CHAPTER 147: BOUND BY BLOOD

Marcus’s POV

I sat in the VIP room of restaurant, barely registering the exquisite spread before me. My mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of Anna and those twins growing inside her. When Joseph Walker strode in, his incredulous expression only irritated me further.

"I thought you weren’t coming back to America for a while," he said, dropping into the seat across from me.

"What changed? There’s nobody here worth risking your neck for."

An inexplicable anxiety gnawed at my insides. It had been growing stronger all morning, like some primal warning system blaring in my skull.

"Who says there isn’t?" I replied testily.

Joseph raised an eyebrow. "William?

Since when did you become such a dutiful son?"

I fixed him with an icy stare. "Anna Shaw."

His eyes widened comically, and my irritation deepened.

"She’s already pregnant, and you’re still pining for her?" Disbelief colored his voice.

"It’s mine." The words left my mouth with quiet certainty, accompanied by a surge of possessiveness I’d never experienced before.

"What?!" Joseph’s jaw practically hit the table. "Yours? You mean those twins she’s carrying are yours?"

I frowned at his theatrical reaction.

"Why so shocked? She doesn’t have other men." The statement emerged with an unexpected note of pride.

Joseph leaned back, understanding dawning on his face. "No wonder you kept coming back. Congratulations, man. You’re going to be a father."

Words failed me. The foreboding sensation in my chest only intensified.

Joseph’s expression turned serious.

"But you shouldn’t have risked coming back. What if your European enemies discover your whereabouts? Have you considered the danger that would put Anna in?"

"I don’t need your lecture," I snapped, then added more quietly, "I couldn’t help it." It was the truth. I couldn’t control my need to see her, to ensure her safety, to be near my children.

Joseph nodded slowly. "Fair enough.

You haven’t been with her at all during her pregnancy. That must be difficult."

His words stung because they were true. I was failing her already, and the children weren’t even born yet.

As Joseph began updating me on Paradise Valley Estates’ construction progress, Clayton burst into the room, his normally composed face tight with concern.

"Sir, Sean can’t reach Ms. Shaw. I’ve tried calling both Anna and Elizabeth, but their phones are off. Rachel isn’t answering either."

My blood turned to ice. I stood abruptly, nearly upending the table.

"What about their locations?"

Clayton’s expression grew grimmer.

"Anna’s and Elizabeth’s phone tracking has been disabled. Rachel’s phone shows she’s in a remote park on the west side. We have people headed there now."

Terror gripped menot fear of death, but something far worse: the fear of losing Anna and my unborn children.

---

We found Rachel tied to a tree in the deserted park, unconscious. Rage boiled through my veins as Clayton cut her loose, but I forced myself to remain calm. Panic wouldn’t help Anna now.

When Rachel’s eyes finally fluttered open, her first words confirmed my worst fears.

"It was... George Simpson’s men," she whispered hoarsely.

My nails dug into my palms so deeply I should have felt pain, but I felt nothing except cold determination.

Rachel continued shakily: "Last year, Mr. Simpson had Anna brought to a mansion. I followed them—it was somewhere west of the city, very secluded. We drove for a long time before returning to downtown."

Joseph frowned. "West? Isn’t that where the Simpson family bought that large property a few years ago?"

"I didn’t know George had a mansion out there. Are you certain?" he pressed.

Despite her dazed state, Rachel’s voice was firm. "How could I be mistaken?

Ms. Shaw went inside herself. It was a massive house surrounded by trees, hidden from view."

Joseph shook his head. "Seems George has been keeping secrets from the Murphy family."

"What now? Should we search west?

Call the police?" he asked hesitantly.

"No police," I replied immediately, my mind calculating the fastest rescue strategy. Involving law enforcement would only generate publicity and potentially give George time to move Anna. I wouldn’t risk her or my children becoming fodder for gossip columns.

"We’ll split up. I’ll find them. You get Mary here somehow," I ordered. "And get someone from Olympus Club to help."

Rachel spoke up. "I have Mia’s number. We’ve worked together before."

"Call her," I nodded curtly.

A single thought consumed me: I would get Anna and my children back, no matter the cost. If George Simpson had harmed even a hair on their heads, death would seem merciful compared to what awaited him.

Anna’s POV

I woke with a jolt, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar ceiling above me. My hand instinctively moved to my rounded belly, seeking reassurance that my twins were safe.

The events of the morning crashed back into my consciousness-the hospital, the men in suits, my mother’s burned hand.

_George Simpson, that manipulative bastard._

I eased myself up from the bed, fighting the heaviness that six months of pregnancy had imposed on my once-agile body. As the fog of my unplanned nap cleared, my priorities crystallized: find Elizabeth, then find a way out.

The door wasn’t locked. Interesting. I slipped into the hallway, noting the absence of guards. The mansion sprawled around me like a sleeping beast, all polished marble and gleaming woodwork that whispered of old money and calculated power plays.

A maid appeared at the far end, meticulously dusting a crystal vase as if her life depended on it. When I approached, her eyes slid past me like I was made of smoke.

"Excuse me, where is Elizabeth Shaw being kept?" I asked, my voice echoing slightly in the vast corridor.

She continued polishing as if I hadn’t spoken. _Well trained pets_, I thought bitterly.

I wandered the second floor, testing each door I passed. All locked. My fingertips traced the elaborate wallpaper as I calculated my next move._If she’s not on this floor....

The staircase leading to the third floor beckoned me. Id barely placed my foot on the first step when two security guards materialized from nowhere, blocking my path with their substantial frames.

"Let me pass," I demanded, keeping my voice level.

"Ms. Shaw, Mr. Simpson said if you’ve reconsidered, you’re welcome to find him downstairs," the taller one recited mechanically.

I arched an eyebrow. "So she *is* upstairs then." Their expressions remained impassive, but I had my confirmation. "Tell George Simpson I’m not interested in his invitation. Yet."

Back in my luxurious prison, I watched sunlight fade through leaded glass windows. A maid silently delivered a tray of fresh fruit and filtered water, then vanished without acknowledgment.

"It’s okay, little ones," I whispered, running my palm over the taut skin of my abdomen. "We’ll figure this out." A small flutter answered me, as if the twins were trying to offer what little comfort they could.

By the time night fell, my stomach growled despite my situation. The dinner they brought was impeccable-all organic vegetables, lean protein, and whole grains. Perfect for a pregnant woman.

I snorted softly. "At least he needs us alive and healthy." I ate half, wary but practical. The twins needed nourishment, even if it came from George Simpson’s kitchen.

Afterward, I paced the hallway, one hand supporting my lower back, the other resting protectively over my children. My steps were deliberately measured, my expression carefully composed into a mask of calm.

"Could I have something to read?" I asked a passing servant, surprising her with the mundane request.

When she returned with a leather-bound volume, I accepted it with a polite nod. To anyone watching, I was simply a guest enjoying some quiet reading time.