CHAPTER 131: A SECRET NO LONGER HIDDEN

Anna’s POV

The dining room hummed with possibility. I surveyed the faces around me: Catherine with her characteristic intensity, Jasmine Butler’s shrewd business acumen, Nora’s newfound confidence, and Mason’s barely contained excitement.

"Ms. Shaw, the livestream numbers for Nora’s tea presentations have exceeded all projections," Mason leaned forward, tablet in hand, eyes bright with success. "In just one month, we’ve reached nearly a million followers, and revenue projections suggest we’ll double our previous estimates by quarter’s end."

I caught Nora sitting straighter, a quiet pride transforming her features. Gone was the fragile woman who’d once believed herself worthless; in her place sat a poised professional. The satisfaction of witnessing her transformation warmed my chest more than I cared to admit.

"I have a colleague who specializes in heritage embroidery," Jasmine said, her tone direct as always. "An artform passed down through generations.

She’s looking for the right platform to showcase these traditional techniques.

The craftsmanship is exquisite."

Mason’s mind was already spinning with possibilities. "We could feature traditional artisan products alongside our tea collection. Ms. Shaw, showcasing only our own products in the livestreams can get monotonous.

These heritage treasures could diversify our offerings while promoting traditional craftsmanship. It’s not just business—it’s cultural preservation."

I studied him thoughtfully. His instincts for the market are almost uncanny now.

"It would also enrich our content," Nora added, her voice carrying a confidence that hadn’t existed weeks ago. "The stories behind these heritage crafts would attract viewers interested in both luxury and cultural significance."

After weighing their arguments, I nodded. "Mason, I trust your judgment on this. You know Luminary Trade Ventures better than anyone."

His expression shifted to one of measured responsibility. "I’ll handle everything, Ms. Shaw. I’ll personally oversee the quality control process."

I turned to Jasmine. "Have your friend contact Mason directly. If their quality meets our standards, I see no reason why we can’t move forward with this collaboration."

Relief washed over Jasmine’s face. I understood that feeling the weight of advocating for someone else’s interests and the satisfaction of success. The business world rarely offered opportunities for simple kindness; these moments felt particularly valuable.

As our conversation progressed, a scent drifted across the room— cigarette smoke from a nearby table.

My stomach churned instantly, a violent wave of nausea hitting me with unexpected force. I pressed my hand against my mouth, trying to suppress the growing discomfort.

"Anna? What’s wrong?" Catherine’s concerned voice cut through my distress, her sharp eyes missing nothing.

I grimaced, feeling my stomach revolt against me. "Someone’s smoking-the smell is making me sick." I quickly sipped water, hoping to quell the rising nausea.

Instead of subsiding, the sensation intensified. The cigarette odor seemed to cling to my senses, refusing to dissipate. A stronger wave surged up my throat, and I hastily stood, one hand still pressed against my mouth.

"Excuse me," I managed before hurrying toward the restroom.

Catherine’s POV

I watched with growing concern as Anna’s face suddenly drained of color.

Her hand flew to her mouth, and without a word, she bolted toward the ladies’ room. Rachel and Clayton trailed after her like well-trained shadows, leaving the rest of us at the table in awkward silence.

Nora and Jasmine exchanged confused glances. They had no idea what was happening, but I knew exactly what was going on. Anna was already three months pregnant, and soon enough, that perfect belly of hers would start to show. There was no point keeping it secret anymore.

"You should go check on her," I told Nora with a casual shrug. "Anna’s pregnant."

Nora’s mouth dropped open like she’d been slapped. For a moment, she just sat there processing this bombshell before scrambling to her feet and rushing after Anna.

Jasmine collected herself with remarkable poise, a gentle smile softening her features. "Ms. Shaw is quite brave."

Coming from her—a single mother who’d clawed her way up the corporate ladder while raising a child alone-this wasn’t empty flattery. It was one warrior recognizing another.

Warmth spread through my chest as I realized just how many people were in Anna’s corner.

The moment of reflection was shattered by the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke wafting across the dining room. My nostrils flared in irritation. _Who the hell smokes indoors at a place like this?_ I scanned the room with narrowed eyes, quickly identifying the culprit—a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and the self-satisfied smirk of someone who’s never faced consequences.

Without hesitation, I rolled up my sleeves and marched over to his table.

In one swift motion, I plucked the cigarette from his pudgy fingers and extinguished it in his half-eaten steak.

"No smoking indoors," I said, my voice dropping to a glacial register. "Have some consideration for others."

The man looked up, his forehead creasing with anger. "Who the hell are you?"

_If he’d just apologized, I would’ve let it go._ But his challenging tone made something snap inside me. Though fury bubbled beneath my skin, I kept my exterior perfectly composed.

"Your worst nightmare," I replied without missing a beat.

Jasmine and Mason had materialized behind me, a show of solidarity that warmed my heart. But the smoking man’s companions-four equally unpleasant-looking specimenshad risen from their seats as well. Three against five, and our side consisted of two women and, well, Mason wasn’t exactly intimidating. The odds weren’t great.

The smoker stood with his protruding belly, a cold smirk stretching across his face as he deliberately pulled out another cigarette and lit it. He took a deep drag, then blew the smoke directly at me.

His gaze flicked to my wrist, lingering on my watch. "That’s a fake, isn’t it?

Or a gift from some man?"

Something inside me ignited. Without a word, I grabbed a glass of red wine from a nearby table. The man’s expression shifted to smug satisfaction, clearly thinking I was intimidated.

"No need for that," he chuckled. "If you put those pretty lips to use lighting my cigarette, I might consider forgiving-"

Before he could finish, I’d emptied the entire glass over his head. The wine ran down his face in satisfying rivulets, staining his white collar.

"You crazy bitch, you’re dead," he spluttered, wiping wine from his eyes while reaching for something behind him.

In that tense moment, there was a sudden "CRACK!" as a wine bottle connected with the side of the smoker’s head. His eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the floor like a marionette with cut strings.

Mason stood there, visibly trembling despite his attempt at bravado, the broken bottle neck still clutched in his white-knuckled grip.

"Nobody move!" he shouted, voice cracking slightly. "Do you have any idea who this lady is? She’s Catherine Murphy of the Murphy family!"

I bit back a laugh. _Oh, Mason. Sweet, terrified Mason._ While I appreciated the gesture, assaulting someone with a wine bottle was a bit extreme.

Restaurant security materialized almost instantly, their efficiency suggesting they’d been watching the situation unfold. As they dealt with the unconscious smoker, something caught my eye across the room—a tall figure carrying someone in his arms.

My breath caught in my throat. _Uncle Marcus?_

Anna’s POV

I barely made it to the restroom before my stomach emptied itself violently.

The cigarette smoke had triggered something primal and unstoppable. I gripped the cold porcelain, my knuckles white as I heaved until there was nothing left but bitter bile.

Pregnancy had transformed my body into a foreign landscape. Before, Id merely disliked cigarette smoke; now, the mere whiff sent me spiraling into nausea so intense it made my vision blur.

I slumped against the wall, sweat beading along my hairline. Rachel hovered nearby, concern etched across her face, but there was little she could do. My mouth tasted like acid, and my legs felt like they’d been replaced with wet noodles.

The bathroom door suddenly burst open. Through my watery vision, I made out Marcus Murphy’s tall figure, his expression twisted with concern.

Before I could process what was happening, strong arms scooped me up like I weighed nothing.

"I’ve got you," he murmured, his voice a low rumble I could feel through his chest.

I wanted to protest—to insist I could walk—but exhaustion had drained the fight from me. I found myself curling instinctively into his embrace, my head resting against his shoulder. His cologne carried notes of sandalwood and something crisp that oddly settled my churning stomach rather than aggravating it.

Back in private dining room, Joseph’s eyebrows shot up as Marcus carried me in.

"Well, if it isn’t Anna Shaw! What happened to her?" His tone held unmistakable teasing. "What’s going on? Is she okay?"

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. Being carried in like some damsel in distress wasn’t exactly aligned with my carefully crafted image of independence.

Marcus waved his hand dismissively.

"Open the windows, give her some space, don’t crowd around." The sharp edge in his voice made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for Joseph’s antics.

Nora rushed toward us, worry creasing her forehead. "Ms. Shaw isn’t feeling well," she explained, reaching for an unopened water bottle.

But Marcus was faster, pressing a glass into my hand. "It’s mine, I haven’t drunk from it yet. The temperature is just right."

Our fingers brushed during the exchange, sending an unexpected current up my arm. I took small sips, the warm water soothing my raw throat. The nausea began to recede like an ebbing tide.

"Thank you, Marcus. I’m causing trouble for you again," I managed a weak smile. "It seems I’m always creating problems for you."

Before Marcus could respond, Joseph jumped in. "No problem at all. He doesn’t mind the trouble." His

exaggerated wink made my stomach clench for reasons entirely unrelated to morning sickness.

Marcus shot Joseph a withering glare.

"Just eat your food. If you don’t want to eat, then leave."

"Hey, you jerk, this dinner is on me, in case you forgot?" Joseph laughed, seemingly immune to Marcus’s irritation.

Marcus turned to me, his expression softening. "Are you done with your meeting? I’ll take you home."

"Please don’t trouble yourself. I’ll be fine once I’ve rested a bit," I protested, though the thought of escaping to my quiet bedroom was increasingly appealing.

"Marcus, weren’t you all discussing business? Maybe I should step out..." I offered, feeling like an intruder.

They’re not important. You sit here and don’t move," he commanded, an unfamiliar tension lacing his words.

Then, more severely: "Look at the state you’re in. If you faint outside, I’ll have to carry you back again."

His unexpected harshness caught me off guard. I blinked, unsure why he seemed suddenly angry.

A server arrived with a small bowl of rice porridge bland enough not to trigger nausea, yet substantial enough to settle my stomach. I surprised myself by finishing it quickly, my appetite returning with unexpected force.

Marcus observed this with a slight frown. "That bowl is tiny. How could that be enough? Bring two more."

Joseph stared at me with undisguised amazement, probably wondering what society lady would consume three bowls of porridge in one sitting. A fleeting thought crossed my mind:

*three bowls, one for each of us*. The notion warmed me from within like sunshine after rain.

When Marcus and Joseph were called away to handle some commotion outside, Sawyer leaned toward Nora with predatory intent.

"Miss Price has her protectors now, so she’s getting quite high and mighty," he drawled, malice dripping from every syllable.

Nora froze, her posture screaming trapped prey. Something protective flared inside me.

"Mr. Walker, whatever issues you have with Nora are your business, but she’s with me now. Please respect that and don’t give her a hard time," I stated firmly.

Sawyer’s lips curled in contempt.

’Think you’re a big internet celebrity now? Feeling powerful?" He paused, then twisted the knife. "Oh, I almost forgot. You’d rather sell yourself than accept help from our family. Ms. Shaw, what do you think of a woman like that—is her pride worth something, or nothing at all?’

Nora’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her slender frame visibly trembling. My heart ached for her vulnerability.

"Mr. Walker, would abusing her verbally or even physically really make you feel better?" I nodded to Rachel, who quietly guided Nora out of the room.

When Marcus returned, Catherine bounded in behind him with characteristic enthusiasm.

"It’s all taken care of. The smoking guy took the money and went to the hospital to get stitches himself," she announced.

Mason shifted nervously beside her.

"Ms. Shaw, I’m the one who broke his head. I hit him."

"You did what you had to do," Catherine insisted. "If you hadn’t moved so quickly, I would have slapped him myself."

"Right, that guy was incredibly rude,"

Mason nodded, seeking validation.

I felt a wave of gratitude that they’d defended me, however dramatic their methods. "Thank you for handling that, Marcus."

He checked his watch. "It’s late. Time to go home."

Before I could respond, he stepped forward and scooped me into his arms again. Instinctively, my arms encircled his neck for balance.