h4Chapter 85: Twisted Confession/h4

    Anna’s POV

    Logan’s hand unexpectedly reached up to cup my face. His familiar features suddenly seemed alien, transformed by an intensity I’d never witnessed before.

    "Because I don’t want to be the nice guy anymore, Anna. I’m tired of always being considerate of others," Logan said, his eyes burning with an unfamiliar heat. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Because I might do things that will make you hate me."

    My eyes widened as shock pulsed through my system. Had hepletely lost his mind? The irony wasn’t lost on me—l’d just rebuffed Jack Simpson only to immediately face another unwanted advance. My instincts screamed danger, and I stepped backward only to feel his hand firmly grasp the back of my head.

    We were close enough that passersby might mistake us for lovers about to kiss. Disgust and fury roiled in my stomach. This man was even more unhinged than Samuel.

    "You should know my personality by now, Logan. If you think this removes all my reservations, you’re wrong, " I said, my voice turning to ice as I fought to control my anger. "Let go of me."

    Instead of releasing me, he tilted his head, clearly intending to kiss me.

    Frustration and disbelief crashed through me like a tidal wave.

    "Am I just incredibly unlucky today or is my love life suddenly exploding?" I blurted out, not bothering to hide my irritation.

    "What do you mean?" His fingers froze mid-air, confusion crossing his face.

    I didn’t bother exining. "You think forcing a kiss on me will make me give in? Let me be frank with you—I already have someone."

    "But Jack never touched you..." The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them.

    A cold wave of realization washed over me. "How do you know Jack never touched me?" My heart hammered against my ribs as winter wind cut through my coat, bringing with it a bone-deep chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

    Logan’s expression darkened, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.

    "Who is it? WHO? It can’t be Sean Smith, and it’s certainly not Jack Simpson, so who is it?"

    Seeing his reaction gave me a small, vindictive satisfaction. "That’s none of your business."

    Without warning, he pulled me against him, his grip tightening as his voice lost all its usual warmth. "It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Is it Marcus Murphy?"

    I struggled against his hold, but couldn’t break free. "No. LET ME GO!" The mention of Marcus’s name sent an unwee flutter through my chest despite the circumstances.

    Logan buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin. "It doesn’t matter if it’s him.

    Annie, I’m the one who truly loves you."

    That ignited my furypletely. "If you hadn’t tried to hurt me before, I might have thanked you. Now, all I can say is don’t bother. I don’t need your love." Each word dripped with ice-cold contempt.

    Logan finally released me as Rachel jumped out, quickly positioning herself between us. Her high heels clicked sharply against the marble pavement.

    "Ms. Shaw, are you alright?" Her eyes never left Logan as she spoke.

    "I’m fine. Let’s go." I maintained myposure despite the turmoil inside.

    Before stepping into the car, I turned back to deliver one final blow. "And I don’t want to hear you call me Annie ever again."

    "But Marcus Murphy can, right?" Logan called out, pain and defiance mingling in his voice as his suit fluttered in the bitter wind.

    I paused briefly, Marcus’s gentle manner shing through my mind.

    "Yes." One simple word that carried the weight ofplicated emotions I wasn’t ready to fully examine.

    ーーー

    The next few days passed in rtive calm. Despite my shoulders still healing, work kept me constantly upied. In Shaw Corp’s top-floor office, I was reviewing documents when Rachel entered with an elegant invitation.

    "Ms. Shaw, this just arrived," she said, handing me the gold-embossed card.

    "Catherine Murphy’spany opening ceremony."

    Taking the invitation, I unconsciously traced the Murphy family crest with my fingertip, my thoughts drifting to Marcus. *He must have returned to Europe by now.* He’d said he would only stay three days, and twice that time had already passed. A bittersweet sensation spread through my chest— he appeared without warning and vanished just as silently, his offer to take me with him nothing but empty words.

    "Order eight flower arrangements, nothing too extravagant," I instructed Rachel, trying to mask my disappointment.

    She returned shortly after. "Ms. Shaw, Samuel Griffin is here."

    My spirits lifted immediately. "Please show Mr. Griffin to the small conference room. Have some tea prepared. I’ll be right there."

    Samuel arrived with his assistant and the agreement we’d been negotiating for weeks. Finally, we signed the papers, making our partnership official.

    Across the polished conference table, we exchanged smiles of mutual respect.

    "Not easy, Ms. Shaw. You’re the toughest business partner I’ve encountered in years," Samuel said with a half-joke, the Heritage Group emblem on his tailored suit gleaming under the lights.

    I smiled back. "The feeling is mutual."

    Pride swelled within me at what we’d aplished.

    Samuel raised his teacup. "So I guess we’re friends forged through adversity.

    Ms. Shaw, please don’t disappoint me."

    "Mr. Griffin, believe me, I want to secure Skke District even more than you do," I replied sincerely, having invested too much of myself in this project to see it fail.

    - - -

    On the day of Catherine’spany opening, I arrived early to show my support. The hotel venue was already bustling with Skyview Ciry’s elite.

    "Good thing I asked the hotel to prepare extra tables. Otherwise, I’d be embarrassed today," Catherine remarked with surprise, looking radiant amid the crowd.

    I couldn’t resist teasing her. "Didn’t you send out invitations?"

    "My father’s reputation carries more weight than any invitation. Look around —how many people are here for me versus for him? I’m having mypany opening, and they’re allworking," she replied with resignation, fidgeting with her champagne ss.

    "I can’t speak for others, but I’m definitely here for you," I assured her sincerely, genuinely happy for my friend’s sess.

    Our conversation was interrupted when an employee approached with a courier. "Ms. Murphy, there’s a delivery for you."

    Catherine epted the beautifully wrapped package with augh. "Who’s this from? Sending a package to my office opening when they know I’m busy—they’re doing this on purpose, aren’t they?"

    Urged by the curious onlookers, she opened it publicly. Insidey a set of keys and an ess card, apanied by a note containing only a six-digit number and a signature-Marcus Murphy.

    "What is this?" Catherine looked at the number in confusion, turning to me. "I understand if Uncle Marcus is giving me a property, but what’s this number?"