CHAPTER 157: THEIR DOWNFALL

Anna’s POV

I traced idle patterns on my swollen belly, smiling as one of the twins responded with a forceful kick against my palm. This silent conversation had become our daily ritual, these precious moments of connection before they entered the world.

"Marcus, today can you do a video call? I want to show you my belly-the babies seem more active than ever," I asked softly, hoping to finally see his face after days of just hearing his voice.

"Not convenient right now. I’m in a meeting. Later, alright?" His voice sounded tired but still carried that warmth reserved only for me.

I swallowed my disappointment, forcing brightness into my voice.

’Sure... you go ahead with your work.

Take care of yourself." As I hung up, a sigh escaped my lips while something cold and uneasy slithered through my chest.

The past week had followed the same pattern—Marcus answering calls but never available for video. It wasn’t like him, but I kept my concerns locked away, unwilling to voice them even to myself.

- - -

"Congratulations, Mrs. Shaw, your cervix is completely effaced. You could go into labor at any moment. 1 recommend immediate hospital admission," Dr. Mitchell announced, setting down my chart with a practiced smile.

I blinked calmly. "Hospital it is, then."

"What? Admitted now? Oh my God, we haven’t finished packing the hospital bag!" Elizabeth’s voice rose in panic beside me. "Annie, how can you be so calm about this?’

I laughed softly. "What’s there to panic about? What’s coming will come, regardless. And don’t scare the babies with all that fussing." I patted her shoulder reassuringly while mentally reorganizing my work schedule for the coming weeks.

"I’ll call Betty immediately to bring your hospital bag! We need to notify Margaret and William Murphy..." Elizabeth’s fingers trembled slightly as she scrolled through her contacts.

"Remind Betty to bring my laptop and that stack of Phoenix project files from my desk," I added, earning a shocked look from my mother. "What? I need to arrange everything before my recovery period starts, or I won’t be able to relax."

"You... you really..." Elizabeth shook her head, concern etching lines around her eyes. "Annie, can’t you forget about work for once? The most important thing now is your health and the babies."

I stroked my belly gently. "It’s precisely because I care about them that I need everything to be in order.

This is my way, Mom. Don’t worry, I know my limits."

Mary’s POV

The manila folder slammed against the mahogany desk, papers spilling out like accusations. I maintained my composure, years of Murphy upbringing making it second nature to appear unfazed even as George’s face contorted with rage.

’These transfers, these property title changes—what the hell do you think you’re doing?" George’s voice cut through our bedroom’s oppressive silence. "Care to explain yourselt, Mary?"

I crossed my arms, meeting his furious gaze with icy calm. The fear that once ruled my interactions with him had evaporated, replaced by something harder, colder.

"Isn’t it obvious? I’m protecting our family’s assets in case your recent failures become catastrophic." My voice carried the practiced aristocratic detachment that had been drilled into me since childhood.

George’s nostrils flared. "We’re married, Mary. What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine. This isn’t caution-it’s betrayal."

I laughed, the sound brittle and sharp.

"I’ve only transferred these assets to Jack’s name. He’s your son, isn’t he?

Have I taken a single penny for myself?" I leaned forward, delivering the blow I knew would hurt most.

"Besides, let’s not forget that everything the Simpson family has-every connection, every opportunity-came through the Murphy name."

His eyes darkened dangerously. I should have recognized the warning, but years of resentment had made me reckless.

The slap came without warning, the crack of his palm against my cheek echoing in our bedroom. My head snapped sideways, shock momentarily paralyzing me.

"You struck me?" I whispered, raising trembling fingers to my burning skin.

In these years of marriage, through countless arguments and disappointments, he had never once raised a hand to me.

George’s lips curved into a cruel smile.

"What now? Going to run crying to daddy Murphy? Don’t bother. They’ve got bigger problems than you right now."

Something in his tone sent ice through my veins. "What are you talking about?"

He watched me with predatory satisfaction. "Marcus is dead. That news will reach the Murphy family soon enough. Let’s see if your father, who always favored everyone over you, can withstand this blow."

"What did you say?" The room spun around me, gravity suddenly unreliable. "Marcus is... dead?"

My fingers clutched his collar, desperation replacing dignity. "Where did you hear this? Tell me!"

"I have my sources," he sneered, prying my fingers loose. "Marcus made plenty of enemies in Europe. His death is just the beginning. If I were you, I’d behave myself. For Jack’s sake, I’Il overlook this little financial scheme of yours, but try anything else"

His threat faded into background noise as my mind struggled to process the information. Marcus dead? My little brother? Despite our strained relationship, the news hollowed out my chest, leaving a raw, gaping wound.

My knees weakened. I might have collapsed if the bedroom door hadn’t swung open.

"You’re saying who died?" Jack stood in the doorway, his expression shifting from confusion to alarm as he took in my reddened cheek.

"Your father says Marcus is dead," I replied automatically, suddenly aware I was still cradling my face.

Something fierce flashed in Jack’s eyes as he looked between us. Without a word, he took my arm. "We’re going to Murphy Estate. Now."

- - -

The sprawling family home Id grown up in felt like a mausoleum. Father sat slumped in his leather chair, suddenly looking every one of his seventy-plus years. Phillip paced the carpet, while Layla and Catherine huddled together on the sofa, silent tears tracking their cheeks.

No one acknowledged our arrival. The family that had always maintained perfect social decorum now shattered by grief too raw for propriety.

After a silence that stretched painfully, Father finally spoke, his voice a shadow of its usual commanding tone.

"Not a word to Anna," he rasped.

"Anyone who tells her about this will be cut off from the Murphy family permanently."

Jack stepped forward. "Is there any confirmation, Grandpa? Uncle Marcus is powerful in Europe. Maybe the reports are wrong."

"We’ve contacted his people," Phillip answered, his face drawn. "They say he’s missing. They’re searching. The media reports of his death are speculation, not fact."

A fragile hope flickered in my chest.

_Maybe he’s still alive._

"Dad, I should go to Europe," Phillip said. "See for myself what’s happening."

"Absolutely not!" Father’s fist crashed onto the side table. "Marcus won’t die so easily. Our priority now is protecting Anna and those babies—his legacy. His blood."

Father fixed his gaze on me, his eyes cold with warning. "As for your household, Mary-I suggest you keep your problems contained. This family can’t handle any more crises."

The subtle accusation stung worse than George’s slap. Even now, Father assumed the worst of me. Before I could respond, Jack intervened.

"Don’t worry, Grandpa. My father has his own troubles to deal with. I’ll make sure he stays in line."