Jack’s POV
The door to my office flew open with unusual urgency. Pax, my assistant, burst in without his typical asured composure.
"Mr. Simpson, we’ve located Mr. Griffin." His voice carried a tension that imdiately 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—a nervous tell I’d rarely seen from him. That split-second pause triggered an imdiate 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 uncomfortable with whatever he was about to reveal.
"With Ms. Shaw."
"Anna?" The na escaped my lips before I could contain it. A torrent of questions flooded my mind, none of them yielding comfortable 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 accompanied by Sean Smith as the driver."
At the ntion of Sean, sothing hot and volatile ignited in my chest. "Let’s go," I ordered, my voice dropping to an icy command.
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 sll of alcohol, her body completely limp in his arms. Her eyes were closed, her hair and clothes drenched, her entire body emanating the sll of alcohol, completely limp in his arms.
"Uncle Marcus," I called out, my voice steadier than I felt.
He acknowledged 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 plastered across her cheek.
The sight of her in such a state sent a surge of protective rage through that I hadn’t felt in years.
Samuel Griffin approached with that infuriating smirk that made want to rearrange his face.
"Mr. Simpson, what a surprise," he drawled, eyes gleaming with cruel amusent. "Too bad your uncle got here first. Quite the shining knight, isn’t he?"
Sothing in 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 collar, yanking him close enough that I could sll 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 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 place-"
I ignored him, my grip on Griffin’s collar tightening. Griffin, to my increasing rage, actually *laughed*—a soft, mocking sound that made 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, so composed.
No wonder she prefers his company to yours."
That was a deliberate jab, and we both knew it. Griffin’s smug expression told he understood the dynamics between Anna, Marcus, and far better than he should have. This wasn’t a random encounter-he’d co 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 , panic evident in his voice. "Mr. Simpson, you just assaulted Mr. Griffin! Your father will —"
"I don’t care," I cut him off, pushing through the revolving door into the cool evening air. "Let him sue 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 sll of alcohol, I could detect traces of her perfu-subtle and elegant, just like her.
I slid into the back seat, deliberately keeping her in my arms rather than setting her beside . Sean sat stifly in the passenger seat, his eyes carefully avoiding the rearview mirror. Smart man. He seed to understand that looking back would be crossing a line.
Anna stirred slightly, her face pressing against my neck as she mumbled sothing incoherent. The feeling of her warm breath against my skin sent a jolt of possessiveness through . I tightened my hold instinctively, drawing her closer.
"Drive to Rosa Villa, " I instructed, my
voice betraying none of the complex emotions churning inside .
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 argunt. "You may go now."
Sean hesitated, then finally extracted a small package from his pocket.
"This contains Ms. Shaw’s sobering dicine," 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 inford quietly as I gently laid Anna on the bed.
I frowned, my fingers lingering as I brushed a strand of hair from her face.
Jack’s timing was impeccable as always -and entirely unwelco.
"Tell him Ms. Shaw is asleep," I replied coldly, my eyes never leaving Anna’s face.
I carefully removed her shoes, then pulled the comforter over her sleeping form. She looked peaceful now, the tension that usually marked her features completely absent in slumber.
My hand moved of its own accord, 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 montarily flared through had already begun to fade, replaced 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 mont.
"Mr. Simpson," he began hesitantly,
"regarding Mr. Griffin..."
I noted the uncertainty in his voice, the carefully asured concern. Pax had always been steady, reliable. The fact that even he seed unsettled by my actions spoke volus 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 flashed through my mind again. The sight had ignited sothing primal in , 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 Skylake District partnership with Heritage Group—a cornerstone of our expansion strategy—now hung by a thread. My father had spent months cultivating that relationship, and I’d potentially destroyed it with one punch. Not to ntion the way Marcus had stepped in, so composed and authoritative, making look like a reckless hothead in comparison.
"You realize what this ans 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 ca to Anna.*
"Sir, would you like 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, rcilessly landing across my face. I groaned, imdiately 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 Villa.
I blinked several tis, piecing together fragnted mories from the night before. Samuel Griffin’s taunting face. Bottles lined up on a bar. The thunderous cheers of leather-clad bikers. And then... Marcus? Had I really seen Marcus at that pool hall, or was my alcohol-soaked brain playing tricks on ?
Beside the bed stood a small table with a pitcher of water, a glass, and two pills that I recognized as my preferred hangover redy. A folded towel and a fresh change of clothes sat neatly on a nearby chair. Soone had taken ticulous care of .
As I pushed myself up to sitting position, a fresh wave of nausea forced back down. I pressed my palms against my throbbing temples, fragnts of mories flashing 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 ti, with a laptop in front of him, apparently working. Seeing that I was awake, his expression softened.
"You’re up," he observed, closing his laptop and standing to walk toward , his voice deliberately low as if he understood exactly how fragile my head felt. "How are you feeling?"
"Like soone’s using my brain for a drum solo." I managed a weak smile, reaching for the pills and water. "Was it you who brought back?"
"Yes." His voice remained gentle as he poured a cup of tea that slled faintly of ginger and honey. The temperature was perfect-hot enough to soothe but not scalding.
He handed the tea, which I accepted gratefully. "Thank you," I murmured, taking a small sip. The warm liquid eased its way down my throat, bringing unexpected comfort.
"Uncle Marcus, how did you know to co to that pool hall?" I asked, studying his face carefully.
"Not just . 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 revelation should have made angry, but all I felt was a confusing mix of irritation and warmth. "You’ve been having followed?"
"Protected," he corrected imdiately, his voice firm. "Whoever stabbed 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 , and Samuel wouldn’t have done anything to harm ." Even as I said it, I wasn’t entirely convinced of
my own words.
"Are you certain?" Marcus leveled his penetrating gaze at . "Do you really know what kind of man Samuel Griffin is?"
I hesitated, ntally cataloging what I knew. "Heritage Group heir, notorious playboy, business prodigy with as many successful projects as rumored girlfriends."
Then it suddenly dawned on .
"Uncle Marcus, do you suspect Samuel was behind your attack?" My heart rate accelerated 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 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 statent caught off guard. I swallowed hard, pretending not to hear him.
I changed the subject, "Whatever he’s doing, his target is the Skylake District project."
"So you’d rather risk dealing with soone like Samuel than partner with ?" 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 accept your feelings. It’s not because there’s anything wrong with you, it’s just that..."
"Because I’m older and you see 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 , that’s nothing. And you’re certainly not old —quite the opposite, you’re incredibly handso and distinguished."
I didn’t dare admit that he was exactly my type.
I paused, formulating my thoughts carefully. "Since my divorce, I haven’t wanted another relationship. I just want to focus on the company, to take care of my mother and grandmother the way my father would have wanted.
I’m sorry, I can’t accept your feelings, nor can I accept your kindness. I’ll work hard to compete for the Skylake 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 mont, his expression composed once more. "I won’t pressure you."
I felt a wave of gratitude wash over . "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 subrged 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 played , and all that alcohol wasn’t drunk for nothing —my 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.
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