr. Griffin," I announced, "here¡¯s the agreement. I¡¯ll drink first as a show of goodwill, then you can decide whether to sign."

    I unscrewed the cap and tilted my head back. The crowd cheered as I drank. Some water deliberately spilled, trickling down my neck, attracting male gazes.

    Jack noticed these looks, his expression darkening. He suddenly came over and grabbed the bottle.

    "Griffin, what kind of man picks on women?" he said, "I¡¯ll drink in her ce."

    Before I could react, Jack had already started drinking. For a moment, confusion crossed his face-he realized it wasn¡¯t alcohol-but he continued until he finished.

    Rachel and I exchanged bewildered nces. Neither of us had anticipated this.

    Pax stood nearby, looking ufortable. I could almost see his worry-how would he exin this to the Simpson family? His client defending his ex-wife at her party?

    Jack mmed the empty bottle down, challenging Samuel with his eyes.

    Samuel began to apud, others following suit.

    "Mr. Simpson¡¯s feelings for Ms. Shaw run deep," Samuel remarked, his tone suggestive.

    I felt the weight of every gaze in the room. Over the years, I¡¯d developed thick skin¡ªa necessary shield.

    "Thank you, Mr. Simpson, for drinking on my behalf. You¡¯re truly a good person," I said calmly.

    Jack maintained silence, looking ufortable. Around us,ughter rippled through the crowd. I kept my expression neutral. In these gatherings, projecting strength was far more important than caring what anyone thought.

    I turned to Samuel, meeting his gaze directly. "So, have I demonstrated my sincerity now that the drinks are finished?" Can this damn drinking game finally end?

    Samuel nodded, his eyes flickering between Jack and me. "Yes. How could I not consider it sincere when Mr. Simpson was so eager to drink on your behalf?"

    His insinuation infuriated me, but I maintained my smile. What a boundary-pushing bastard.

    My dress, damp from spilled alcohol, clung ufortably to my skin. The fabric felt cold and sticky, making me desperate to leave.

    "I need to freshen up in the restroom," I said, forcing a polite smile.

    When the restroom door closed behind me, I finally sighed with relief. I examined the alcohol stains on my dress.

    "Rachel, is there a spare outfit anywhere?" I asked, peeling the damp fabric away from my skin.

    Rachel frowned, searching through the closet in the restroom. "I thought I brought one in... Maybe it¡¯s still in the car?"

    "Could you check? This is unbearable," I said.

    Rachel nodded. "I¡¯ll go get it. Sean is right outside."

    Once she left, I decisively removed my wet dress and wrapped myself in a white towel. It wasrge enough to cover me from chest to thighs, much morefortable than the sticky dress.

    Just as I was contemting my next move, a knock came at the door.

    Finally. Rachel must have found the clothes.

    I opened the door, only to freeze in ce.

    Jack stood in the doorway, his eyes widening as he registered my state of undress. I instinctively tightened my grip on the towel, suddenly aware of my near-nakedness.

    "What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice catching in my throat.

    Jack¡¯s POV

    I pushed open the rest room door, expecting to find anyone but her. Anna stood there with nothing but a white towel wrapped around her body, her shoulders still damp in the light. The towel barely reached mid-thigh, exposing the legs.

    My mouth went dry. The air between us crackled, and I felt my body responding in ways I couldn¡¯t control.

    "I..." The word stumbled out, and I realized I was *stuttering*. Jack Simpson, heir to one of Skyview City¡¯s most powerful families, reduced to incoherence by the sight of his ex-wife in a towel.

    Anna¡¯s eyes widened, then narrowed.

    Her hand tightened around the towel where it was tucked above her chest.

    "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, backing up. "This is the women¡¯s rest room! Get out!"

    I struggled to remember why I¡¯de looking for her. The heat rising up my neck was unbearable.

    "You need to leave. Now." She motioned toward the door, her face flushing with anger¡ªor was it embarrassment?

    "Annie, I need to talk to you. I-"

    "Wait, what did you just call me?" She cut me off, her expression shifting to surprise.

    "Annie," I repeated, the nickname feeling right on my tongue. A softness spread through my chest, reminding me of better times.

    Her face hardened into disgust. "Stop it. Don¡¯t you dare call me that."

    The vehemence caught me off guard.

    "Why not? Marcus calls you that all the time." The words came out before I could stop them, thick with jealousy.

    "Jack Simpson, are you serious right now?" Sheughed without warmth.

    "You want to know why I don¡¯t let you call me that? It¡¯s simple. Only people who genuinely care about me get to call me that." She jabbed toward the door. "And you don¡¯t qualify. Now get out."

    The words stung. I took a deep breath, focusing on why I¡¯de looking for her.

    "Anna, I didn¡¯te here to argue. I wanted to talk about the Skke project. I¡¯m hoping you can put aside your prejudice and consider a partnership."

    "Not happening." Her refusal was immediate.

    "Why are you being so stubborn? I¡¯m trying to help you." I stepped further in, closing the door. "I know you want to keep that historic building. I promise I¡¯ll help you preserve it."

    Anna¡¯s eyes shed. "I don¡¯t believe you. From our marriage to our divorce, I¡¯ve learned one lesson: take control of your own destiny. Relying on others is pointless."

    Her words hit hard. Had our failed marriage taught her to trust no one?

    "Anna, don¡¯t try to fight the Simpson family, you can¡¯t!" Then I turned and left.

    I tried to open the door and go out, but the handle wouldn¡¯t turn.

    I tried the handle myself. Nothing.

    "It¡¯s locked. From the outside."

    Anna¡¯s expression shifted from confusion to suspicion. "This is a first ¡ªbeing set up at my own party." Her eyes scanned me with calction.

    "Why did youe in here, Jack?"

    "You¡¯re suspecting me?" I stared at her, hurt by the usation. "You think I nned this?"

    "I¡¯m suspicious of everyone right now."

    Her tone was ice-cold. "Someone locked this door, and it¡¯s too convenient that you¡¯re trapped in here with me."

    "Think logically," I argued. "How could this benefit me? Being discovered alone with you in the women¡¯s rest room-with you dressed like that¡ªwould cause a scandal."

    Anna¡¯s eyes never left mine. "For you, maybe a mild embarrassment. For me?

    My reputation would be destroyed.

    Everyone would assume I was trying to reconcile with you." She paced, clutching her towel. "The timing is too perfect. Samuel Griffin is outside making insinuations about us, and suddenly we¡¯re locked in here together?"

    She had a point. Someone was ying games. But who?

    "Let me call Pax. He can get us out discreetly." I reached for my phone, only to remember I¡¯d left it with my assistant.

    "Of course you don¡¯t have your phone," she muttered, eyes searching for alternatives. Her gaze settled on the window, and I saw the decision form.

    "No way," I said, reading her intention.

    "That¡¯s insane."

    Anna was already moving toward the window, testing whether it would open. "Do you have a better idea?

    Because I¡¯m not waiting to be discovered here with you."

    The window slid open. Anna peered outside, gauging the distance to the ground.

    "You¡¯re crazy," I said, stunned by her determination. "This is the third floor!"

    "So what¡¯s your solution?" She turned to face me, resolute. "If someone sees us in here alone, with me dressed like this, what do you think they¡¯ll believe?

    No matter what really happened, the gossip would be brutal."

    "Anna, we were married once. What¡¯s the big deal if we¡¯re found together?" Even as I said it, I knew it was weak reasoning.

    Herugh was bitter. "Married? If we¡¯d ever had a real marriage, that might be an argument. But the truth is, we never even..." She stopped herself.

    "Never mind. Even if this is just a misunderstanding, I don¡¯t want to be associated with you."

    Her words hit me like a blow. I stood stunned. There was a time when I might have berated her for being so blunt, for not caring about appearances. Now I could only me myself. I had her once and didn¡¯t appreciate what I had. Now that I wanted her back, it was toote.

    "I can¡¯t let you do this," I said firmly.

    "It¡¯s too dangerous."

    "I¡¯m not asking for your permission," she replied, unwavering. "And I¡¯m certainly not staying here to be discovered with you."

 Chapter 44: Whispers at Olympus Club

    <h4>Chapter 44: Whispers at Olympus Club</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I peered out the window of the Olympus Club¡¯s third-floor rest room, assessing the situation. While we were undeniably high up, I noticed a decorative terrace jutting out between the first and second floors. That buffer might just make the jump survivable instead of suicidal. But I couldn¡¯t possibly leap out wearing only a towel ¡ªthat would create an even more impossible-to-exin scenario than being discovered with Jack.

    I turned back to find Jack still standing there, seemingly transfixed. His gaze lingered on my legs, an almost palpable heat that made my skin crawl with both anger and difort. The irony wasn¡¯t lost on me-when we were married, he barely noticed me, but now that we were divorced, here he was, practically devouring me with his eyes.

    I snatched up my damp dress from the counter and shot him a re. "Turn around," Imanded, my voice sharp as ss.

    Jack blinked, as if emerging from a trance. "What for?"

    My patience, already hanging by a thread, snapped entirely. "What do you think? I¡¯m changing. I can¡¯t exactly jump out the window looking like this, can I?"

    The words came out in a hiss,ced with exasperation. Reality finally seemed to prate his brain. His eyes widened with genuine rm. "You¡¯ll kill yourself jumping from this height!

    Is avoiding being seen with me worth risking your life?"

    "Yes," I answered without hesitation, my voice t and decisive. "I¡¯d rather die than be caught with you."

    I shoved him hard, trying to force him to turn around, but he remained obstinate, rooted to the spot, his eyes filled with a messy cocktail of emotions I had no interest in deciphering.

    "Stop trying to do me any favors, Jack.

    Whatever was between us is long over.

    Anna Shaw doesn¡¯t recycle her trash."

    The words poured out, my voice growing steadier with each syble, though the bitterness felt like acid climbing up my throat. "Yes, I once cared deeply for you, but so what? You and your family killed every feeling I had. Think of me as yourpetitor now, nothing more. Don¡¯t bother with these meaningless gestures¡ªI won¡¯t appreciate them. Whatever tactics the Simpson family tries against me, I¡¯ll face them head-on."

    I paused, meeting his gaze directly, forcing myself to suppress the ache that still sometimes surfaced when I thought about our failed marriage.

    "Jack Simpson, have some dignity.

    Don¡¯t make me... lose what little respect I have left for you."

    His pupils contracted sharply, and for a fleeting moment, something unnameable passed between us¡ª perhaps regret, perhaps eptance, perhaps simply the acknowledgment of an ending that had urred long ago.

    "You don¡¯t have to jump," he said softly. "I will."

    His offer ignited a fresh spark of irritation. Thest thing I needed was his misced chivalry, and I certainly didn¡¯t want to owe him anything, not when I¡¯d worked so hard to sever all ties between us.

    "I don¡¯t want to owe you anything," I spat, fixing him with a venomous re. "Turn around!"

    This time, Jackplied without argument. His shoulders slumped slightly as he faced the wall, his entire posture radiating a cold silence.

    I had just grabbed my dress, preparing to change, when voices suddenly sounded from the hallway outside.

    Multiple voices. My heart lurched. The situation had just be much more urgent. I would never have enough time to change now.

    My pulse elerated to a frantic rhythm, my breathing turning shallow.

    I swiftly dragged a chair to the window, kicked off my heels, and mbered onto the windowsill without a second thought.

    Only when I stood at the edge, the cold night air whipping around me, did I realize just how high up we truly were. The wind cut through the thin towel, raising goosebumps across my skin. Strangely, heights had never bothered me before, but now my legs trembled like they might give out beneath me. A wave of primal fear washed over me, turning my muscles to water.

    The parking lot behind Olympus Club stretched out below,pletely exposed. Anyone could look up at any moment. But what terrified me more were the voices growing ever closer in the hallway. There was no time left for second thoughts.

    I drew a deep breath, my mind offering a final pep talk: *Don¡¯t be afraid, this is your only way out.* Those people would burst through the door any second. I had to act now.

    With onest desperate surge of resolve, I closed my eyes and leaped toward the terrace below.

    Jack¡¯s POV

    I heard a faint rustling sound behind me and whipped around, my heart suddenly clutched in an invisible vise.

    The room was empty. Anna had vanished without a trace. A wave of anxiety and tension surged through me.

    *Damn it, where did she go?* I silently cursed, my eyes frantically scanning the room.

    A movement from the second-floor balcony caught my attention. I rushed over just in time to see Anna getting to her feet, hesitating for only a heartbeat before leaping from the ledge.

    But I had no time to process what I¡¯d just witnessed. Footsteps approached from the hallway, growing louder by the second,pelling me into action.

    I quickly closed the window and moved the chair back to its original position, my heart racing with each hurried movement. I tried to appearposed, but my slightly trembling fingers betrayed my inner turmoil.

    Drawing a deep breath, I steeled myself and walked toward the door.

    My mind raced, calcting how to handle whoever was about to walk in.

    When I reached for the door handle, it turned easily under my grip.

    *Strange, it opens now?* My internal rm bells rang loudly. The door that had trapped us moments ago was suddenly unlocked. Why? A sense of being manipted crawled under my skin, making me deeply ufortable.

    The door swung open, and I found myself face-to-face with a small crowd.

    Several women stood there, apparently guided specifically to this location.

    Among them, I was surprised to see Lucy Taylor¡¯s face.

    Lucy wore an innocent smile,pletely oblivious to being used as a pawn. "Jack, we were justing to hang out. What are you doing in here?" she asked.

    Her question tightened something in my chest, but I quickly adjusted my expression, fabricating a usible excuse: "I had a bit too much to drink and needed to clear my head." My voice remained steady, carefully masking the turbulence I felt within.

    Just then, I noticed Rachel hovering at the edge of the group-she must have returned with clothes for Anna. When she saw me emerging from the rest room, she froze momentarily, then appeared to realize what had happened and quickly turned to leave.

    "Please, go ahead," I said, stepping aside with a neutral tone, as if everything was perfectly normal. In reality, every nerve in my body was stretched taut, my gaze sharply surveying the surroundings, searching for anything or anyone suspicious.

    As the chattering women entered the rest room, I scanned the area, confirming there was no one suspicious watching. The immediate danger had passed, but an unsettling feeling of being calcted against, of being watched, lingered like a shadow in my mind.

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The wind rushed past me as I fell, my heart thundering in my chest. I¡¯d braced myself for the inevitable painful impact, eyes squeezed shut, when suddenly I felt myself collide with something solid yet yielding. Not concrete, but arms-strong arms that caught me with such force that the air was knocked from my lungs.

    I finally dared to open my eyes, and found myself staring at a perfect jawline, then into Marcus Murphy¡¯s bottomless dark eyes. A strange flutter of excitement rose in my chest.

    "Uncle Marcus?" I asked tentatively, unable to hide the relief and unexpected joy in my voice. "Did you catch me? I already hurt my arm jumping from the third floor to the second-floor terrace¡ªif it weren¡¯t for you, I would¡¯ve been much worse off."

    Marcus¡¯s face was ashen, his expression hard as stone as he stared down at me. I couldn¡¯t read what was hidden in that gaze, but I could feel the anger radiating from him. His silence was more intimidating than any words could have been.

    Only when Peter Reed approached with a coat to drape over me did I suddenly realize my predicament¡ªI was wearing nothing but a towel! Oh God, had it slipped during my fall?

    The thought was mortifying. I could only console myself with the fact that it was dark; surely he hadn¡¯t seen anything clearly.

    I instinctively curled deeper into Marcus¡¯s arms, with just one thought: this was absolutely humiliating.

    Marcus carried me to his waiting car, his grip firm but careful around my towel-d body. As he gently ced me in the backseat, Rachel appeared, breathless and clutching a bag.

    "Ms. Shaw! Thank goodness you¡¯re alright," she eximed, sliding in beside me. "I have your clothes."

    As Rachel helped me change in the rtive privacy of the car¡¯s tinted windows, we discussed what had happened.

    "Ms. Shaw, I saw several women heading toward the restroom and immediately realized something might be wrong," Rachel exined while helping me into my blouse. "Those women aren¡¯t prominent in Skyview City¡¯s social circles, and I noticed Lucy Taylor was among them. But when I saw Mr. Simpson emerge from the room, I had the feeling this might not be Ms. Taylor¡¯s doing. She wouldn¡¯t set such an obvious trap."

    I nodded, analyzing the situation coolly despite my physical difort.

    "You¡¯re right. It doesn¡¯t seem like her style. If my suspicions are correct, whoever nned this incident is likely the same person who stabbed Uncle Marcus."

    "What would they hope to aplish?" Rachel asked, confusion evident in her voice.

    I gave a bitter smile. "To create conflict between Jack and Marcus." I shook my head with self-deprecating humor.

    "Apparently, my allure is excessive enough to warrant such borate schemes."

    Rachel responded immediately: "You are indeed the most exceptional woman in Skyview City."

    After changing into proper clothes, I stepped out of the car to see Marcus standing a short distance away, his back to us. The ck shirt he wore entuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist, his posture impably straight. If he weren¡¯t Marcus Murphy, I would definitely have snapped a photo to send to Catherine.

    "Uncle Marcus, thank you so much for earlier," I said, approaching him. "If not for you, I could have been seriously injured." I suddenly realized I was constantly thanking him, umting a debt of gratitude that grew heavier by the day.

    Marcus turned to face me, his expression still cold with anger, apparently too upset to speak. His intense stare made me ufortable, but I pushed forward. "Uncle Marcus, I... need to get back to the party."

    At that moment, Rachel gasped. "Ms. Shaw, your arm is injured... and your back as well..."

    Marcus¡¯s gaze immediately dropped to my injuries. I¡¯d felt the burning pain already but hadn¡¯t dared to look¡ª afraid it would only increase my anxiety.

    "It probably looks worse than it is just some scrapes. It doesn¡¯t hurt much," I lied, forcing a smile for Marcus while my fingers trembled uncontrobly.

    Marcus studied me critically. "Are you sure you want to go back?"

    I gritted my teeth with determination.

    "Uncle Marcus, I believe the person behind your attack is inside Olympus Club right now. I need to return and find out, otherwise this jump was for nothing."

    Peter quickly retrieved a first aid kit from the car. When the alcohol touched my wounds, I nearly jumped from the seat. I clenched my fists tightly, my face contorting in pain. Just as I was about to cry out, I felt a firm pressure around my waist, and my head was pulled against a solid chest.

    Marcus¡¯srge hand steadied the back of my head, as it cing me in a safe space that shielded me from pain and fear. My heart raced wildly. Logic told me I should push him away, but I found myself craving this warmth and security.

    When injured, having someone to lean on made me want to linger just a little longer.

    Once the bandaging wasplete, I reluctantly pulled away from Marcus¡¯s embrace, forcing a smile. "It really doesn¡¯t hurt that much. I can manage."

    Marcus took his jacket and personally draped it over my shoulders. "Let¡¯s go," he said simply.

    "T¡¯lle with you," he added.

    I didn¡¯t immediately process what he meant. "Uncle Marcus..." I hadn¡¯t invited him.

    Marcus looked at me, his expression stern. "Why else do you think I came all this way?"

    "Uncle Marcus..." A wave of emotion rose in my chest, difficult to suppress.

    At Simpson family dinners, George Simpson took charge while Jack merely needed to attend and assist. But me? I stood alone. Having someone willing to stand beside me, to face challenges together-of course I was grateful. But this was Marcus Murphy, who had no obligation to involve himself in these matters.

    "That¡¯s not necessary, Uncle Marcus. I can handle it," I refused.

    But Marcus was already striding toward Olympus Club, giving me no opportunity to object. Helpless, I hurried after him.

    Our return to the party together sparked immediate surprise and gossip. I knew exactly what people were saying¡ªa woman freshly divorced from Jack Simpson, already so close to his uncle. The implications were obvious and ugly.

    I could hear the whispers: "Why is Marcus Murphy here?"

    "I heard Mr. Murphy bought that historic building everyone was bidding on at the charity auction and just gave it to Anna Shaw¡ªis that true?"

    "It must be true, look at them-their rtionship is definitely unusual."

    "Anna Shaw is so clever, dumping the nephew and immediately snagging the uncle, such calcted moves."

    "I can¡¯t believe Mr. Murphy would be interested in a divorced woman, it¡¯s inconceivable."

 Chapter 45: He Knew

    <h4>Chapter 45: He Knew</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I¡¯m not afraid of being the subject of gossip. Over the years, I¡¯ve collected enough rumors and whispers to fill a small library, and I¡¯ve developed a thick skin as a result. Standing in the grand hall of the Olympus Club, I could feel eyes on me from every direction, but none of it could shake me.

    My mind drifted to a scene from a few years back¡ªa wealthy Skyview City socialite had mistaken me for her husband¡¯s mistress and burst into Shaw Tower with security in tow. The man had somehow obtained photos of me, causing his wife to seek me out. In the end, I sued him for sexual harassment and won a million-dor settlement. I split the money evenly, sharing half with the employees who had helped me through the ordeal, while treating myself to several limited-edition handbags with the remainder. This was one of the many reasons Mary Simpson disapproved of me-in her eyes, a "proper" society woman shouldn¡¯t be so assertive.

    My thoughts were interrupted as Marcus Murphy returned to the party with me. His presence immediately became the focal point of the room; all conversation paused momentarily before erupting into more fervent whispers.

    "Well, if it isn¡¯t Mr. Murphy! We meet again." Samuel Griffin greeted him with exaggerated enthusiasm, calction gleaming in his eyes. His gaze shifted between Marcus and me, a mocking smile ying at the corners of his mouth.

    Marcuspletely ignored him, turning to me instead. "Go ahead and attend to your guests. I¡¯ll just find a ce to sit for a while." His voice was calm, yet somehow instilled in me an inexplicable sense of security.

    I watched as he made his way to a sofa in the corner. People immediately flocked around him with offers: "Mr. Murphy, please sit here." "Sir, what would you like to drink?"

    Someone remarked with thinly veiled sarcasm: "Ms. Shaw certainly has influence, even Mr. Murphy hase to show his support."

    Before I could respond, Catherine jumped in: "Is there something wrong with my uncleing to pick me up?" Her tone carried obvious displeasure.

    Samuel persisted: "Of course not, but that jacket Ms. Shaw is wearing¡ªit certainly doesn¡¯t look like yours, does it?" He fixed me with a pointed look, his eyes full of insinuation.

    I felt a tightening in my chest, knowing he was testing me.

    Catherine shot back without hesitation:

    "Mr. Griffin, don¡¯t your many female admirers find your meddling tiresome?"

    I decided to take control of the situation, deliberately adjusting Marcus¡¯s jacket to reveal my bandaged arm. With a practiced air of resignation, I said: "When I heard Mr. Murphy had arrived, I went out to greet him and unfortunately took a fall." I let out a small sigh, infusing my voice with a touch of pain. "It hurts terribly. Mr. Murphy lent me his jacket¡ªotherwise, I wouldn¡¯t be presentable at all."

    Catherine asked in surprise: "How did you manage to fall so badly? Since when did you be so delicate?"

    Thanks a lot, I mentally rolled my eyes. Looking around, I noticed everyone staring at my arm. Jack had even stood up, seemingly intending toe check on my injury. Oscar and Logan were already approaching, with Oscar beginning his customary stream of concern.

    Only Samuel maintained his knowing smile, eyes fixed on me. I was absolutely certain he knew exactly how I¡¯d gotten hurt. This sent a wave of unease through me, though I couldn¡¯t let it show.

    "You need to go to the hospital," Oscar insisted, his doctor¡¯s instincts taking over. "That doesn¡¯t look like a simple scrape."

    I tried to refuse, but Oscar was adamant about taking me to the hospital. Eventually, Catherine suggested that Marcus drive us.

    Sitting in the back seat of Marcus¡¯s luxury sedan, I could sense Oscar¡¯s displeasure. I actually wanted to speak with Marcus privately about Samuel, but Oscar¡¯s presence forced me to change the subject.

    "It¡¯s just a minor injury, no need for such a fuss," I said impatiently to Oscar, trying to mask my nervousness.

    "I organized this party, and now the host is leaving in the middle of it¡ª how does that look?"

    Oscar retorted indignantly: "You shouldn¡¯t have thrown that kind of party in the first ce. Do you know what they¡¯re saying about you behind your back?" His tone wasden with protectiveness.

    I feigned indifference: "What could they possibly say? Just the usual clich¨¦s-damaged goods, ball-buster, seductress, shameless... They hate me yet want to be me¡ªit¡¯s love and hate intertwined." On the surface, I appeared nonchnt, but there was a tinge of bitterness inside. Over the years, I¡¯d grown ustomed to idle gossip, but that didn¡¯t mean it couldn¡¯t still hurt.

    Oscar remained silent for a moment, then suddenly apuded. "Brilliant and spot-on. That¡¯s so you, Annie." His eyes reflected both admiration and concern.

    Throughout all this, Marcus maintained his silence. But I could feel

    his gaze asionally resting on me, giving me an inexplicable sense of calm.

    At the emergency room, I removed the jacket, and both Marcus and Oscar¡¯s expressions immediately changed. My injuries were worse than I¡¯d let on¡ª blood had seeped through the temporary bandages.

    "Anna, are you insane? You¡¯re bleeding through and you didn¡¯t say anything?" Oscar¡¯s voice carried both anger and worry. He quickly removed his suit jacket, tossing it to Rachel, then grabbed a white coat from a rack and put it on, expertly retrieving a mask from a nearby drawer.

    Faced with the attending physician¡¯s bewildered expression, I could only exin awkwardly: "Sorry, he¡¯s a doctor too¡ªupational hazard."

    As Oscar tended to my wounds, he muttered curses under his breath, though his touch remained exceptionally gentle. I kept my eyes closed, not daring to look, gripping Rachel¡¯s hand so tightly I was likely leaving marks.

    When the bandaging was finallyplete, Oscar removed his mask and looked down at me, his eyes filled with suspicion: "A fall? You jumped from a building, didn¡¯t you? How else could you possibly end up like this?"

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I exhaled deeply, deciding to be honest with Oscar. "You¡¯re right. I actually did fall from a building."

    Oscar¡¯s face immediately transformed, his expression hardening with concern.

    "What the hell, Anna? Are you out of your mind? What did you do this time?"

    I couldn¡¯t stand his motherly fussing.

    "Nothing," I said dismissively. "I¡¯m kidding. It was just a fall." His skeptical expression amused me, but I didn¡¯t feel like exining. I nced around the room, suddenly noticing someone was missing. "Where¡¯s Uncle Marcus? I don¡¯t see him."

    Oscar let out a cold snort. "Your uncle dropped you off and disappeared.

    Probably left already."

    The attending physician prescribed an anti-inmmatory spray, and was about to write a prescription for scar removal cream when Oscar intercepted. "We don¡¯t need that. I have some at home."

    The doctor smiled at me. "When your boyfriend is a doctor, why evene to the hospital? He could¡¯ve treated you at home."

    Oscar jumped up as if his tail had been stepped on. "No, no, no! I am not her boyfriend."

    I nodded, adding very seriously, "And I could definitely do better than him."

    Rachel drove me back to Rosa Vi, where I declined Oscar¡¯s offer to stay and help with my wounds.

    Back at Rosa Vi, I still didn¡¯t see Marcus anywhere. I guessed he had probably returned to the Murphy estate.

    Since I couldn¡¯t shower with my injuries, I had Rachel help me clean up with a damp towel, her movements gentle yet efficient.

    "Ms. Shaw, you should rest. Your body needs time to recover," she advised.

    I nodded, settling back against the pillows.

    My phone rang¡ªit was Sean. I picked up, putting it on speaker so Rachel could hear.

    "Ms. Shaw, the party has ended. After you left, I continued monitoring the situation," he began. "You should know that shortly after your departure, Mr. Griffin went to a private room for drinks with Logan Porter and Mr. Simpson. I don¡¯t know what they discussed specifically."

    After hanging up, Rachel brought me some pain medication and a ss of water.

    "Try to get some sleep, Ms. Shaw. I¡¯ll be just down the hall if you need anything."

    I nodded gratefully, though I doubted sleep woulde easily. After Rachel closed the door, I was left alone with my thoughts. I reyed recent events in my mind, bing increasingly suspicious of Samuel Griffin.

    Iy in bed, unable to sleep. Every inch of my body felt like it was on fire, the pain from my wounds refusing to let me rest. Just then, a knock sounded at my bedroom door.

    "Come in," I called, assuming it was Rachel.

    The door opened, and to my surprise, Marcus Murphy stepped into the dim room. My eyes widened. "Uncle Marcus?"

    Feeling it improper to receive him while lying down, I quickly tried to sit up, but the sudden movement pulled at my shoulder wound. "Oww!" I gasped, copsing back onto the pillow.

    Marcus set down whatever he was carrying and crossed the room in a few long strides. With one fluid movement, he slipped his arm behind me and gently pulled me upright. His voice carried an edge of urgency and worry. "Did you tear your wound?"

    I felt suddenly self-conscious, acutely aware of how practiced his movements seemed. As if he¡¯d done this before.

    "Does it hurt?" Marcus frowned deeply, "Let me take a look."

    I frozepletely. Take a look? Where exactly was he nning to look?

    Before I could process that thought, Marcus was already gently pulling aside the strap of my nightgown. I felt my entire body temperature skyrocket, certain I now resembled a thoroughly cooked lobster, bright red and radiating heat.

    Marcus had juste in from outside, and his fingers were slightly cool.

    When they made contact with my skin, I couldn¡¯t help but shiver. He carefully pulled down my gown just enough to reveal the shoulder wound. The bandage had a bright spot of fresh blood.

    "You¡¯re bleeding," he said, his voice dropping to a deep rumble.

    I quickly pulled my gown back up and grabbed the robe lying nearby, wrapping it around myself. "It¡¯s fine.

    Doesn¡¯t hurt." The embarrassment was overwhelming; I wished I could disappear into the mattress.

    Thankfully, Marcus stood and retrieved what he¡¯d brought with him. Desserts, of all things.

    "Uncle Marcus, where did you get these?" I asked, surprised.

    Marcus answered simply: "I bought them."

    He took out a small cake from the paper bag and handed it to me. I happily epted it. "Thank you, Uncle Marcus." A sweet treat was exactly what I needed right now.

    As I took the cake, a familiar aroma of milk and chocte wafted up to my nose. I paused for a second, though I thought that particr shop had probably closed years ago.

    I scooped up a small bite with the provided spoon and put it in my mouth. The melt-in-your-mouth cream and slightly caramelized chocte instantly awakened memories that had been dormant for years. I stared at Marcus in shock. "Uncle Marcus, where did you buy this dessert?"

    Marcus looked down at me from his imposing height. "A little-known dessert shop. It¡¯s quite far from here, which is why I¡¯mte."

    "This... this..." I was too shocked to form aplete sentence. "Uncle Marcus, is this ce called I¡¯s Bakery?"

    Marcus nodded. "Yes."

    My surprise intensified as I looked at him incredulously. "Uncle Marcus, how did you know about this bakery? How did you know I like their desserts?"

    Marcus just regarded me silently, offering no exnation. Instead, he asked, "Are you still in pain?"

    My heart was racing, my mind filled with questions. The story behind I¡¯s Bakery was special-the owner had once been a pastry chef for the Shaw family, whoter left to open her own cake shop. My father frequently bought me treats from there. Those desserts had been my emotional anchor during difficult times. After my father passed away, the shop suddenly changed hands, and I¡¯d spent a long time searching for it without sess.

    Even my mother probably didn¡¯t remember this detail. How could Marcus possibly know?

    I barely slept that night, and was up early the next morning. As I made my way downstairs, I saw Peter Reeding in from outside, one arm in a sling. When he spotted me, he clearly wanted to retreat but wasn¡¯t quick enough.

    My expression darkened. "You¡¯re injured?"

    "M-Miss Shaw," Peter actually stuttered, "I-I took a fall, and then..."

    I had no patience for his fabricated story and cut him off. "Did someone attack Uncle Marcus against night?

    Is that why he came back sote?"

    Concern and anger surged through me simultaneously. Marcus had not only risked himself to buy my favorite dessert but had likely encountered danger on his way. This realization made my chest tighten with both gratitude and distress.

    "Tell me what happened," I demanded, stepping closer to Peter.

 Chapter 46: Not Mine to Protect

    <h4>Chapter 46: Not Mine to Protect</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    Peter shifted ufortably, his professional demeanor cracking under my scrutiny. "Miss Shaw, Mr. Murphy specifically asked me not to worry you with unnecessary details."

    "I¡¯m already worried," I snapped, gesturing at his injured arm. "Spill it.

    Now."

    He sighed in defeat. "Mr. Murphy wasn¡¯t attacked. He¡¯spletely fine."

    Relief flooded through me so intensely my knees nearly buckled. "He wasn¡¯t hurt?"

    "No, Miss Shaw. Mr. Murphy is uninjured." Peter¡¯s voice softened slightly. "He didn¡¯t want you to know because he thought you¡¯d me yourself, given that he was out getting your favorite dessert."

    The relief was quickly reced by confusion and concern. "Then what happened to you?"

    Peter shrugged his good shoulder, trying to appear nonchnt. "Just some street thugs. They kicked me once, causing a minor fracture. It¡¯s nothing serious."

    "Nothing serious?" I stared at him incredulously. "Someone attacked you and you call that nothing serious?

    What were they after?"

    "They seemed to know exactly who Mr. Murphy was, but they weren¡¯t particrly skilled. I handled it myself." Peter¡¯s practiced indifference couldn¡¯t mask the seriousness of the situation.

    My mind raced, connecting the dots.

    First Marcus gets stabbed, then I¡¯m trapped in a restroom with Jack, and now this? The timing was too perfect to be coincidental. Someone was watching us closely, someone who desperately wanted control of Skke District and wasn¡¯t afraid to get physical.

    Just then, Marcus appeared at the doorway, his imposing figure filling the frame. My heart skipped in that now-familiar way, but I pushed the feeling aside, instead scanning him anxiously for any signs of injury.

    "Uncle Marcus," I said, unable to keep the concern from my voice. "Are you really okay? Peter was just telling me aboutst night."

    His eyes darkened as they moved from me to Peter, clearly displeased that his employee had revealed what happened. "I¡¯m fine," he replied curtly.

    I stepped closer, the realization hitting me hard. "You caught me when I jumped yesterday. You held me for so long... did your wound reopen?" The thought of him suffering because of me made my chest tighten painfully.

    "I said I¡¯m fine," Marcus repeated, his tone gentler this time. "Breakfast is ready."

    The dining room at Rosa Vi was bathed in morning light, making the polished wooden table gleam. I stared at my untouched te, appetite nonexistent as my mind churned with troubling thoughts. Across from me, Marcus ate quietly, his movements precise and controlled as always.

    "Is your wound still painful?" Marcus broke the silence, gesturing toward my bandaged arm.

    I looked up, ready to ask about I¡¯s Bakery, about how he knew it was my favorite, about why he¡¯d gone to such lengths just for me-but the words died in my throat. Suddenly, I didn¡¯t want to know the answer. I was afraid of what it might mean, of how it might change things between us.

    That moment of hesitation became rity. I saw with painful lucidity how selfish I¡¯d been-selfishly enjoying his protection, selfishly leaning on him, selfishly pretending I didn¡¯t see his feelings for me.

    This is wrong. The thought hit me with the force of a physical blow.

    Marcus¡¯s business empire was in Europe. He shouldn¡¯t be lingering in America, putting himself in danger because of me. This time it was Peter who got hurt, but next time... next time it could be Marcus himself. The thought of him seriously injured-or worse-because of me was unbearable.

    I remembered the promise I¡¯d made at my father¡¯s grave¡ªto care for my grandmother and mother, to build Shaw Corp into something formidable, to ensure my mother never had to feel inferior when facing Mary Simpson again. I had to forge my own path, no matter how difficult.

    "Uncle Marcus, you¡¯ve been in America for quite a while now," I began cautiously, forcing steadiness into my voice. "Yourpany must be missing you."

    His sharp gaze fixed on me immediately, those dark eyes seeming to read every thought behind my carefully constructed facade. "What are you trying to say?"

    My heart hammered against my ribs, but I pressed on. "Uncle Marcus, if you¡¯re staying here because of me... there¡¯s really no need."

    "My affairs don¡¯t require your concern," he replied coolly, returning his attention to his breakfast.

    I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I had to do. "But I don¡¯t like you that way. I¡¯ve just been using you."

    The words felt like ss in my mouth, jagged and painful, but I forced them out anyway. I expected anger, disappointment, perhaps even hurt¡ª what I didn¡¯t expect was his calm reply.

    "Feel free to use me as you see fit," he said, his voice perfectly steady as he took another bite of his food.

    I fell silent,pletely thrown by his response. The practiced speech I¡¯d prepared crumbled to dust in my mina. I set down my spoon, abandoning all pretense.

    "Uncle Marcus, thank you for taking care of me all this time," I said sincerely, my voice softening. "Apart from William and Catherine, no one has ever been as good to me as you have. It truly means a lot to me."

    I paused, gathering my courage for the final push. "But I also know that I can¡¯t repay you, so I can¡¯t continue epting your kindness. Uncle Marcus, you should go back to Europe soon."

    Without giving him a chance to respond, I stood and bowed formally, a gesture that felt both respectful and final. When I straightened, I caught a glimpse of his expression¡ªa mask of controlled displeasure that nearly broke my resolve. But I knew this was best for both of us.

    "Rachel," I called, my voice unnaturally high as I fought back tears, "pack my things. We¡¯re leaving."

    Back at Goldenleaf Manor, exhaustion hit me like a tidal wave. Although technically Rosa Vi was my property, I couldn¡¯t stay there-not in a ce filled with his presence, with memories of a rtionship that could never be.

    I copsed onto the sofa in the living room, unable to muster the energy even to change my clothes. Everything hurt¡ªmy physical injuries, yes, but more than that, my heart felt like it had been torn from my chest.

    When Daniel and Sean arrived to report on work matters, I couldn¡¯t even sit up properly. I justy there, half-reclined on the sofa, my face turned away as I listened to their updates on Phoenix Project.

    "Ms. Shaw, are you alright?" Sean¡¯s concerned voice interrupted Daniel¡¯s report on production figures. I could hear the rm in his tone, see the worry in his eyes when I finally turned to look at him.

    "I¡¯m fine," I lied, not bothering to make it convincing. "Just tired.

    Continue with your report."

    Marcus¡¯s POV

    I sat in silence, nursing a cold cup of coffee. The doorbell rang. Peter returned momentster with Daniel Davis.

    "Mr. Murphy, Ms. Shaw instructed me to deliver this card to you. It contains the money for the historic building and the fees you paid at the charity auction," Daniel said, his difort evident.

    My heart seized, though my face remained expressionless. Was she ending everything just like that?

    Daniel shifted his weight. "Ms. Shaw said to consider the previous agreement void, and wishes you a safe journey."

    A safe journey? Anger boiled within me. Being discarded so easily irritated me.

    Daniel nced toward Peter, who gestured that he could leave. "Then, Mr. Murphy, I¡¯ll take my leave."

    After he left, silence fell. I picked up the card. "Shaw Corp moving two hundred million dors in one night-impressive."

    Peter attempted to lighten the mood.

    "Ms. Shaw really won¡¯t ept any favors from you. That¡¯s unusual."

    "Did I not allow her to ept?" I erupted. "I practically ced the money in front of her begging her to take it, yet she refused."

    I mmed my fist against the table.

    The coffee cup rattled. Peter¡¯s startled expression made me realize how uncharacteristic my outburst was.

    I let out a cold snort. "And she thinks she canpete for Skke District?

    What does she have? Money? Power?

    What is she willing to risk? Her life?"

    The memory of Anna jumping from that window shed in my mind-her reckless determination to handle everything herself. If I hadn¡¯t caught her...

    "What¡¯s your take on this situation?" I asked Peter.

    "I looked into it today. Those thugs from the other night were street criminals. Their leader runs some inte caf¨¦. They were hired for a one-time job. I suspect they¡¯re connected to whoever targeted Ms. Shaw."

    "No need to suspect-it¡¯s definitely the same person," I stated.

    "Those thugs didn¡¯t seem like they were aiming to do serious harm," Peter said.

    "It was for show," I replied.

    "For whose benefit?"

    "The effect was quite obvious."

    Peter¡¯s expression changed as he understood.

    "Sir, you¡¯re saying it was staged for Ms. Shaw to see? To force you to leave? Was your previous injury also part of this n?" Peter frowned.

    "Could Samuel Griffin be behind this? I heard from Rachel that Griffin has been stirring trouble between you and your nephew. But if it¡¯s him, why not just partner with Ms. Shaw directly?

    Why drive a wedge between you and Jack?"

    I walked to the window, gazing at the grounds.

    I turned back to Peter. "Now someone¡¯s staging attacks, making Anna believe she¡¯s putting me in danger."

    My jaw tightened. "It¡¯s working as nned. She¡¯s cutting ties, thinking she¡¯s protecting me."

    "But why would Griffin go to such lengths?" Peter asked.

    "Whether it¡¯s him or not, the truth wille to light."

    "Sir, should I have him followed?"

    "No. Book a flight," I said decisively.

    "To where?" Peter looked surprised.

    "Back," I answered.

    Anna¡¯s POV

    My phone lit up-the bank confirmed the transfer to Marcus¡¯s ount. Two hundred million dors for the Skke historic building. My ountant panicked about the cash outflow, but Shaw Corp would be fine.

    The Phoenix project was about tounch domestically, and the final payments from overseas orders would arrive soon. Our cash flow was secure.

    But I had a lot of work to do, and I couldn¡¯t stay home to recover, so I decided to go to the office the next day.

    The following day, I was deep in paperwork at Shaw Tower when Catherine Murphy burst into my office without knocking. Her face was flushed, and her eyes held an usatory gleam that immediately put me on edge.

    "Uncle Marcus left. Did you know?" she demanded without preamble.

    The pen I was holding ttered onto my desk. I felt my heart skip a beat.

    Despite my best efforts to maintainposure, I knew my expression had betrayed me.

    "I guess you didn¡¯t know." Catherine¡¯s eyes narrowed with spection.

    "When did he leave?" I managed to find my voice, struggling to maintain a level tone while my insides churned with unexpected turmoil.

    Catherine pointed upward at the ceiling. "The ne should be in the air by now."

    I found myself involuntarily ncing toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, as if I could somehow spot his ne through the ss. He had left just like that¡ªno goodbye, no exnation, as suddenly as he had appeared. An indefinable sense of loss gradually crept over me.

    Catherine leaned across my desk, staring at me intently. "Uncle Marcus didn¡¯t tell Grandfather anything, just said he needed to go back.

    Grandfather and I figured it had to be about you."

    "Did your grandfather say anything?" I asked carefully, worried that William Murphy might hold me responsible.

    "Not really, he just sighed." Catherine studied my face with unabashed curiosity. "Annie, do you really not have feelings for my uncle? Isn¡¯t he a hundred times better than that blind fool Jack Simpson? Isn¡¯t he exactly your type, both face and physique?"

    I took a deep breath, suppressing the ache in my chest. "I really don¡¯t want to be in a rtionship again."

    I couldn¡¯t help but sigh. "It¡¯s tooplicated, for both me and your uncle. His business empire is in Europe, and I can¡¯t possibly go overseas. What would be the point of us being together?" The words sounded like I was trying to convince Catherine, but really, I was trying to convince myself.

    Catherine nodded, feigning indifference. "You have a point. Uncle Marcus has over a dozen listed

    She shrugged dramatically. "Besides, men will do anything for you before they get you into bed. After they¡¯ve slept with you enough? Hah! He may be my uncle, but you¡¯re my best friend, so I¡¯m on your side."

    I forced a smile, my gaze drifting back to the window and the sky beyond.

    Marcus was truly gone. A profound emptiness suddenly enveloped me.

    Skyview City was still Skyview City, and yet something felt fundamentally different.

    Iughed bitterly to myself. *It¡¯s easier to adjust to luxury than to give it up.* In just a few days, I had grown ustomed to having him nearby, and now, being alone again, I felt strangely disoriented.

    When the workday finally ended, I found myself walking through the Shaw Tower lobby with Rachel nking me.

    But as we approached the main doors, a familiar figure materialized from the crowd of departing employees.

    Jack stood near the entrance, hands in his pockets, his tall frame impossible to miss. My step faltered slightly before I regained myposure. His presence was thest thing I needed today.

    "Mr. Simpson, what brings you here?" I maintained a polite but distant demeanor.

    Jack frowned, clearly displeased by my formality. "Let¡¯s talk. I¡¯ll buy you dinner."

    I kept my tone businesslike. "Mr. Simpson, we have nothing to discuss.

    If Simpson Group wants to coborate with me, you¡¯ll need to show some sincere goodwill that satisfies me.

    Otherwise, there¡¯s nothing to talk about." In my heart, all romantic feelings for him had evaporated.

    Jack¡¯s gaze darkened as he looked at me. "You know that¡¯s not what I want to talk about."

    "Then we have even less to discuss." I turned away, denying him any opportunity to pursue the conversation.

    "Back to Goldenleaf Manor," I instructed as I settled into the car¡¯s backseat.

    Through the rear window, I could see Jack still standing where I¡¯d left him.

    As the car pulled away, the distance between us grew-much like our rtionship, which could never return to what it once was.

    "Any updates on Mia?" I asked, eager to redirect my thoughts to work matters.

    Rachel consulted her tablet before responding. "Mr. Griffin has been taking her around to social events, but they¡¯re either drinking with people or just staying at the hotel. Last night he hosted a pool party at the hotel, invited quite a few people, and itsted until dawn. They¡¯ve been sleeping at the hotel all day today."

    I leaned against the car door, supporting my head with one hand, fatigue seeping into my bones. "Samuel still hasn¡¯t touched her?"

    Rachel shook her head. "No, he hasn¡¯t, though he acts quite wild in front of others. He gave Mia arge sum of hush money, so she¡¯s making money from both sides and seems to be enjoying herself."

    I pondered Samuel¡¯s behavior, finding it at odds with his reputation as a notorious yboy. This discrepancy piqued my curiosity about the man¡¯s true nature and intentions.

    "By the way, Ms. Shaw," Rachel added, "Nora is back. She attended Mr.

    Griffin¡¯s pool partyst night. Should we contact her?"

 Chapter 47: Where It Hurts Most

    <h4>Chapter 47: Where It Hurts Most</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I shook my head. "Samuel already has Mia ying his panion. Let¡¯s leave Nora out of this for now."

    Honestly, I had nned to discuss Samuel with Marcus-to share my suspicions and perhaps develop a strategy. But now that he¡¯d returned to Europe, I was on my own. The phantom pressure of his absence weighed on me more than I cared to admit.

    My phone buzzed. Speak of the devil ¡ªSamuel Griffin¡¯s name shed on the screen. I answered with practiced neutrality.

    "Mr. Griffin, what can I do for you?"

    "Ms. Shaw," his voice dripped with that artificial charm that made my skin crawl. "I was hoping you¡¯d join me for dinner tonight. Just a casual business discussion."

    I hesitated, weighing my options. After his behavior at the party and the twisted games he¡¯d been ying, the smart move would be to keep my distance. But I also needed to understand what he was nning next.

    "Where and when?" I finally asked.

    "The rooftop restaurant at Golden Ember Hotel, in an hour?"

    At least this time he¡¯d chosen a public, respectable venue. "I¡¯ll be there."

    When I got to the restaurant, Samuel sat alone at a corner table, looking infuriatingly at ease in his suit. No Mia in sight. When he spotted me, his face lit up with that practiced smile that never reached his eyes.

    "Ms. Shaw," he stood to greet me, pulling out my chair with exaggerated gantry. "You look exquisite tonight."

    I took my seat, maintaining a polite smile while mentally calcting how quickly I could leave if necessary.

    "Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Griffin. I must admit I was surprised."

    Samuel signaled for the waiter, ordering an expensive bottle of wine without consulting me. "Why surprised? We¡¯re both business people with shared interests."

    "Are we?" I raised an eyebrow, scanning the empty chair beside him.

    "Where¡¯s yourpanion tonight?

    Mia, wasn¡¯t it?"

    His eyes glinted with something predatory. "With a beautiful woman like Anna Shaw joining me, who needs anyone else?"

    I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his transparent ttery. Instead, I decided to cut through the charade.

    "Mr. Griffin, I doubt you invited me here just for dinner. What is it you really want to discuss?"

    He leaned back, studying me with unconcealed amusement. "What else?"

    "Perhaps you wanted to inquire about why Marcus Murphy suddenly left America? Whether he¡¯sing back?"

    I kept my tone light, but watched his reaction carefully.

    He asked with a smile. "Is your ¡¯Uncle Marcus¡¯ing back?"

    His expression told me the truth. My practiced smile faded as cold realization washed over me. All the pieces clicked into ce-the stabbing, the rest room incident, Peter¡¯s injury.

    Samuel Griffin wasn¡¯t just an annoyance; he was the puppetmaster.

    "You¡¯ve got quite the appetite, Mr. Griffin," I said coldly, anger simmering just beneath my controlled exterior.

    "Skke District is Skyview City¡¯s crown jewel-countless families have their eyes on it, yet you want it all for yourself?"

    "Impressive, Ms. Shaw. You caught on quickly." He didn¡¯t even bother denying it, his face lighting up with smug satisfaction. "Going after Marcus Murphy was indeed the right move. I said he was your lover, which you denied, but you were clearly afraid of him getting hurt. So you sent him away, didn¡¯t you?"

    Ice spread through my veins. I regretted ever considering him as a potential ally. This man was far more dangerous than I¡¯d anticipated-he¡¯d dropped all pretense, not even bothering with the fa?ade anymore.

    Clearly, he didn¡¯t consider me a worthy opponent.

    "Let me guess," I analyzed, keeping my voice steady despite the rage building inside me. "That night at the charity g when I spilled champagne on you¡ªthat was deliberate, wasn¡¯t it?

    This was shortly after my divorce, before the historic building was back in my possession. You weren¡¯t targeting me at all; you were after Jack Simpson. You just didn¡¯t expect to be thrown out by Peter Reed."

    Samuel apuded softly, his eyes lighting with unexpected admiration.

    "What can I say, Ms. Shaw? I¡¯m genuinely intrigued by you now."

    "Shaw Corp is a small enterprisepared to yours," I said, no longer able to maintain my smile. "Why not just leave me alone?"

    Samuel leaned forward, his voice dropping to a meaningful murmur.

    "That historic building is in your hands, and as you said yourself¡ª whoever controls the building controls Skke. Who knows? Perhaps we¡¯ll end up working together after all."

    The threat in his words was unmistakable. With Marcus gone, he thought I¡¯d lost my protection. In his eyes, the historic building was just another asset to be acquired or destroyed. My ancestral home, my mother¡¯s childhood memories-none of that mattered to a man like Samuel Griffin.

    I forced onest smile, though it felt like stretching ss across my face.

    "Mr. Griffin, I think I¡¯ll let you enjoy your dinner alone. I have othermitments."

    "Leaving so soon?" He feigned disappointment, though his eyes remained calcting. "We¡¯ve barely started."

    "I¡¯ve seen and heard enough," I replied, rising from my chair with deliberate poise. "Goodnight, Mr. Griffin."

    The moment the elevator doors closed behind me, I let myposed expression copse. That bastard! I leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath to steady myself.

    Yet beneath my anger, I felt an odd sense of relief. I didn¡¯t regret sending Marcus away-quite the opposite. I was grateful he was gone. The waters in Skyview City were getting deeper and more treacherous with Heritage Group¡¯s entrance. More power yers would inevitably follow. Marcus¡¯s business empire was in Europe; he had no reason to waste time here, entangled in local power struggles.

    As I passed the hotel¡¯s front desk, I paused. "The bill for Mr. Griffin¡¯s should be charged directly to him.

    Make sure you collect payment."

    The small act of pettiness gave me a fleeting sense of satisfaction.

    In the car heading back to Goldenleaf Manor, I stared out at the cityscape, mind racing through potential next steps. With Marcus gone, Samuel would likely target the Simpson family next. The thought of Samuel going after Jack and his family almost made me smile. If those two collided, I would happily watch from the sidelines.

    I¡¯d lost my most powerful ally, but at least I¡¯d seen Samuel¡¯s true face. That knowledge was valuable in its own way. After calming myself, I called Logan Porter and exined the situation.

    "He admitted everything?" Logan sounded incredulous. "Just like that?"

    "He¡¯s arrogant," I replied. "And now that Marcus is gone, he sees no reason to hide his intentions."

    Logan was silent for a moment. "This changes everything, Anna. We need to regroup. I¡¯lle by tomorrow morning."

    The next morning, I descended the grand staircase of Goldenleat Manor to find Logan already waiting in the living room. He paced back and forth across the carpet, a nervous energy radiating from him that seemedpletely at odds with his typicallyposed demeanor.

    When he heard my footsteps and turned, I noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. He clearly hadn¡¯t slept well. His normally immacte appearance was slightly rumpled, as if he¡¯d dressed in haste.

    "Anna," he said, relief flooding his face. "We need to talk."

    Anna¡¯s POV

    "Anna, you weren¡¯t taken advantage of by Samuel, were you?" The concern in his eyes made warmth spread through my chest. Even though I was no longer a little girl, Logan still protected me like he did when we were kids.

    "No, I kept my guard up and realized quickly this man is nothing like the rumors suggest." I shook my head, a hint of self-mockery pulling at my lips.

    "Once Uncle Marcus left, I suddenly became insignificant in his eyes. He didn¡¯t even bother to keep up appearances anymore."

    Inside, I felt bitter. I¡¯d been incredibly naive to think I could partner with Samuel Griffin and secure the Skke District project. The very idea seemedughable now. Samuel had never taken me seriously from the start-he was only using me to get closer to Marcus. The realization left me feeling hollow, but what bothered me more was my own foolishness and embarrassment.

    "Have you eaten yet, Logan? Let¡¯s grab something," I said, gesturing toward the restaurant¡¯s dining area, forcing myself to change the subject.

    "I barely sleptst night, worried you might have gotten burned. After all, I¡¯m the one who introduced him to you." Logan pushed his sses up, his eyes full of regret. "I¡¯m so sorry, Anna.

    I misjudged himpletely. I haven¡¯t known him long¡ªI shouldn¡¯t have rashly introduced him to you. I just thought Heritage Group could be a counterweight to Simpson Group, and if you could partner with them, it would benefit you. Damn, I really screwed up."

    Seeing Logan me himself made me feel even worse. This wasn¡¯t his fault at all; I¡¯d ced too much hope in Samuel Griffin.

    "Samuel had his eye on me first. Even if you hadn¡¯t introduced us, he would have found another way to approach me. Maybe he deliberately befriended you to get to me? He¡¯s too calcting ¡ªI just underestimated him this time."

    I forced a smile, though I knew my carelessness stemmed partly from my trust in Logan. I needed outside help, and Samuel appeared at the perfect moment. Looking back, Samuel had shown plenty of red gs, but I was too desperate for an ally to notice.

    "I should have done better research," Logan was still ming himself.

    "Stop beating yourself up. I didn¡¯t lose anything substantial. Heritage Group¡¯s target is Skke District, and their real opponent is Simpson Group." I appeared nonchnt, but my mind was already plotting my next move.

    Samuel¡¯s betrayal had taught me that Shaw Corp still had a long road ahead.

    Logan sighed heavily. "This is a major development initiative. Skke District property values are going to skyrocket, and Skyview City is about to be a battleground. Anna, you¡¯re holding that historic building¡ªbe careful."

    "I know. Thanks for the warning." I nodded gratefully. Logan always spotted risks I missed.

    "Let¡¯s eat. I don¡¯t have anything prepared, so you¡¯ll have to make do with what we have."

    was already plotting my next move.

    Samuel¡¯s betrayal had taught me that Shaw Corp still had a long road ahead.

    Logan sighed heavily. "This is a major development initiative. Skke District property values are going to skyrocket, and Skyview City is about to be a battleground. Anna, you¡¯re holding that historic building¡ªbe careful."

    "I know. Thanks for the warning." I nodded gratefully. Logan always spotted risks I missed.

    "Let¡¯s eat. I don¡¯t have anything prepared, so you¡¯ll have to make do with what we have."

    "When you were little, you used to run over to our house for dinner all the time. You loved my mom¡¯ssagna," Logan said, his eyes crinkling with a gentle smile.

    Memories of childhood brought an unexpected blush to my cheeks. "I was just a kid then. Don¡¯t tease me."

    "I¡¯m not teasing. You shoulde over more often. My mom makessagna andins that I¡¯m not thoughtful enough to bring you around anymore."

    As we reminisced about our childhood, the unpleasantness Samuel had caused quickly dissipated. I felt a warm glow inside, grateful to have friends like the Porters in my life.

    Later that afternoon, just before I was about to leave the office, Catherine suddenly appeared, insisting we go to dinner. I assumed it was just a casual friend meetup, never suspecting it was a trap.

    When we arrived at the restaurant, I immediately spotted Jack. I felt my face fall.

    "That jerk forced me into this,"

    Catherine quickly exined, seeing my expression change. "He said he had something important to tell you, but you wouldn¡¯t take his calls."

    Irritation surged through me. "What did he use to ckmail you?"

    Catherine looked genuinely annoyed as she exined: "He promised Quentin Walker would perform at my birthday party. That¡¯s *Quentin Walker*-my absolute idol. How could I refuse that?"

    I had to suppress an eye-roll.

    Catherine would do anything for her favorite idol.

    Since I was already here, I reluctantly sat down, though my guard remained firmly up. Since our divorce, every encounter with Jack had ended unpleasantly, and today would likely be no different.

    "If you¡¯re here to ask about Uncle Marcus, I have nothing to say. He¡¯s gone back to Europe now, just as your family wanted." I gave him a cold look, my eyes holding a hint of contempt.

    Jack seemed to avoid confrontation for once, getting straight to the point: "I wanted to warn you about Samuel Griffin. That man is dangerous and extremely calcting."

    Hearing Samuel¡¯s name gave me pause. Jack had no idea that Samuel and I had already had our falling out.

    "Thank you for the warning, Mr. Simpson. I¡¯ll keep that in mind." My response was deliberately cool and revealed nothing. In truth, I¡¯d already experienced Samuel¡¯s true nature firsthand, but I refused to appear vulnerable in front of Jack.

    "I¡¯m not trying to drive a wedge between you two, even though Simpson Group does want to partner with Heritage Group. But I wouldn¡¯t stoop to stealing from you." Jack¡¯s tone grew more serious. "And let me say something you don¡¯t want to hear¡ª can Shaw Corp reallypete with Simpson Group? If Samuel isn¡¯t a fool, he¡¯d never choose to partner with you.

    Does Shaw Corp have the capacity to share the risk?"

    His words cut like knives. I knew he was speaking the truth, but I couldn¡¯t ept it, much less acknowledge my naivety and weakness in front of him.

    "If you know I don¡¯t want to hear it, then please shut up," I said coldly, struggling to contain my anger and shame.

    He was right¡ªI had been naive. Little Shaw Corp trying to stake a im on Skke District? Samuel had given me a reality check, yet here I was, pretending to be unfazed in front of Jack. The embarrassment only fueled my irritation.

    "That¡¯s not what I meant. I¡¯m worried he¡¯s using you," Jack frowned as he tried to exin. "I had someone investigate thoroughly. I suspect Samuel arranged for us to be locked in that rest room that night."

    I was surprised he¡¯d gone to the trouble of investigating the incident.

    Though I already knew the truth, I couldn¡¯t help but scoff: "Is that so?"

    "Anna, wake up. You¡¯re not his match." Jack suddenly grabbed my hand, his voice carrying an unusual urgency. "I¡¯m trying to help you."

    The moment his hand closed around mine, I stiffened. The once-familiar touch stirred unwanted memories.

    "Whoa, hands off! Jack, remove your paws immediately. She¡¯s not your wife anymore, remember?" Catherine¡¯s eyes widened in rm.

    "Let go," I demanded coldly, fighting to keep any emotion from showing.

    Just then, an angry voice cut through the restaurant: "What are you two doing?"

    I turned to see Mary Simpson and Lucy Taylor standing nearby. The coincidence was almostughable-of all the restaurants in Skyview City, we had to run into them.

    I tried again to pull my hand away, but Jack¡¯s grip remained firm.

    "Jack, Anna... are you two back together?" Lucy¡¯s voice trembled, her eyes filled with disbelief and barely concealed anger.

    That question was like a match to gasoline. Mary Simpson immediately stormed over and pped me hard across the face.

    Because Jack was still holding my hand, I couldn¡¯t dodge. The stinging pain spread instantly across my cheek, but the humiliation and fury burned even hotter. I felt blood rushing to my head, my ears ringing.

    "What are you doing?" Jack finally released my hand, staring at his mother in shock.

    And I-I could no longer control myself. Before anyone could react, I raised my hand and delivered a resounding p to Lucy¡¯s face.

    The sharp crack echoed through the suddenly silent restaurant.

    Lucy held her cheek, looking at me in disbelief. "Anna, why did you hit me?"

 Chapter 48: Exposed

    <h4>Chapter 48: Exposed</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I stared back at her coldly, my palm still tingling from the p. The entire restaurant had fallen silent, all eyes on our little drama. I didn¡¯t care.

    "Anna Shaw, how dare you p Lucy?" Mary Simpson¡¯s voice cut through the silence, her face contorted with rage.

    I met her gaze without flinching, my expression as frigid as my voice. "I pped her because she deserved it.

    And next time, it¡¯ll be you."

    My words ignited something dark in Mary¡¯s eyes. "What did you say? You want to hit me?" Sheughed, the sound brittle and mocking. "Marcus leaves and you immediately start chasing after Jack again. What kind of woman are you? You have the audacity to strike someone? Anna Shaw, let¡¯s see if you dare to hit back."

    When she raised her hand again, I didn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t even blink. I just watched her, my body tensed but still.

    I wouldn¡¯t give her the satisfaction of seeing me cower, nor would I give her the excuse she wanted by fighting back. But inside, my heart had hardened to ice-this woman who had made me swallow my words for years was nothing but a pathetic clown in my eyes now.

    Before her hand could connect with my face again, Catherine lunged forward, positioning herself between us like a shield. "Try hitting her again, I dare you," she growled, her voice thick with protective fury.

    Mary didn¡¯t hesitate, her hand swinging with even more force. I felt a surge of warmth at Catherine¡¯s defense, mixed with worry that she¡¯d be caught in the crossfire. But the blow nevernded-Jack caught his mother¡¯s wrist mid-air.

    "Enough!" His voice carried exhaustion and frustration. "I¡¯m the one who asked Anna to meet. This has nothing to do with her."

    I studied his face, noting theplex emotions flickering across his features.

    A small, bitter part of me wanted tough. *Now* he sees his mother for what she is? Too little, toote. In that moment, I felt a strange sense of gratitude for our divorce-it had freed me from this toxic family.

    Catherine gently touched my reddening cheek, her eyes zing with anger. "She hit you so hard, it¡¯s already swelling." She frantically waved over a waiter, demanding ice.

    "Go throw your weight around at your own house, Simpson. Anna isn¡¯t part of your family anymore-what gives you the right toy a hand on her?"

    Mary stood tall, chin lifted with aristocratic disdain. "I¡¯m her elder.

    What¡¯s wrong with disciplining a younger person who¡¯s out of line?

    Anna Shaw, I¡¯m warning you¡ªstay away from my son."

    I couldn¡¯t suppress a coldugh, my contempt impossible to hide. "That¡¯s rich. Your son is the one who won¡¯t leave me alone. Please control him better. I don¡¯t want to see anyone from the Simpson family, ever."

    My voice remained steady, each wordnding like a stone in still water.

    Catherine red at Jack. "Take your mother and go. Now."

    Jack opened his mouth then closed it, his eyes fixed on the angry red mark blooming on my cheek. His expression crumbled into shame and regret, perhaps even nostalgia for what we¡¯d once had. But it was all meaningless now. I was no longer the Anna Shaw who would sacrifice everything for him.

    As he led Mary away, I caught Lucy¡¯s smug expression from the corner of my eye, confirming I¡¯d pped exactly the right person. That woman needed to be put in her ce.

    "Mary ispletely unhinged these days," Catherine said, disgust written across her face. "You know what?

    After Uncle Marcus returned to Europe, she went running to Grandfather. I don¡¯t know what she said, but it made Grandfather so angry he nearly hit her. Everyone at the Murphy Estate heard him tell her to get out."

    At the mention of Marcus, my thoughts drifted. *He must be back in Europe by now*. I didn¡¯t voice the thought, just listened as Catherine continued.

    "The moment Uncle Marcus leaves, these peoplee after you," she fumed, then abruptly changed course.

    "You know what? Just marry Uncle Marcus and be done with it. Let¡¯s see if they dare mess with you then. "

    Catherineughed at her own suggestion. "Actually, that¡¯s not a bad idea. Jack would have to call you ¡¯aunt. Can you imagine his face? That would be so satisfying."

    Jack¡¯s POV

    I gripped my mother¡¯s elbow firmly as I guided her through the restaurant, past the curious stares and hushed whispers of people. The red mark on Anna¡¯s cheek burned in my memory, usation in her eyes piercing straight through me.

    "Let go of me, Jack," my mother hissed, trying to wrench her arm away, but I held firm until we reached the exit.

    Mother¡¯s driver hurried to open the car door, and I practically pushed her inside. As I turned around, I caught sight of Lucy standing a few feet away, that practiced wounded expression already firmly in ce.

    "Jack..." Her voice trembled, her eyes wide and glistening with perfectly timed tears.

    My heart instantly turned cold. I had seen everything unfold with perfect rity¡ªif Lucy hadn¡¯t made that provocativement, my mother would never have pped Anna. This was her carefully orchestrated scheme.

    My mother had always disapproved of my marriage to Anna, harboring resentment toward her from the beginning. After finally getting her wish when we divorced, hearing rumors about our reconciliation had naturally sent her into a rage.

    *If only they knew there was nothing to reconcile.*

    My chest tightened with a mixture of anger and helplessness. I wanted tosh out at Lucy, to finally call her out on all her maniptions, but I couldn¡¯t bring myself to do it. The debt I owed to her brother Felix hung around my neck like an albatross¡ªa constant reminder of the promises I¡¯d made. I could only respond coldly:

    "I have things to attend to. The driver will take you home."

    Mother¡¯s driver sensing the tension, immediately approached to escort Lucy to the car. But she stood her ground, tears streaming down her face like perfectly timed raindrops.

    "Jack, are you angry with me? Is it because I said something wrong? I didn¡¯t mean to, I just..."

    Her well-rehearsed performance only increased my disgust. I had seen this act too many times now-the quivering lip, the doe-eyed innocence, the strategic vulnerability that had once made me want to protect her.

    Now it just made me tired.

    "Whether it was intentional or not, you know the truth," I said, my tone ice-cold. "Lucy, don¡¯t take people for fools, because you¡¯re not necessarily smarter than everyone else."

    Something shed in her eyes then¡ªa brief crack in the fa?ade, a glimpse of the calction beneath. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, reced by even more dramatic tears.

    A wave of unprecedented regret washed over me. For years, I¡¯d seen through Lucy¡¯s schemes but continued to tolerate her behavior because of my promise to Felix. Even when she cost Simpson Group significant money on the Phoenix project, I never held it against her. I let her manipte her way into the position of project manager despite her obviousck of qualifications. I let her integrate herself into my family, winning over my mother with ttery and false submission.

    But she shouldn¡¯t have targeted Anna.

    Thinking about Anna made my heart ache like it had been pierced with a needle. The woman I once loved most had suffered because of my inaction.

    How many times had I stood by while my mother undermined her? How many times had I pretended not to notice the way the household staff disrespected her on Lucy¡¯s subtle instructions?

    Remorse and guilt surged through me like a flood, nearly overwhelming me.

    "Stop provoking Anna," I stated, my voice low but resolute, each word forced from the depths of my heart. "I won¡¯t tolerate it anymore."

    I didn¡¯t wait for Lucy¡¯s response. I immediately turned and got into the car, mming the door behind me.

    Inside the luxury sedan, the silence was suffocating. My mother sat across from me, her posture rigid with indignation, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her handbag.

    Finally, sheughed¡ªa sharp, sarcastic sound that cut through the silence.

    "Now you don¡¯t want Lucy to provoke Anna? Wasn¡¯t it you who allowed it before?"

    Her words left me speechless, a direct hit that struck me with shame and self-reproach. My hands curled into fists on my knees.

    She continued relentlessly: "If you hadn¡¯t tacitly approved, Lucy and I wouldn¡¯t have treated Anna poorly every day; if you hadn¡¯t permitted it, the household staff wouldn¡¯t have disrespected her."

    Anna¡¯s POV

    I still had the p mark on my face, so I didn¡¯t dare go back to Shaw Estate and remained back at Golden-leaf Manor.

    I was halfway through my evening skincare routine when my phone buzzed. The screen lit up with "Mom" and I hesitated before answering.

    "Annie, darling," my mother¡¯s cheerful voice filled the room. "I have wonderful news! An old friend of mine has a son about your age, and we thought it would be lovely if you two met for dinner tomorrow. He¡¯s such a charming young man with excellent prospects¡ª"

    "Let me just be clear - if you¡¯re trying to set me up, just say so. Don¡¯t use these flimsy excuses. You¡¯re my mother, for God¡¯s sake. You really think you can pull one over on me?" I pressed the speaker button on my phone, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice.

    Mom¡¯s chiding voice filtered through the speaker. "Oh, look who¡¯s so clever while her poor mother is just an idiot, is that it? Fine. The man is someone you already know. Just go and see him, that¡¯s all I¡¯m asking. Both families have already discussed it, but there¡¯s no pressure. If it doesn¡¯t work out, it doesn¡¯t work out."

    "Someone I know?" The mask slipped off my face in surprise as my heartbeat suddenly elerated. "That makes it even worse! How awkward would that be?"

    "How is that awkward? If it doesn¡¯t work out, you¡¯ll just stay friends. You young people are so sensitive about everything." She sighed dramatically.

    "Your grandmother and I both think he¡¯s quite suitable. Just go, if only to humor your mother."

    Hearing her put it that way, I could only swallow my objections and reluctantly agree. After hanging up, an ufortable feeling washed over me.

    Grandmother had always known I wasn¡¯t interested in dating right now and had consistently supported my decisions. Why the sudden change of heart from both of them? I couldn¡¯t make sense of it, but I was too tired to dwell on it further.

    Just as I was about to set my phone down, I realized with horror that I¡¯d identally dialed a number. The name "Uncle Marcus" red at me from the screen. I froze, my mind racing about whether to hang up, but then I thought that ending the call would only make me seem guilty... but guilty of what? What would I even say to him?

    Before I could decide, Marcus¡¯s voice came through the speaker: "Yes?"

    I heard a cacophony of background noise - what sounded like a multilingual meeting in progress.

    Clearly, he was busy, which only made me more flustered. My face grew hot with embarrassment.

    "Nothing important, I was just wondering if you¡¯d arrived safely and how your trip was." I scrambled for an excuse, my voice unintentionally softening.

    The background noise suddenly disappeared - he must have stepped out of the meeting room. "Smooth flight." Just three sybles, delivered without a trace of emotion.

    I¡¯d never felt so awkward on a phone call before. I wanted nothing more than to end it immediately. "That¡¯s good. I¡¯ll let you get back to work, Uncle Marcus."

    "Okay." Still as concise as ever.

    I quickly hung up, fighting the urge to throw my phone across the room in frustration. What a pointless conversation. He probably thought I was strange, like I couldn¡¯t let go of him or something. I took a deep breath and reminded myself: I managed just fine before Marcus Murphy entered my life, and I would continue to do so. Whether dealing with the Simpson family, Samuel Griffin, or the Skke District project, I could handle it all on my own.

    The next day, I deliberately styled myself as an unapproachable career woman - a sophisticated but severe suit, trench coat, hair pulled back into a tight bun, and ck-framed sses.

    The overall effect aged me by at least a decade.

    "Ms. Shaw, what are you..?" Rachel¡¯s expression was priceless when she saw me.

    I pushed my sses up the bridge of my nose with feigned nonchnce. "If I show up to this blind date looking like this, any normal man would have a heart attack, don¡¯t you think?" I secretly congratted myself on my foolproof n.

    During a meetingter that day, I spotted Jack Simpson. He stared at me for a good minute before recognition dawned on his face. Fortunately, we were seated far apart, and I made a swift exit as soon as the meeting concluded, making it clear I had no intention of speaking with him.

    As I arrived at the designated restaurant, I spotted my "blind date" already seated, reading the menu. He wore an impable suit that was The knock on my office door was familiar-three sharp raps, precisely spaced. Peter.

    "Come in," I called, grateful for the interruption from my increasingly distracted thoughts.

    Peter entered with an unusually animated expression, his typically stoic demeanor showing cracks of barely contained excitement.

    "Sir, Ms. Shaw has had a falling out with Samuel. It turns out he was the mastermind behind everything," Peter reported, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

    At the mention of Anna¡¯s name, my pulse quickened. I carefully kept my expression neutral, though I couldn¡¯t prevent the slight tightening of my fingers on the armrest.

    "Exin," Imanded, my voice deliberately measured.

    "Ms. Shaw is quite remarkable. As soon as you left, she exposed Samuel¡¯s true intentions," Peter continued, admiration evident in his voice. "She arranged a meeting with him at Golden Ember Hotel and confronted him directly. Rather than deny it, he admitted to orchestrating your stabbing and the incident at Olympus Club."

    A surge of pride coursed through me.

    *Of course she figured it out*

    Anna¡¯s intelligence had always been one of her most captivating qualities. In my mind¡¯s eye, I could see her facing Samuel-chin lifted in that defiant angle she adopted when challenged, eyes zing with righteous anger.

    "It seems Samuel noticed your departure and no longer considered Ms. Shaw worth the charade. He admitted everything quite bluntly," Peter exined.

    "What else?" I prompted, back still turned to Peter.

    "Mia also mentioned that when Samuel checked out of the hotel, he discovered Ms. Shaw hadn¡¯t covered his bill. He was furious." A hint of amusement crept into Peter¡¯s voice. "He¡¯s since dismissed Mia as well; she¡¯s returned to Olympus Club. She performed her task perfectly-neither Samuel nor Ms. Shaw suspected she was working for us."

    My lips curled into the ghost of a smile. That small act of defiance was so quintessentially Anna-practical yet pointed.

    "Samuel has been extremely cautious,"Peter continued. "All his important calls are made in secure environments."

    "Quite bold," I muttered, my cold tone masking theplex emotions beneath ¡ªadmiration for Anna¡¯s courage mixed with deep concern for her safety.

 Chapter 49: Grace Under Fire

    <h4>Chapter 49: Grace Under Fire</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    "Logan?" I gaped in shock, momentarily forgetting how to respond. My brain short-circuited as I stared at the man across the table.

    "How the hell is it you?"

    Logan chuckled, his eyes wandering over my severe business attire, tight bun, and ck-framed sses. His lips twitched. "Dressed like that? Clearly trying to sabotage the date before it even started, huh?"

    Heat crawled up my neck as I yanked off the unnecessary sses. "My mom said I¡¯d be meeting someone I already knew, but I never imagined it would be you." My fingers fidgeted with the temple of the sses. "I just... I¡¯m focusing on my career right now, not rtionships. Hence the tactical fashion choice."

    After ordering our meals, curiosity got the better of me. "Did Doris tell you I was your blind date?"

    Logan¡¯s smile widened as he poured water into my ss. "Not explicitly.

    She just said she was setting me up with someone I already knew, and I figured it out from there." He shrugged with exaggerated helplessness. "Given my mother¡¯s standards, how many women in Skyview City would she actually approve of as potential daughters-inw?"

    "If you knew it was me, why did you stille?" I asked, increasingly confused.

    Logan¡¯s eyes softened as they met mine. "Consider it making the parents happy. Besides, I needed to talk to you anyway, so I thought I¡¯d kill two birds with one stone and buy you dinner."

    I couldn¡¯t help butugh. "I¡¯m here for the exact same reason-keeping my mother happy. If I¡¯d known it was you, I wouldn¡¯t have been so nervous."

    "Why¡¯s that?" Logan raised an eyebrow.

    The absurdity of the situation hit me all at once, and I burst into genuineughter. "Because going on a date with you feels like... I don¡¯t know, dating my brother or something? I¡¯ve always seen you as an older brother.

    I¡¯d feel the same if I walked in and found Oscar sitting here instead."

    Loganughed with me, the tension between us evaporating. It felt good to just be ourselves again, without the awkward pretense of romantic possibility hanging over us.

    His expression suddenly turned serious, theughter fading from his eyes. "I heard Samuel Griffin met with George Simpson."

    My stomach tightened into a knot.

    "Have you heard anything specific?"

    Logan shook his head, his jaw set in a grim line. "No concrete details yet, but I¡¯m concerned they might join forces." He leaned forward, his voice dropping.

    "Anna, you need to prepare yourself.

    You¡¯ve seen what Samuel is capable of, and if he aligns with the Simpson family, I¡¯m worried about your safety.

    If necessary, that historic building might need to be¡ª" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Your father, if he were here, wouldn¡¯t want to see you hurt because of it."

    A wave of warmth rushed through me at his concern. "Thank you, Logan. I appreciate the warning." But even as I said the words, I knew I had no real options. My only hope was that Samuel and the Simpsons would end up fighting each other, creating a space for me to maneuver.

    "Griffin is dangerous," Logan continued, swirling the water in his ss. "He didn¡¯t be Heritage Group¡¯s heir by being soft."

    I nodded, absorbing his words. "If Heritage and Simpson Groupbine their resources against Shaw Corp..." I didn¡¯t need to finish the thought. We both knew what that meant.

    "Just be careful," Logan said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand briefly. "I don¡¯t want to see you get hurt."

    When I returned to Shaw Estate, my mother was waiting, practically hovering by the entrance with barely concealed anticipation.

    "So?" she asked, attempting and failing to sound casual. "How was dinner?"

    I brushed past her, heading for the kitchen. "Enlightening."

    She followed me, her steps quick and nervous. "Look, it was all Doris¡¯s idea.

    She said both her sons are avable¡ª if you don¡¯t like Logan, there¡¯s always Oscar."

    I simply hummed nomittally, filling a ss with water.

    Mom pressed on, the words tumbling out faster. "Your grandmother and I both think the Porter boys would be perfect for you. We¡¯ve watched them grow up alongside you. They¡¯re aplished, talented, good-hearted ¡ª truly worthy matches. And since you¡¯re already so familiar with their family, and Doris adores you, there wouldn¡¯t be any of those nasty mother-inw problems."

    I nodded slowly. "That¡¯s quite the sales pitch. Very thorough."

    Mom¡¯s face brightened instantly. "So you like Logan?"

    I continued my humming. "Oh, I¡¯ve always liked Logan. I¡¯ve respected him like an older brother since childhood."

    Her face fell dramatically. "You terrible girl! I knew this would happen." She threw her hands up in exasperation.

    "If you won¡¯t even consider Logan Porter, who *would* you consider?

    Marcus Murphy?"

    "Pffft!" Water sprayed from my mouth as I choked in shock. My eyes widened in horror. "Mom! Do you even hear what you¡¯re saying?"

    My mother seemed equally startled by her own words. "Good heavens, what am I saying?" She pressed her fingers to her lips, looking genuinely aghast.

    "I¡¯m just concerned about you," she recovered quickly, patting my arm.

    "You¡¯ve been through so much, and I want to see you happy."

    I kissed her cheek, promising nothing.

    A weekter, my wounds had improved but were still visible. The uing g demanded my presence ¡ªand my absolute best appearance. I couldn¡¯t afford to look vulnerable, not with so many sharks circling.

    I stood before my closet, contemting my options. Finally, I selected a ck knit dress with a strategic design that concealed my right shoulder and arm injuries while still highlighting my figure. The high neckline was elegant without being prudish, and the skirt hugged my hips before ring out slightly at mid-calf.

    I swept my hair into an intricate updo, exposing the graceful line of my neck, and addedrge pearl earrings and a matching ring-the stark contrast of white against ck creating a dramatic effect.

    When Rachel entered my room to remind me about the time, she stopped in her tracks, her usual professional demeanor momentarily slipping. "Ms. Shaw, you look... stunning."

    I checked my reflection one final time, satisfied with what I saw.

    "Let¡¯s go," I said, gathering my clutch.

    "We don¡¯t want to bete."

    The moment I entered the ballroom, I felt the shift-conversations pausing mid-sentence, heads turning, eyes locking onto me. I kept my chin up, my posture wless, my expression a carefully calibrated blend of confidence and approachability.

    I spotted Catherine across the room, deep in conversation with some celebrity I vaguely recognized. She caught my eye and waved enthusiastically, obviously nning to make her way over at the first opportunity.

    But then I saw him-Samuel Griffin, standing by the champagne fountain, one arm draped possessively around Nora¡¯s waist. My stomach tightened at the sight, but I forced myself to look away before he noticed me staring.

    Toote. Just as I turned, his gaze found mine across the crowded room.

    Anna¡¯s POV

    He had noticed me, and that look in his eyes sent a cold chill down my spine. I watched as he whispered something in Nora¡¯s ear before making his way toward me.

    "Ms. Shaw, it¡¯s been a while," Samuel said as he approached. His posture was rxed, confident-the stance of a predator who believed he had his prey cornered.

    I forced my lips into a polite smile.

    "Mr. Griffin, you¡¯re still in Skyview City. Your business must be going well." My tone remained light, but I kept my guard firmly up.

    Samuel raised his champagne flute, a smirk ying at the corners of his lips. "When Samuel Griffin sets his mind to something, failure is not an option." The threat behind his words hung in the air between us, unmistakable yet impossible to directly call out.

    I simply smiled in response, taking a sip of my own champagne. There was no need to escte things in the middle of a charity g. Besides, antagonizing him openly would only give him the satisfaction of knowing he¡¯d gotten under my skin.

    And then I saw her-Jasmine Butler, the forty-something investment mogul whose career I¡¯d followed since my college days. She stood near one of the fundraising disys, sipping a martini while observing the crowd with keen eyes.

    "If you¡¯ll excuse me, Mr. Griffin, " I said, already moving past him, "there¡¯s someone I need to speak with."

    I didn¡¯t wait for his response, striding purposefully toward Jasmine. Here was a woman who had started with nothing, raised a child as a single mother, and built an empire of five sessful investment firms. If I needed a role model in this male- dominated industry, she was it.

    "Ms. Butler," I greeted her with genuine warmth, extending my hand.

    "I¡¯m Anna Shaw. It¡¯s such an honor to meet you."

    Jasmine¡¯s handshake was firm, her smile reaching her eyes as she assessed me. "The pleasure is mine, Ms. Shaw.

    I¡¯ve heard impressive things about you."

    "All good, I hope," I replied, feeling a girlish nervousness I hadn¡¯t experienced in years.

    "Ms. Shaw, you began managing your family business at eighteen? That¡¯s truly impressive," Jasmine said, studying me with interest.

    I shifted slightly, not wanting to dive into my family history during our first meeting. "Yes, circumstances were...plicated back then." The understanding in her eyes made me rx a little. "But honestly, I admire you more, Ms. Butler. Building five investment firms on your own-you¡¯re my role model."

    Herugh was warm and genuine. "I had my share of sleepless nights and disaster meetings. The morous part onlyes after you¡¯ve survived the struggles."

    We fell into an easy conversation about business strategies and market trends.

    For the first time that evening, I felt truly engaged rather than merely performing the social dance required of me. Jasmine¡¯s insights were sharp, her advice practical, and I found myself absorbing every word.

    Then I heard it-the unmistakable sound of mockingughter just behind me, followed by a voice that was deliberately pitched to carry.

    "Shaw Corp is such a majorpany, yet they only donated $100,000? How stingy."

    My spine stiffened. I didn¡¯t need to turn around to know who was behind this performance.

    "Lucy, your future father-inw is so generous," another voice chimed in.

    "When that Hope Elementary School is built, those children will have Jack¡¯s father to thank."

    My throat tightened. Being publicly humiliated like this stung, especially in front of someone I admired. I caught Jasmine¡¯s eye and saw her watching the scene unfold with interest.

    "Please don¡¯t say that," Lucy¡¯s sharine voice dripped with false modesty. "Mr. Simpson does charity without expecting anything in return.

    Besides, he¡¯s not my father-inw yet.

    Stop saying that or I¡¯ll get upset."

    *God, could she be more obvious?* I wanted to roll my eyes at her transparent performance. Lucy had perfected the art of attacking while appearing to defend.

    "And don¡¯t talk about Anna like that," she continued, her voice a masterpiece of insincere concern. "Whether someone donates a lot or a little, it¡¯s the thought that counts."

    I mentally snorted. *The thought that counts?* This woman was getting better at her backhandedpliments.

    As expected, her friends immediately seized the opening she¡¯d provided.

    "It is the thought that counts-just seems like Anna Shaw doesn¡¯t have much thought for those children in the mountains," one of them said, barely suppressing a giggle.

    "Exactly," another chimed in. "Even the Turner family, who aren¡¯t as wealthy as the Shaws, donated $100,000. And the Porters, who are close to the Shaw family, donated $300,000."

    I took a deep breath, forcing my shoulders to rx. Turning to Jasmine, I decided to be straightforward. "Cash flow has been tighttely," I admitted.

    "Sorry you had to witness that, Ms. Butler."

    Jasmine waved her hand dismissively, a knowing smile ying on her lips.

    "What¡¯s there to be sorry about? Every businessperson goes through cash crunches. I once attended charity events without donating a cent. I was so broke I could barely make payroll.

    If I hadn¡¯t finally turned things around, who knows what I¡¯d be doing now. Don¡¯t feel embarrassed."

    Her candor was refreshing, washing away my difort in an instant. "I¡¯m not embarrassed, really. I was just worried you might think poorly of me.

    Ms. Butler, I¡¯d love to learn from you ¨CI wouldn¡¯t want you thinking I¡¯m stingy."

    "Stingy?" She chuckled. "That¡¯s not the word thates to mind when I hear your name. ¡¯Resilient¡¯ is more like it."

    Just as I was about to respond, Catherine¡¯s voice cut through the air like a whip crack.

    "Some people never learn. Lucy Taylor, didn¡¯t that p hurt enoughst time?

    Why are you here putting down Anna Shaw? Is your name on the donation list?" She stalked toward Lucy¡¯s little group, her eyes zing. "Lucy, how much did you donate anyway?"

 Chapter 50: Not Yours to Touch

    <h4>Chapter 50: Not Yours to Touch</h4>

    Anna¡¯s POV

    My lips twitched with the effort not to smile. Trust Catherine toe charging to my defense like an avenging angel in heels.

    Lucy immediately pivoted to her favorite role the victim. "Catherine, I¡¯m just here with Jack," she said, eyes widening in feigned innocence.

    "Charity events like this are meant for established families-it¡¯s not my ce as a young woman to take the lead."

    Her friends closed ranks around her.

    "Miss Murphy, everyone knows you¡¯re close with Anna Shaw," one of them said, indignation coloring her voice.

    "Even if you want to stand up for her, you shouldn¡¯t bully Lucy."

    "That¡¯s right," another added. "Anna is already divorced from Jack Simpson, and Jack is going to marry Lucy. Lucy is your cousin¡¯s future wife, after all.Did you donate money?"

    I watched Catherine fold her arms across her chest, her expression one of pure disdain. Someone from the crowd, apparently checking the donation disy, whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear:

    "Catherine¡¯s name is actually on the list¡ªshe donated $80,000."

    Lucy and her friends fell silent.

    Catherine didn¡¯t miss a beat. "People who haven¡¯t donated a cent should keep their mouths shut. Who are you to judge how much others give? Even if someone donated just ten dors, it¡¯s not for your nasty mouth toment on."

    I bit the inside of my cheek to keep fromughing as Lucy¡¯s group retreated, thoroughly chastened.

    Walking forward, I ced a hand on Catherine¡¯s arm, giving it a grateful squeeze before making introductions.

    "Ms. Butler, may I introduce Catherine Murphy? Catherine, this is Jasmine Butler."

    "I¡¯ve heard so much about you, Ms. Butler," Catherine said, her business instincts immediately kicking in. "If you have any profitable venturesing up, would you keep me in mind?"

    I smiled indulgently at my friend¡¯s directness. "Our Miss Murphy only loves two things: freedom and investment."

    Jasmine seemed more amused than put off by Catherine¡¯s straightforwardness.

    "Next time I have a project suitable for you, Miss Murphy, I promise you¡¯ll be the first to know."

    I watched as Jasmine Butler slid into her ck Bentley, the driver closing the door with practiced precision. The cool evening air felt refreshing against my skin after the stuffy atmosphere of the g. Around us, a parade of luxury vehicles rolled through the circr driveway, valets rushing between them with keys jangling in their hands.

    As her car pulled away, I exhaled deeply, feeling the tension finally drain from my body. I turned to Catherine, wrapping an arm around her waist and leaning against her slightly.

    "Thanks, babe." My voice came out in a near-whisper, fatigue suddenly washing over me. "I owe you dinner for that save back there with Lucy."

    Catherine¡¯s shoulder bumped mine yfully, but I could sense something different in her demeanor¡ªa subtle undercurrent of restlessness that wasn¡¯t typically there.

    "Don¡¯t mention it. Besides, I genuinely want to work with Jasmine too. I¡¯m not getting any younger, and I can¡¯t just keep floating around doing nothing forever." Her tone aimed for casual, but missed the mark by inches.

    I straightened up, studying her face in the soft glow of the exterior lighting.

    "What¡¯s going on? Did your parents say something?"

    Catherine held up two fingers, a sh of irritation crossing her features.

    "Marriage or career, pick one." A defiant snort escaped her. "Are they kidding? What¡¯s so great about marriage? Unless I find a man who makes me want to say yes willingly, nobody¡¯s forcing me into anything."

    I nodded, a surge of admiration rising in my chest. "So you chose career.

    Good for you."

    "I¡¯m serious-if you¡¯re going after the Skke District, count me in." Her eyes locked onto mine with surprising intensity.

    My heart warmed at her offer, but caution tempered my reaction.

    "We can do that," I said after a thoughtful pause, "but we should sign a proper agreement. Business is business, even between friends."

    Catherine rolled her eyes, waving dismissively. "Fine, fine, whatever you say. I¡¯ll set up thepany right away so my parents and Simon can stop nagging me."

    That caught me off guard. "What does Simon have to do with you starting apany?"

    She sighed, frustration radiating from her in waves. "That little brat¡¯s getting too big for his britches, wants to follow Uncle Marcus¡¯s footsteps and build his own empire overseas. He¡¯s trying to dump Murphy Global in myp." She shook her head, lips pressed into a tight line. "But in this economic climate, what¡¯s he going to aplish out there?"

    I waited, sensing there was more.

    "Besides, I¡¯m not like you, Anna." Her voice dropped, vulnerability seeping through the cracks of her usual confident facade. "I don¡¯t have the confidence to take over Murphy Global. If anything went wrong under my watch, I¡¯d be the family disgrace forever."

    "You know me-I¡¯m used to my freedom," she continued, her eyes reflecting a yearning I recognized all too well. "I just want a smallpany to y with, and someone to manage it for me. Meanwhile, I can do whatever I want, go wherever I please."

    "Alright, call me when you¡¯re ready," I said, giving her arm a gentle squeeze.

    "¡¯ll help you figure it out."

    She smiled, the tension in her shoulders visibly easing. A ck Escde pulled up, and her driver stepped out, nodding respectfully in our direction.

    "That¡¯s my ride," Catherine said, suppressing a yawn. "Time to call it a night."

    We exchanged quick goodbyes, and I watched as she climbed into the SUV and disappeared into the night traffic of Skyview City.

    Turning back toward the g, I decided to make a final round of goodbyes.

    As I walked past a private lounge area, a strong hand suddenly shot out from the doorway, grabbing my wrist and pulling me inside with surprising force. The door mmed shut behind me with a loud bang, the sound echoing in the small space.

    My heart lurched into my throat, adrenaline flooding my system. I whirled around, ready to defend myself, when my eyes locked with a familiar pair.

    "You?" I blurted out.

    Samuel¡¯s POV

    "You¡¯re still here?" I asked irritably, bracing one hand against the wall, effectively caging her between my body and the wallpaper. I knew I reeked of alcohol and sweat, but the uncontroble fire coursing through my body was far worse.

    Seeing Anna pressed against the wall trying to escape gave me a twisted sense of satisfaction.

    "When I leave is none of your business, Mr. Griffin," she responded, feigningposure though her pulse visibly raced at her throat.

    "You really are... asking for trouble," I managed through gritted teeth, fighting against the raging inferno inside me. I could feel veins pulsing at my temples, my vision swimming with need.

    Her eyes narrowed, scanning my face.

    "Are you drunk or have you been... drugged?"

    The question cut through my haze momentarily. Drugged? The possibility hadn¡¯t even urred to me, but it made sense.

    I didn¡¯t want to admit I¡¯d been caught off guard, but I was in too much difort to maintain the pretense.

    I¡¯d only intended to grab a random server to help relieve my condition, nning to pay them off generously afterward. Never did I expect to pull in Anna Shaw of all people.

    I forced my face into a casual, flirtatious expression. "That¡¯s right, Ms. Shaw. I¡¯m in quite a state, and since you¡¯ve interrupted my ns, perhaps you could be a good Samaritan?" I blew gently on her ear, deliberately provocative despite the way my lungs burned for oxygen.

    "I¡¯m sorry, Mr. Griffin, but I¡¯ve never been much for charity work. You¡¯ll need to find someone else," she tried to push me away, but I didn¡¯t budge.

    Though I¡¯d cultivated the image of just yboy, my chest and arms possessed genuine strength. I looked her up and down shamelessly: "Finding someone else wouldn¡¯t be nearly as exciting as you, Ms. Shaw. With looks like yours, anyone would be tempted."

    I moved closer to her ear, my burning lips almost touching her earlobe: "I told you before, I¡¯m interested in you."

    The moment those words left my mouth, a searing pain shot up from my groin. I doubled over, clutching myself, my face instantly turning dark as agony exploded through my lower body. "You... you bitch..." The pain was so intense I couldn¡¯t even finish my sentence.

    "My looks came from my parents, not for perverts like you to fantasize about," Anna dered, looking down at me with undisguised triumph. "Mr. Griffin, this is karma for all your misdeeds!"

    The pain forced me to close my eyes, cold sweat breaking out on my forehead even as the rest of my body continued to burn. She poked my shoulder, her voiceced with satisfaction: "Not feeling so predatory now, are you? See, one move from me and you¡¯re cured. No need to thank me."

    I leaned against the wall, hunched over, in too much pain to even retort.

    The drug still raged through my system, but the agony she¡¯d inflicted had momentarily overpowered it.

    "Um, are you... broken?" Anna suddenly looked worried, which surprised me.

    I didn¡¯t answer, but when she took out her phone to record video, I wished I could smash it to pieces.

    "Mr. Griffin, here¡¯s the deal. I¡¯ll take you to the hospital. But to ensure you don¡¯t try to me meter, I¡¯m recording this as evidence. You¡¯ve been drugged, right? You¡¯re in pain, correct?"

    I red at her with pure venom, mentally imagining terrible revenge scenarios. The pain was something only men could truly understand, and this damned woman wasn¡¯t rushing to help me but was instead recording me in my weakest moment!

    "Mr. Griffin, if you don¡¯t nod, I¡¯m leaving, and tonight¡¯s events will have nothing to do with me."

    Assessing the situation, I realized being seen in this state by Anna alone was better than being exposed to everyone at the g. With extreme reluctance, I nodded.

    "Mr. Griffin, you forced my hand. I¡¯m no match for you physically, and if you recover tomorrow and decide to cause trouble for me, I¡¯d be in a difficult position," Anna said with satisfaction as she backed up the video. "Rest assured, as long as I remain safe, no one else will see this video."

    "Stop talking and get me to a hospital," I said through clenched teeth. If I didn¡¯t get medical attention soon, I felt I might explode from thebination of drug-induced heat and the throbbing pain between my legs.

    Seeing Anna take out her phone again, I became alert: "What are you doing now?"

    "Calling my security team..." she began, but I cut her off.

    "Don¡¯t call anyone," I said coldly.

    "Either you take me to the hospital yourself, or I¡¯ll use you as my remedy right here." Despite being in excruciating pain, I maintained my intimidating demeanor, refusing to appearpletely vulnerable.

    When we left the private room, the hallway was mercifully empty. I straightened my posture, pretending nothing was wrong, deliberately draping my arm around Anna¡¯s shoulders and enjoying her obvious difort.

    "Mr. Griffin, don¡¯t push your luck," she warned through gritted teeth.

    The intense pain had subsided somewhat, but I was still fighting waves of heat coursing through my body. I leaned in close to her ear with a mockingugh: "If you want me to take you, just say so. I promise you¡¯ll see stars."

    Seeing her trying to move her head away, I deliberately moved closer:

    "What should we do, Ms. Shaw? It seems our fate isn¡¯t finished yet."

    "Mr. Griffin, you¡¯d better behave.

    Getting to the hospital quickly is important-your future happiness depends on it," she said coldly, which effectively silenced me. I had no desire to risk permanent damage to my "manhood."

    Rachel Wilson suddenly appeared, her eyes widening at the sight of us: "Ms. Shaw, what¡¯s going on...?"

    "Quick, help me get Mr. Griffin to the hospital," Anna said, eagerly pushing me toward Rachel as if she¡¯d found a lifeline.

    In the car, I gulped down ice water from the minibar, which did ease the burning sensation somewhat. However, the area Anna had struck still throbbed painfully¡ªI was afraid to touch it, uncertain it there was any damage. The drug still pulsed through my system, but the pain and cold water had diluted its worst effects.

    I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes and beginning to mentally review everyone I¡¯d encountered that evening. I¡¯d primarily been drinking with George and Jack ... aside from them, who else could have drugged me?

    Lucy¡¯s POV

    I stood at the hotel entrance, watching until Anna¡¯s carpletely disappeared from view before finally putting away my phone. I couldn¡¯t help the smile that crept across my lips -what perfect timing. Samuel and Anna leaving together? This "fact" would be my perfect weapon, requiring no fabrication to drive a wedge between them.

    When I spotted Jack heading my way, I quickly adjusted my expression, stering on a mask of genuine concern before hurrying toward him.

    "Jack, are you looking for Samuel? I just saw him leave with Anna." I made my voice sound slightly urgent, looking directly into his eyes with feigned helpfulness.

    Jack¡¯s face immediately darkened, his piercing gaze fixed on me. "Lucy, how can you lie so easily? Anna and Samuel have fallen outpletely¡ª they wouldn¡¯t leave together."

    I pouted, deliberately making my eyes water as I adopted the expression of someone unjustly used.

    "Jack, don¡¯t you trust me? I¡¯m not lying to you, and I certainly don¡¯t want to incriminate Anna. She really did leave with Samuel. I tried to call out to them, but they¡¯d already gotten into Anna¡¯s car and driven away. Jack, everything I¡¯m saying is true."

    I calcted every expression and tone with clinical precision, tears welling up perfectly in my eyes without falling.

    This was my specialty-innocent, sincere Lucy Taylor, the poor girl who only wanted to help but was misunderstood instead.

    However, Jack¡¯s reaction caught mepletely off guard. He violently shook off my hand, his eyes filled with disappointment and anger: "ENOUGH!

    I don¡¯t want to hear another negative word about Anna from your mouth.

    You think I don¡¯t know about the conversation you had with your friends at the party today? Lucy, I¡¯m so disappointed in you."

    I stood frozen, watching in shock as he walked away without looking back. He knew about my conversation with my friends! The carefully crafted image of innocence I¡¯d built was crumbling before my eyes! For a moment, I felt both furious and panicked, but I quickly regained myposure.

    After Jack left, I remained standing there, all traces of hurt and sadness instantly vanishing from my face, reced by a cold smile.

    This attempt may have failed to drive a wedge between them, but I certainly wasn¡¯t giving up. Jack¡¯s reaction today only confirmed what I¡¯d begun to suspect-his feelings for Anna hadn¡¯t died.

    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and

    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

 Chapter 51: Still the Queen

    <h4>Chapter 51: Still the Queen</h4>

    Rachel¡¯s POV

    I stood in the hospital room watching Samuel Griffin. The doctors had treated the aphrodisiac in his system.

    His face was no longer red, his breathing normal, but fury filled his eyes.

    "Your boss made a mistake," Samuel said, ring at me from the bed. "Tell Anna Shaw I won¡¯t forget tonight."

    I met his gaze. "Mr. Griffin, the doctors say you¡¯ll recover fully. This ended well for everyone."

    His jaw clenched. "I can¡¯t have sex for a month. Do you know what that means for someone like me?"

    "Medical advice should be taken seriously," I replied. "Ms. Shaw brought you to the hospital immediately. You should thank her."

    I picked up my purse. "We did what anyone would do. No need for thanks."

    Thement silenced him. I turned, and walked to the door.

    I crossed the parking lot. Ms. Shaw waited in her car near the entrance.

    When I opened the door, she reclined in the driver¡¯s seat with eyes closed.

    "Let¡¯s go," she said without looking.

    "I¡¯m dead tired."

    I got in, studying her face. The g had exhausted her-shadows showed under her makeup.

    "Rosa Vi is closer," I suggested. "We could stay there tonight."

    Ms. Shaw opened her eyes, frowned, then nodded. "Fine."

    She didn¡¯t ask about Samuel, and I didn¡¯t say anything. The drive to Rosa Vi was silent.

    The house was dark when we arrived.

    No one had been here since Mr. Murphy left, but the management service kept it clean.

    "T¡¯ll prepare the bedroom," I said.

    "Want something to eat?"

    "No." She headed upstairs. "Just a shower and sleep."

    Ms. Shaw emerged from the bathroom in a robe. Iid out pajamas from the emergency bag I keep in the car.

    "Get the scar cream from my purse," she said. "Oscar said apply it every night."

    I got the cream as shey on her stomach, robe pulled down to expose her back. Red marks from her jump at Olympus Club stood out against her skin.

    As I applied cream to the wounds, she tensed beneath my fingers.

    "Samuel will recover," I said. "Though he can¡¯t have sex for a month."

    Ms. Shaw made a sound like a suppressedugh. "That¡¯s torture for someone with his reputation."

    "He was displeased," I said, applying cream to a scrape on her shoulder.

    "Will he seek revenge on you?"

    Anna¡¯s POV

    The few sses of champagne I¡¯d had at the charity g had left me with a pleasant buzz but no desire to sleep.

    Restless, I reached for my phone on the nightstand. Before I could think better of it, my fingers were already typing a message to the mysterious man from room 3303 at Sapphire Sky Hotel.

    [Meet up?)

    The directness of my own message surprised me. I stared at the screen, my heartbeat quickening as I waited for his response. It came just secondster, a single word:

    [No.]

    "Typical," I muttered, tossing my phone onto the duvet beside me. A sh of irritation surged through me.

    During our brief encounters, he¡¯d made his interest in me painfully obvious. And now that I was actually reaching out, he dismissed me with a single word?

    I grabbed a pillow and pressed it over my face, trying to smother the conflicting emotions bubbling inside me. Then my phone lit up again. I snatched it up, half-expecting some lengthy exnation.

    Instead, there was just one more word:

    [Busy.)

    I raised an eyebrow, feeling oddly vindicated by this addition. At least he felt the need to exin his refusal. The irritation began to dissolve, reced by a reluctant understanding. Considering his physique and...other qualities, I supposed I could forgive this one instance. After all, Mr. 3303 had earned some grace with his performance.

    I ced the phone face down on the nightstand and pulled the covers up.

    This time, sleep came more easily.

    Hearing Rachel¡¯s words, I sighed, "Samuel is a vindictive bastard, but I¡¯m prepared. Make sure you keep that video I sent you."

    "Understood," Rachel nodded, her eyes reflecting trust in me.

    "I wonder who drugged him tonight," I murmured, more thinking aloud than asking.

    Rachel pondered for a moment before saying, "Recently, I haven¡¯t heard of Samuel being close to anyone except the Simpson family. But since Samuel is already in contact with the Simpson family, surely they wouldn¡¯t do something like this right now?"

    "That¡¯s not necessarily true. George and Samuel are cut from the same cloth-equally ruthless in their methods," I replied with sarcasm and mockery. This was the first time I¡¯d spoken so candidly about my former father-inw. Before, no matter what I thought, I would never easily reveal my opinions about him, but now, all pretense and respect had vanished.

    "Ms. Shaw, we have a situation."

    Rachel¡¯s voice, tinged with unusual concern, interrupted my morning skincare ritual.

    "What happened?" I asked casually.

    "You¡¯re trending online."

    I shrugged. "That¡¯s nothing new. My evening gown fromst night must have created quite a stir." My dress had been a calcted choice elegant yet daring, designed to make a statement without appearing desperate for attention.

    Rachel shifted her weight, clutching her tablet tightly. "Your gown did trend, yes, but there¡¯s something else¡ª rumors about you and Samuel."

    That got my attention. "Samuel and me?" I turned to face her directly.

    "What kind of rumors?"

    She handed me her tablet without a word. The screen disyed a series of photographs taken atst night¡¯s g ¡ªall featuring Samuel and me leaving together. While only our backs were visible in most shots, my distinctive dress made me immediately identifiable.

    "The initial trending topic was about your stunning appearance," Rachel exined, "but these rtionship rumors just surfaced. I suspect someone paid to promote them." She pointed to several details in the photos. "Moreover, all press had left thetter half of the g-they weren¡¯t allowed to stay. From the image quality, these were definitely taken with a smartphone."

    I nodded, quickly following her reasoning. "So you¡¯re suggesting whoever took these photos and pushed the story is the same person, and likely someone who has a grudge against me?"

    "Precisely. And I have a strong suspicion about who it might be."

    "Who?" Although I already had my own suspicions.

    "Lucy."

    Anna¡¯s POV

    At the mention of Lucy¡¯s name, I took the tablet from Rachel¡¯s hands and carefully scrolled through the photos again. The angles were deliberately misleading¡ªin one, Samuel appeared to be whispering intimately in my ear; in another, a dismissive nce I¡¯d thrown his way had been captured in a way that made it look like a coy smile.

    "It must be her," I agreed, a coldugh escaping my lips. "Look at these camera angles¡ªin this one, Samuel¡¯s face is practically pressed against mine.

    And this one? I never smiled at him like that. That was clearly a dismissive smirk."

    I scrolled through thements, each one more vicious than thest. They spected wildly about my "rtionship" with Samuel, suggesting I was desperate to align myself with Heritage Group. Some even implied I¡¯d orchestrated my divorce from Jack to pursue wealthier, more powerful men.

    Thements made my blood boil, but I refused to let it show. Instead, I exited that trending topic and clicked on the one about my appearance at the g.

    Here, the tone was entirely different.

    Users had posted multiple high-quality photos of me, captured by professional photographers before they¡¯d been asked to leave. Thements were universally positive:

    [Anna is absolutely stunning! She should be on runways instead of in boardrooms¡ªbut we¡¯re d she¡¯s blessing the business world with her presence.]

    (Perfect figure, gorgeous face, impable style this woman has it all!]

    [Whoever started those other rumors is clearly just jealous of her. No question.]

    By the time I handed the tablet back to Rachel, my mood had miraculously stabilized. Compared to the genuine admiration I received for simply being myself, the manufactured scandal seemed insignificant.

    "Should I arrange for someone to check the security footage? If Lucy is behind this, she must have left some evidence," Rachel asked cautiously.

    I returned my attention to my skincare routine, pumping a small amount of moisturizer onto my fingertips. "Don¡¯t bother. Do you really think I¡¯m worried about rumors like this? If I dealt with every piece of gossip, I¡¯d have time for nothing else."

    Just then, the doorbell downstairs rang frantically. Not knowing who it was, Rachel went down to check.

    I pulled out a soft gray knit dress and paired it with a camel-colored cardigan ¡ªperfect for the light rain currently falling outside.

    I had just taken off my pajamas when rapid footsteps approached my bedroom, apanied by Rachel¡¯s urgent voice:

    "Mr. Simpson, you can¡¯t go in there!

    Ms. Shaw isn¡¯t receiving visitors right now."

    Hearing Jack¡¯s name, my body instantly tensed. I hastily wrapped my robe around my half-dressed body and moved toward the door, ready to confront him.

    I reached the door just as it began to open, catching a glimpse of Jack¡¯s determined expression. Without hesitation, I mmed it shut with enough force to make the wood frame shudder.

    I stared at the door I¡¯d just mmed in Jack¡¯s face, my heart racing. The nerve of that man, barging into Rosa Vi like he still had some im to me or this ce.

    "Anna, we need to talk," Jack called through the door, his voice muffled but still carrying thatmanding tone I¡¯d grown to detest.

    "I¡¯m changing," I replied coolly. "Wait downstairs if you must, but I¡¯m not discussing anything with you half-dressed."

    Silence followed, then the sound of retreating footsteps. I exhaled slowly, my shoulders rxing as I moved away from the door.

    I slipped out of my robe and quickly dressed. As I stepped into a pair offortable ts, I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror.

    The woman staring back at me looked nothing like the polished, untouchable figure fromst night¡¯s charity g.

    Gone was the sleek updo and statement jewelry, reced by soft waves and minimal makeup. This version of me looked more approachable.

    When I descended the stairs, I found Jack standing in the living room with Rachel hovering nearby, her posture tense and watchful. Jack¡¯s eyes snapped to me immediately, tracking my movement as I reached the bottom step.

    "You¡¯re going out," he stated, his tone somewhere between usation and disbelief.

    I deliberately maintained my distance, positioning myself near the entry table where I ced my purse. Rachel moved to stand slightly behind me, a silent ally.

    "I have a lunch appointment," I replied evenly, checking my watch with exaggerated care. A flicker of annoyance passed through me-why did he always feel entitled to exnations about my life? "If there¡¯s nothing urgent, Mr. Simpson, I¡¯d prefer if you said nothing at all."

    I knew him too well-the slight narrowing of his eyes, the tightening of his jaw. Even before he opened his mouth, I could predict his next words with depressing uracy.

    "With whom?" he demanded, that familiar possessive edge creeping into his voice.

    "How is that any of your business?" I asked, my voice dropping several degrees colder.

    Jack took a step closer, his expression hardening. "Is it Samuel?"

    Of course. He was still fixated on those ridiculous rumors. A sharp painnced through a tender spot in my heart¡ªa ce that once held trust and hope, now housing only disappointment and hurt.

    I sighed beyond the point of exnations. "Think whatever you want, Jack."

    I turned toward the door, gesturing for Rachel to follow. "Lock up when you leave," I added without looking back, my hand already on the doorknob.

    "Anna¡ª" he started, but I was already stepping outside, letting the door close firmly behind me.

    Once inside the car, Rachel turned to me with a curious expression. "Ms. Shaw, why didn¡¯t you just tell Mr. Simpson the truth? About your lunch with Mr. William Murphy?"

    "Let him believe what he wants," I said softly, a barely perceptible note of sadness coloring my voice. "If his misunderstanding keeps him away, all the better."

 Chapter 52: The Lie Between Us

    <h4>Chapter 52: The Lie Between Us</h4>

    Jack¡¯s POV

    I stood in the living room of Rosa Vi, the door still vibrating from the force with which it had closed behind Anna. The message couldn¡¯t have been clearer if she¡¯d painted it on the wall¡ª she didn¡¯t care enough to even offer an exnation. The utter dismissal left me feeling hollow, like I¡¯d be nothing more than a nuisance to be brushed aside.

    "Jack...

    I turned to see Lucy standing behind me, her eyes filled with unmistakable sympathy. I hadn¡¯t even noticed her following me here.

    "Anna¡¯s already gone, Jack," she said softly. "She doesn¡¯t care about you anymore."

    Her words pierced through me like shards of ss. My ears rang with denial, my mind refusing to process what she was saying. This can¡¯t be happening. Not Anna. Not like this.

    How could the woman who once pledged herself to me at the altar change sopletely? The Anna I knew would have at least offered an exnation, would have cared enough to clear up a misunderstanding. We had built a life together, shared dreams, made promises-how could all of that evaporate so quickly?

    I shook my head, my throat constricting painfully. "She wouldn¡¯t..."

    Lucy¡¯s eyes reddened as she stepped closer. "Jack, I wasn¡¯t lying to you. You saw the photos online, didn¡¯t you?

    Anna really did leave with Samuelst night."

    The evidence crashed down on me like a physical weight. The pictures didn¡¯t lie-Anna and Samuel, leaving together, his hand possessively ced on her lower back. All those whispers at the g suddenly made sense. My chest tightened with each breath, reality finally breaking through my desperate denial.

    "Jack, I might envy Anna," Lucy continued, her voice catching. "But I would never lie to you about this. You used me unfairly."

    Tears began streaming down her face, silent but impossible to ignore.

    Watching her, I felt a stab of guilt pierce through my pain. I had taken my frustration out on her, ming the messenger for a message I didn¡¯t want to hear.

    I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to keep my own emotions in check. The mixture of hurt, jealousy, and regret was overwhelming, threatening to pull me under. With a heavy sigh, I awkwardly ced my hand on her shoulder.

    "I¡¯m sorry," I managed, my voice rough. "I was wrong to use you.

    What do you want? I¡¯ll get it for you."

    The words came out t and mechanical, but it was the best I could offer in my state. A peace offering, a way to make amends for misdirecting my anger.

    Like flipping a switch, Lucy¡¯s expression transformed. The tears still glistened on her cheeks, but a smile now brightened her face. "I don¡¯t want anything," she assured me. "I just want you to be happy. Please don¡¯t be sad anymore."

    I attempted a smile in return, but it felt like a grimace,sting only a fraction of a second before my face fell back into its natural state of misery.

    "Come on," I said, already moving toward the door. "I¡¯ll take you home before heading to Simpson Group."

    Anna¡¯s POV

    At the Murphy Estate, I had just finished telling Catherine about what happenedst night.

    Catherine¡¯s eyes were wide open.

    "Annie, you¡¯re absolutely insane! If that bastard had really gotten hurt, you¡¯d bepletely screwed." She shook her head in disbelief.

    I shrugged with practiced nonchnce, hoping she couldn¡¯t detect the nervousness fluttering beneath myposed exterior. "I didn¡¯t have time to think it through. He was drugged, aggressive, and I was trapped in a room with him. What was I supposed to do? Let him use me as his remedy?"

    I took another sip of tea, avoiding her gaze. "Besides, he crossed paths with me at exactly the wrong moment.

    That¡¯s his bad luck, not mine."

    Catherine leaned forward, even though we were alone, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper: "Samuel isn¡¯t someone who forgets slights. You basically incapacitated him, then abandoned him at a hospital. He¡¯s definitely going to seek revenge." Her manicured nails tapped anxiously against the armrest. "I¡¯m serious, Annie. That man is dangerous."

    "I¡¯ve already made an enemy of him," I replied, setting my cup down with more force than necessary. "What¡¯s one more offense at this point? I¡¯m not afraid of him." The words came out strong and confident, but internally, I knew the situation was far from resolved. Samuel wasn¡¯t the type to let things go, especially when his pride had been wounded so publicly.

    I had specificallye to have lunch with William today, and after chatting with Catherine for a while, I got up to find William.

    Ever since sending Marcus back to Europe, I had been afraid to face William. After all, Marcus left because of my rejection.

    The rain outside had stopped, and William wasn¡¯t in the living room but in the garden outside.

    "Annie!" His face lit up with genuine warmth as he waved me over. "Perfect timing. Come,e. I have something fascinating to show you."

    Relief washed over me at his weing tone. I noticed an elegant birdcage on the stone table. Inside perched a sleek gray bird with a vibrant red tail, watching me with an intelligence that was almost unsettling.

    "William, what kind of bird is this?" I asked, leaning closer to examine the creature. Its dark eyes followed my movement with eerie focus. "It looks remarkably... aware."

    William¡¯sughter filled the room, a deep, genuine sound that had always made me feel at home. "This is an African Grey parrot. His name is Einstein, and he¡¯s quite the genius." He beamed with the pride of a new parent. "Watch this."

    Just as I was wondering what was so special about this particr bird, it suddenly opened its beak and spoke in a clear, oddly British ent: "All style, no substance!"

    I jerked back in shock, nearly toppling the nearby side table. "William! Did that bird just insult me?" My voice rose in both outrage and amazement.

    "It¡ªit¡¯s actually talking!"

    William¡¯s shoulders shook with mirth.

    "What do you think, Annie?

    Impressive, isn¡¯t he? I traded him from Joseph¡¯s grandfather for a bottle of my best Scotch and quite a bit of begging." He reached out to gently stroke the bird¡¯s head with one finger. "Joseph¡¯s grandfather trained him personally."

    "That exins the attitude," I said, eyeing the bird with newfound respect.

    "These insults are definitely Joseph¡¯s grandfather¡¯s style." I wiggled my fingers at the cage yfully. "Hey there, Einstein. Got anypliments in that repertoire of yours, or is it all criticism?"

    The parrot tilted its head, seeming to consider me for a moment before squawking: "Faker, faker!"

    I gasped in mock offense, cing a hand over my heart. "Excuse me? You mouthy little bird!" But I couldn¡¯t suppress my smile.

    "Troublemaker, troublemaker!"

    Einstein continued, bobbing his head up and down with obvious delight at having captured my full attention.

    "Featherbrain, featherbrain!" I retorted, leaning toward the cage with hands on my hips.

    To my satisfaction, the parrot appeared genuinely affronted. It fluffed its feathers and hopped to the other side of its perch, finally turning its back to me with what could only be described as avian disgust.

    I looked up at William with sudden concern. "Oh no, I didn¡¯t actually hurt his feelings, did I?"

    William was practically wiping tears from his eyes. "Einstein has never been bested in a battle of wits before.

    He usually has thest word with everyone. He met his match today!" His eyes crinkled with genuine affection as he regarded me.

    Something in his gaze-that same warmth, that same eptance I¡¯d always found in the Murphy homemade my throat tighten with emotion.

    William wasn¡¯t just being polite; he was deliberately showing me that nothing had changed between us, that Marcus¡¯s departure hadn¡¯t altered my standing in his eyes.

    "William," I said softly, unable to keep the emotion from my voice, "you¡¯re too good to me."

    He waved away my words with a gentle dismissal. "Nonsense. You¡¯re family, Annie. That doesn¡¯t change with theings and goings of anyone, not even my son."

    I swallowed hard, unexpectedly moved by his simple deration. Before I could respond, the door opened, and the butler entered carrying a tablet.

    "Mr. Murphy, I apologize for the interruption," he said with a slight bow. "There¡¯s a video call. Mr. Marcus Murphy is on the line."

    Anna¡¯s POV

    William¡¯s face lit up instantly. "Perfect timing! Bring it here, please."

    The butler handed him the tablet and discreetly withdrew. William adjusted his position on the bench, patting the seat beside him. "Come sit, Annie.

    Let¡¯s see what my wayward son is up to."

    I hesitated, suddenly feeling like an intruder. "Maybe I should give you some privacy? I can wait inside_"

    "Nonsense," William interrupted, already tapping the screen to ept the call. "Marcus would want to see you too."

    Before I could protest further, the screen fickered to life, revealing Marcus sitting in what appeared to be a luxurious hotel room. His hair was damp, and he wore only a ck silk robe loosely tied at the waist. He¡¯d clearly just stepped out of the shower.

    "Marcus!" William¡¯s voice boomed with delight. "Finally remembering your poor old father, are you?"

    Marcus¡¯s expression remained impassive, though I detected a subtle softening around his eyes. "Father.

    You look well."

    "And you look like you¡¯re working yourself to death again," William replied, his tone half-joking, half-concerned. "When was thest time you had a proper sleep?"

    Marcus nced down, adjusting something off-screen. "Just signed a major contract. The negotiations took longer than expected."

    I tried to shrink back out of the camera¡¯s view, but William suddenly angled the tablet to include me. "Look who¡¯s here with me, Marcus! Annie came to visit."

    "Hello, Uncle Marcus," I finally said, actually inquiring about his injury.

    "How are you?"

    Marcus¡¯s gaze locked onto mine through the screen, his dark eyes unreadable. The silence stretched, bing ufortably taut.

    "Marcus," William prompted, a hint of reprimand in his voice. "Annie asked how you are."

    "Fine," Marcus replied curtly, understanding the true meaning behind my words, his gaze still fixed on me. "And you?"

    "I¡¯m well too, thank you," I answered.

    Marcus nodded once, his expression unchanged. Then, without warning, he asked: "What about that trending topic? The one with you and Griffin."

    I felt my cheeks flush with heat.

    "You. know about that?"

    William seemed to sense the tension, rising abruptly to his feet. "You know what? I think Einstein needs some fresh air. I¡¯ll take him for a little walk around the garden." He picked up the birdcage, already moving toward the path. "Annie, you and Marcus catch up. I¡¯ll be back in a bit."

    "Scoundrel! Scoundrel!" Einstein squawked indignantly, pping his wings in protest at being moved.

    Marcus¡¯s brow furrowed as he leaned closer to the screen. "What is that?"

    "A parrot," I exined quickly.

    "Hmm," was all Marcus said in response.

    Once William was out of earshot, Marcus¡¯s full attention returned to me, his gaze intensifying. "Tell me about the news report. What happened?"

    I shifted ufortably, deciding to give him a simplified version.

    "It¡¯s nothing serious,¡¯ " I said with a dismissive wave. "Lucy Taylor took some photos of me helping Samuel to the hospital when he¡¯d had too much to drink. The angles were deliberately misleading-made it look like something romantic was happening." I forced augh. "You know how these things go. It¡¯ll blow over in a day or two."

    Marcus¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly. "And Griffin? He¡¯s no longer causing trouble for you?"

    I nodded quickly-too quickly.

    "Actually, he owes me a favor now. I helped him out of a... difficult situation. He won¡¯t be a problem anymore."

    *Please don¡¯t ask for details*

    I silently begged.

    "Thank you for your concern, Uncle Marcus," I added softly. "I really am fine. You don¡¯t need to worry about me."

    "I¡¯m worried about you?" he asked, his tone so cold it made me flinch.

    I stared at him,pletely caught off guard by the abrupt shift.

    "I-I should go," I stammered, desperate to end this increasingly ufortable conversation. "It¡¯s gettingte, and you must be tired after your negotiations. You should rest."

    I barely waited for his response before reaching over to end the call. The screen went ck, and I slumped back against the bench, exhaling a breath I hadn¡¯t realized I was holding.

    My heart was still racing, my palms slightly damp with nervous sweat.

    *Dating someone like that would require nerves of steel*, I thought wryly. *It would be more stressful than outwitting Samuel Griffin.* Catherine was always joking about me bing her aunt by marrying Marcus, but the very thought made me shudder.

    Marcus¡¯s POV

    I rubbed my tired eyes as the screen before me went dark. Recent events had left me restless, especially everything concerning Anna Shaw.

    A knock interrupted my thoughts.

    Peter Reed entered with a grave expression.

    "Sir, we¡¯ve obtained the security footage. Lucy Taylor did indeed take those photos," he paused l, carefully choosing his words, "but I found something else. Samuel Griffin¡¯s behaviorst night was very strange."

    My hand froze on the desk, rm bells ringing in my mind. Anna¡¯s words from ourst conversation suddenly echoed-she had lied to me.

    "What exactly happened?" My voice was noticeably deeper than usual, tension evident even to my own ears.

    Peter quickly operated theputer, bringing up the surveince footage for me to view.

    "Look, sir. Griffin doesn¡¯t appear to be merely intoxicated," Peter pointed out.

    In the footage, Samuel behaved erratically, tugging at his shirt while stumbling into a private lounge.

    Minutester, Anna passed by the door and was suddenly pulled inside.

    My heart sank instantly, my hands unconsciously clenching into fists, nails digging deep into my palms. I felt no pain¡ªonly a burning rage mixed with profound concern as horrific scenarios shed through my mind.

    Peter, noticing my change in demeanor, quickly added: "Don¡¯t worry, sir. Miss Shaw appears unharmed. They emerged shortly after."

    The video fast-forwarded to show Anna cautiously peering out, checking for onlookers before helping Samuel leave.

    "The final footage shows Griffin entering Miss Shaw¡¯s car-likely heading to a hospital. I¡¯m certain Griffin was drugged," Peter exined.

    "Drugged?" My frown deepened, expression darker than before. This girl was truly bold, risking herself to take Samuel to a hospital? Didn¡¯t she realize how dangerous it could be if Samuel acted on his drug-induced impulses? I couldn¡¯t bear to follow that train of thought.

    I took a deep breath, struggling to control my emotions. "Can we determine who administered the drug?"

    "Investigation overseas presents challenges, but knowing Griffin¡¯s character, he won¡¯t let such humiliation slide. Ive arranged surveince on his movements," Peter replied.

    I nodded. "Good."

    Seeing I had no further instructions, Peter exited the office.

    Alone in my office, my thoughts churned. Why had Anna lied to me?

    Was she worried I¡¯d be concerned, or was there another reason? If Samuel was indeed drugged, the situation might be moreplex than I imagined. I needed to verify certain things personally.

    Night had deepened, but my thoughts only grew clearer. I had made my decision.

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