CHAPTER 153: GEORGE’S SECRET MANSION

Anna’s POV

Morning sunlight streamed through the windows as I sipped my breakfast tea, Catherine’s animated face filling my phone screen. Her enthusiasm for my budding relationship with Marcus had been relentless since the scandal at George’s secret mansion.

"You’re awfully invested in this," I teased, setting down my cup. "Hoping for an extra wedding gift or something?"

Catherine rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Mary’s practically foaming at the mouth over you two. I just want to see you married immediately so she can choke on her own bile." Her gleeful expression made it clear this wasn’t entirely a joke.

After ending the call, I caught Elizabeth and Margaret exchanging meaningful glances across the table.

"Poor Catherine," Elizabeth sighed, absently stirring her tea. "Did you know she was once inseparable from that boyfriend of hers? If Mary hadn’t interfered, Catherine might be married with children by now."

Margaret nodded solemnly. "She wasn’t always so... rebellious. Used to be the perfect society daughter-polite, proper, studious."

"What happened?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

"She disappeared for a while," Elizabeth said softly. "When she came back, she was completely changed.

Started those wild rumors about partying and men."

I nodded silently, understanding more than I let on. We all had secrets buried in our pastsdark spaces we preferred to leave unexplored. I’d never pressed Catherine about those missing years for the same reason I guarded my own painful memories. Some wounds healed better unopened.

My phone vibrated with another incoming call from Catherine.

"George and Mary are back," she reported briskly. "You wouldn’t recognize George-his humble act is completely gone. He’s strutting around like he’s Simpson dynasty royalty, even trying to position himself as Phillip’s equal!" Her voice dripped with disdain.

I barely had time to process this news before Marcus arrived for lunch, accompanied by a small army of Murphy security personnel. After the recent kidnapping fiasco, the reinforcements were a welcome sight.

William Murphy’s protective instincts had kicked into overdrive.

After eating, I retreated to my study to catch up on work, acutely aware of Marcus watching me from the leather armchair in the corner. His steady gaze both distracted and comforted me as I plowed through financial reports.

"Seen enough?" I finally asked, setting my pen down.

Instead of answering, Marcus’s expression turned serious. "I’ve created some problems for George that should keep him occupied. With Phillip and Father applying pressure, he won’t risk targeting Skylake District again." His eyes darkened. "But he’s dropped his mask now. He’ll be gunning for the Shaw family with everything he has."

My stomach tightened at his warning.

"While I’m away, protect yourself," he continued. "Don’t try to handle everything alone. Call Father if there’s trouble." He leaned forward, eyes intense. "And don’t hide things from me."

Warmth spread through my chest at his concern. "I’ve been dealing with the Simpsons for years-sometimes winning, sometimes losing. I’m not foolish enough to face them without backup."

"And make sure Margaret and Elizabeth have security when they go out," he added, gaze dropping briefly to my rounded belly. "I’ll be back for the birth. The hospital arrangements are already being made."

I studied his face, seeing the conflict there—a man still adjusting to impending fatherhood.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, catching my stare.

"You," I answered simply, a smile playing at my lips. "It’s nice to finally look at you openly." After years of pretending he was just a respected family friend, the freedom felt intoxicating.

His eyes darkened as he crossed the room and lifted me effortlessly onto his lap. His fingers tilted my chin upward, and then his mouth claimed mine in a kiss that sent heat spiraling through me. I melted against him, my eyes fluttering closed as his tongue teased mine. He held me with careful restraint, mindful of my pregnancy, but his hands roamed with considerably less restraint.

When we finally separated, I realized my dress was partially undone, my shoulder exposed to the cool air. His eyes had turned molten, his breathing uneven as he traced my collarbone with a feather-light touch.

"Uncle Marcus," I whispered breathlessly, deliberately using the honorific that now felt deliciously inappropriate. "Dinner’s early tonight.

If you hurry for a cold shower, you might make it in time." I shifted slightly against him, feeling his unmistakable response. "Or I could help you with that?’

His jaw clenched tight. "Not necessary," he growled, carefully adjusting my clothing before setting me back in my chair and making a swift exit.

That evening, Clayton drove Marcus to the airport. Though my heart ached to see him leave, 1 understood his responsibilities in Europe couldn’t wait. The silence of his absence was broken by constant messages, tracking his journey from highway to takeoff.

In the days that followed, Elizabeth and I declined numerous social invitations, using my pregnancy as a convenient excuse. Most accepted graciously, but one particularly persistent hostess made her displeasure known with thinly veiled insults.

To my surprise, my usually diplomatic mother unleashed a verbal barrage that left me speechless.

"You think Shaw Corp has changed?

That we’re looking down on you now?" Elizabeth’s voice cut like glass.

"You’re absolutely right. Who do you think you are compared to my daughter and grandchildren? Don’t bother sending invitations anymore you can’t afford us."

Margaret and I exchanged stunned glances.

"If she’d been polite, I might have felt guilty," Elizabeth explained afterward, her cheeks still flushed. "But that passive-aggressive tone deserved what she got."

"Wow. Impressive," I said with genuine admiration, moved by her fierce protectiveness.

Our conversation was interrupted by Catherine’s arrival. She immediately rushed to my side, cradling my belly and planting kisses on it, chattering nonsensically about being both godmother and sister.

"Wait, this is confusing," she said suddenly. "Am I godmother or sister to these babies?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Sister, of course."

"Sister it is!" Catherine nodded enthusiastically. "Makes me sound younger anyway."

"What brings you here?" I asked.

"Weren’t you in the middle of a project?"

Catherine waved dismissively. "That’s practically wrapped up. I came to share the latest Simpson family drama." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "You won’t believe what’s happening now..."