CHAPTER 27: A GIFT TOO HEAVY

Anna’s POV

The presentation of gifts continued as I stood beside my grandmother, maintaining the composed smile. But when Daniel announced Marcus Murphy’s gift, the practiced curve of my lips nearly faltered.

"From Mr. Marcus Murphy," Daniel’s voice rang clear across the garden, "a historic mansion in the Skylake District."

A collective gasp rippled through the assembled guests. The significance wasn’t lost on anyone Skylake District properties were rare treasures.

My mother’s face went slack with shock. This was her childhood home the mansion she’d spent years telling me stories about, where three generations of my maternal ancestors had lived before financial hardship forced my grandfather to sell it.

I watched as Daniel handed my grandmother the elegant folder containing the deed and ownership papers. This wasn’t just any gift it was a piece of my family’s legacy, returned to us after decades. The sheer magnitude of the gesture left me breathless.

"Uncle Marcus, this gift is far too generous," I finally managed, forcing my lips into a polite smile while my mind raced. I signaled the server to take the portfolio and property documents to a secure place, already planning how I would gracefully return this impossibly lavish gift after the celebration ended.

My heart pounded erratically, and I found myself unable to meet Marcus’s eyes directly. Those penetrating eyes seemed capable of reading every thought crossing my mind, creating an invisible pressure I couldn’t escape.

The historic Skylake mansion was too significant, too valuable I simply couldn’t accept it. He must have sensed my hesitation, but with all these witnesses present, I could only maintain appearances.

The guests buzzed with excitement, discussing the mansion’s historical significance and current market value.

I heard whispered estimates ranging from 150 to 250 million numbers that made my stomach clench despite my own considerable wealth. I caught Catherine Murphy’s eye across the garden, and her expression of genuine surprise told me that even she hadn’t been privy to her uncle’s plans.

Desperate to shift attention elsewhere, I gave Daniel a subtle look, silently urging him to continue with the gift announcements. He cleared his throat promptly.

"From Mr. Jack Simpson, President of Simpson Group," Daniel announced,

"an eighteenth-century oil painting from the French royal collection."

My eyebrows involuntarily furrowed as I watched servers carefully carry in the massive gilt-framed painting. The piece was unmistakably authentic a masterpiece that belonged in a museum, not a private collection. My confusion deepened. Why would Jack present such an extraordinarily valuable gift? We were divorced, our business dealings now strictly professional and frequently antagonistic. This made no sense.

The air thickened with speculation as guests exchanged meaningful glances. I felt their gazes bouncing between Jack and me, searching for clues, hungry for gossip.

I deliberately avoided looking in Jack’s direction, though I could feel the weight of his stare. The sensation of being watched simultaneously by my ex-husband and Marcus Murphy made my chest tighten uncomfortably. My mind was chaos, uncertain how to navigate this complex situation.

My grandmother, always perceptive, clearly sensed the tension. She stepped forward slightly, her voice warm but firm as she addressed Jack.

"Jack, how thoughtful of you. This painting is truly magnificent, but it’s far too valuable. Your presence at my birthday celebration is gift enough."

I recognized the gentle refusal in her tone and felt a wave of relief wash over me. Immediately, I motioned to Daniel and the servers to take the painting away, eager to end this uncomfortable display. Throughout the entire exchange, I kept my gaze firmly away from Jack, afraid that any eye contact might fuel further speculation about our relationship.

I watched as the last limousine pulled away from the property. The garden that had just hours ago been filled with laughter, music, and the clink of champagne glasses now stood deserted, illuminated only by the soft glow of string lights.

Yet as soon as I stepped back inside Shaw Estate, the atmosphere shifted palpably. My mother’s practiced smile the one she’d maintained flawlessly throughout the entire celebration melted away, replaced by an expression of unmistakable concern. Beside her, my grandmother sat in her favorite armchair, absently turning the teacup in her hands, her eyes fixed on the sapphire bracelet adorning her wrist.

Grandmother finally looked up, her eyes finding mine. There was a weight to her gaze that made my chest tighten.

"Annie, what are you planning to do?"

I took a slow breath, trying to organize my thoughts. The staff moved quietly around us, collecting abandoned glasses and removing wilted flowers.

This wasn’t the place for the conversation we needed to have.

"I’ll return the oil painting tomorrow," I said, keeping my voice steady and calm. "This isn’t the right time to discuss it."

My mother and grandmother exchanged a glance the kind of wordless communication that only comes from decades of shared understanding. They were worried about more than just the gifts.

"You should both get some rest," I added, forcing a smile. "It’s been a long day."

My mother wasn’t ready to drop the subject.

"Annie, the Murphy family—"

"I understand," I cut her off, not unkindly but firmly.

My tone left no room for argument, though I could see the questions lingering in their eyes. Questions I wasn’t entirely sure I could answer.

After seeing them upstairs, I retreated to my study, closing the door behind me with a soft click. I poured myself a glass of whiskey, neat, and moved to stand by the window overlooking the garden. The ice in my glass clinked softly as I swirled the amber liquid, trying to make sense of the day’s events.

For weeks, I’d attributed Marcus Murphy’s attentiveness to William’s paternal concern for our family. It had seemed the most logical explanation.

William had always treated us with extraordinary kindness, especially after my father’s death. It made perfect sense that he would ask his son to look after us in his stead.

But today’s gift that mansion in Skylake District forced me to reconsider everything.

Two hundred million dollars. Not even William Murphy would casually ask his son to part with that kind of money as a simple favor.

My reflection stared back at me from the darkened window, eyes troubled and questioning. Was it possible that Marcus Murphy the enigmatic, powerful, intensely private Marcus Murphy had developed actual feelings for me? The thought seemed almost absurd. He was Jack’s uncle, for god’s sake. The complexity and potential awkwardness of such a situation would deter most rational people.

And yet, I couldn’t dismiss the possibility entirely.

It’s probably nothing, I told myself, taking a slow sip of whiskey. Maybe there’s another explanation entirely.

But if not, what then?

How did I feel about him?

I wasn’t entirely sure.

There was respect, certainly. Gratitude for his support. A strange comfort in his steady presence.

But was there...

Anna’s POV

The presentation of gifts continued as I stood beside my grandmother, maintaining the composed smile that had become second nature over the years. But when Daniel announced Marcus Murphy’s gift, the practiced curve of my lips nearly faltered.

"From Mr. Marcus Murphy," Daniel’s voice rang clear across the garden, "a historic mansion in the Skylake District."

A collective gasp rippled through the gathered guests. The significance wasn’t lost on anyone Skylake District properties were rare treasures, practically untouchable.

My mother’s expression went slack with shock. This wasn’t just a luxurious estate it was her childhood home. The same mansion she’d spent years telling me stories about. The same house where three generations of my maternal ancestors had lived before financial hardship had forced my grandfather to sell it.

I watched Daniel hand my grandmother a sleek, leather-bound folder containing the deed and ownership papers. This wasn’t just any gift it was a piece of our legacy, returned to us after decades. The sheer magnitude of it stole the breath from my lungs.

"Uncle Marcus," I managed finally, my voice polite but tight, "this gift is far too generous."

I forced my lips into a diplomatic smile, signaling a nearby server to secure the documents. My mind was already racing, plotting how I would return the impossibly lavish gesture once the celebration ended. My heart pounded erratically, and I found myself avoiding Marcus’s gaze. His eyes dark, steady, unnervingly perceptive felt like they could strip every secret from me if I so much as looked too long.

The historic Skylake mansion was too significant, too valuable. I couldn’t accept it.

Yet with so many witnesses watching, my refusal would’ve created a scene.

Guests around us buzzed with curiosity, whispering about the mansion’s historical value and current market worth. I caught phrases like "two hundred million" and "irreplaceable landmark." Even I, with all my resources, felt the weight of those numbers.

Across the garden, I met Catherine Murphy’s wide eyed stare. Her surprise was unmistakable clearly, even she hadn’t known about her uncle’s grand gesture.

Desperate to shift attention, I gave Daniel a subtle nod. He cleared his throat on cue.

"From Mr. Jack Simpson, President of Simpson Group," he announced next, "an eighteenth-century oil painting from the French royal collection."

My eyebrows lifted in disbelief as servers carefully carried in the enormous gilt framed painting. There was no doubt in my mind it was authentic. A genuine masterpiece. One that belonged in a museum, not hanging in anyone’s drawing room.

Why would Jack gift me something so extravagant? We were divorced. Our business dealings now were cold, transactional... often tense.

Speculation thickened in the air like fog as eyes shifted from Jack to me, hungry for gossip. I kept my gaze firmly away from him, but I felt the heat of his stare like sunlight on bare skin. Between him and Marcus, I felt exposed cornered by intentions I didn’t fully understand.

My grandmother, ever perceptive, stepped forward with graceful poise. Her voice, warm but resolute, broke the tension.

"Jack, how thoughtful of you. The painting is exquisite, but far too generous. Your presence is gift enough."

Her gentle refusal was clear. A wave of relief washed over me. I immediately motioned to Daniel and the servers to remove the painting, eager to end the spectacle. I avoided Jack’s eyes entirely. I didn’t need to give anyone more reason to speculate.

Later, I stood by the window of the now quiet Shaw Estate, swirling a glass of whiskey in hand as the staff cleaned up remnants of the celebration. The garden, once filled with laughter and clinking glasses, was now still under the soft glow of string lights.

Inside, the atmosphere had shifted. My mother’s carefully curated smile had faded, replaced by an expression of concern. Beside her, my grandmother sat silently in her favorite chair, absently toying with the sapphire bracelet on her wrist.

Eventually, Grandmother looked up, meeting my eyes with a gaze that pierced straight through me.

"Annie," she asked quietly, "what are you planning to do?"

I inhaled slowly, trying to gather my thoughts. "I’ll return the painting tomorrow," I said evenly. "Tonight’s not the time."

She and my mother exchanged a loaded glance one of those silent conversations built over decades of shared intuition. I could see it they were worried about more than just the gifts.

"You should both rest," I added, forcing a faint smile. "It’s been a long day."

But my mother wasn’t ready to let it go. "Annie... the Murphy family—"

"I understand," I interrupted gently but firmly.

The look in her eyes told me she wasn’t convinced. Honestly, neither was I.

Once they were upstairs, I retreated to my study, closed the door, and stood again at the window. My reflection in the glass looked tired. Uncertain.

For weeks, I’d chalked Marcus Murphy’s attentiveness up to duty an extension of William Murphy’s longstanding kindness toward our family, especially after my father died. I had assumed Marcus was simply fulfilling a request from his father. Nothing more.

But today’s gift that mansion forced me to reconsider everything.

No one parts with two hundred million dollars without a very personal reason. Not even a Murphy.

Was it possible that Marcus the enigmatic, powerful, intensely private Marcus Murphy had feelings for me?

It felt almost absurd. He was Jack’s uncle, for God’s sake. The complexity alone would scare off any sane person.

And yet...

I couldn’t dismiss the possibility entirely.

It’s probably nothing, I told myself, sipping the whiskey. There must be another explanation.

But if there wasn’t if this was something how did I feel about it?

Respect, certainly. Gratitude, yes. A strange comfort in his steady presence. But was there more?

Could there be more?