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, glaring at from the bed. "Tell Anna Shaw I won’t forget tonight."
I t 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 ans for soone like ?"
"dical advice should be taken seriously," I replied. "Ms. Shaw brought you to the hospital imdiately. You should thank her."
I picked up my purse. "We did what anyone would do. No need for thanks."
The comnt 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 gala had exhausted her-shadows showed under her makeup.
"Rosa Villa 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 Villa was silent.
The house was dark when we arrived.
No one had been here since Mr. Murphy left, but the managent service kept it clean.
"T’ll prepare the bedroom," I said.
"Want sothing to eat?"
"No." She headed upstairs. "Just a shower and sleep."
Ms. Shaw erged from the bathroom in a robe. I laid out pajamas from the ergency 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 she lay 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 suppressed laugh. "That’s torture for soone 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 glasses of champagne I’d had at the charity gala had left 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 ssage to the mysterious man from room 3303 at Sapphire Sky Hotel.
[et up?)
The directness of my own ssage surprised . I stared at the screen, my heartbeat quickening as I waited for his response. It ca just seconds later, a single word:
[No.]
"Typical," I muttered, tossing my phone onto the duvet beside . A flash of irritation surged through .
During our brief encounters, he’d made his interest in painfully obvious. And now that I was actually reaching out, he dismissed with a single word?
I grabbed a pillow and pressed it over my face, trying to smother the conflicting emotions bubbling inside . Then my phone lit up again. I snatched it up, half-expecting so lengthy explanation.
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 explain his refusal. The irritation began to dissolve, replaced by a reluctant understanding. Considering his physique and...other qualities, I supposed I could forgive this one instance. After all, Mr. 3303 had earned so grace with his performance.
I placed the phone face down on the nightstand and pulled the covers up.
This ti, sleep ca 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 .
"I wonder who drugged him tonight," I murmured, more thinking aloud than asking.
Rachel pondered for a mont 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 sothing like this right now?"
"That’s not necessarily true. George and Samuel are cut from the sa cloth-equally ruthless in their thods," I replied with sarcasm and mockery. This was the first ti I’d spoken so candidly about my forr father-in-law. 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 from last night must have created quite a stir." My dress had been a calculated choice elegant yet daring, designed to make a statent without appearing desperate for attention.
Rachel shifted her weight, clutching her tablet tightly. "Your gown did trend, yes, but there’s sothing else— rumors about you and Samuel."
That got my attention. "Samuel and ?" I turned to face her directly.
"What kind of rumors?"
She handed her tablet without a word. The screen displayed a series of photographs taken at last night’s gala —all featuring Samuel and leaving together. While only our backs were visible in most shots, my distinctive dress made imdiately identifiable.
"The initial trending topic was about your stunning appearance," Rachel explained, "but these relationship rumors just surfaced. I suspect soone paid to promote them." She pointed to several details in the photos. "Moreover, all press had left the latter half of the gala-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 sa person, and likely soone who has a grudge against ?"
"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 ntion of Lucy’s na, I took the tablet from Rachel’s hands and carefully scrolled through the photos again. The angles were deliberately misleading—in one, Samuel appeared to be whispering intimately in my ear; in another, a dismissive glance 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 cold laugh escaping my lips. "Look at these cara angles—in 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 the comnts, each one more vicious than the last. They speculated wildly about my "relationship" with Samuel, suggesting I was desperate to align myself with Heritage Group. So even implied I’d orchestrated my divorce from Jack to pursue wealthier, more powerful n.
The comnts 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 gala.
Here, the tone was entirely different.
Users had posted multiple high-quality photos of , captured by professional photographers before they’d been asked to leave. The comnts were universally positive:
[Anna is absolutely stunning! She should be on runways instead of in boardrooms—but we’re glad she’s blessing the business world with her presence.]
(Perfect figure, gorgeous face, impeccable style this woman has it all!]
[Whoever started those other rumors is clearly just jealous of her. No question.]
By the ti 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 seed insignificant.
"Should I arrange for soone to check the security footage? If Lucy is behind this, she must have left so 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 ti 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 cal-colored cardigan —perfect for the light rain currently falling outside.
I had just taken off my pajamas when rapid footsteps approached my bedroom, accompanied by Rachel’s urgent voice:
"Mr. Simpson, you can’t go in there!
Ms. Shaw isn’t receiving visitors right now."
Hearing Jack’s na, 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 slamd it shut with enough force to make the wood fra shudder.
I stared at the door I’d just slamd in Jack’s face, my heart racing. The nerve of that man, barging into Rosa Villa like he still had so claim to or this place.
"Anna, we need to talk," Jack called through the door, his voice muffled but still carrying that commanding 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 relaxing as I moved away from the door.
I slipped out of my robe and quickly dressed. As I stepped into a pair of comfortable flats, I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror.
The woman staring back at looked nothing like the polished, untouchable figure from last night’s charity gala.
Gone was the sleek updo and statent jewelry, replaced by soft waves and minimal makeup. This version of 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 imdiately, tracking my movent as I reached the bottom step.
"You’re going out," he stated, his tone sowhere between accusation and disbelief.
I deliberately maintained my distance, positioning myself near the entry table where I placed my purse. Rachel moved to stand slightly behind , a silent ally.
"I have a lunch appointnt," I replied evenly, checking my watch with exaggerated care. A flicker of annoyance passed through -why did he always feel entitled to explanations 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 accuracy.
"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 pain lanced through a tender spot in my heart—a place that once held trust and hope, now housing only disappointnt and hurt.
I sighed beyond the point of explanations. "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—" he started, but I was already stepping outside, letting the door close firmly behind .
Once inside the car, Rachel turned to 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."
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