Chapter 105: What’s Unsaid
Anna’s POV
I barely made it to the restroom before my stomach emptied itself violently.
The cigarette smoke had triggered something primal and unstoppable. I gripped the cold porcelain, my knuckles white as I heaved until there was nothing left but bitter bile.
Pregnancy had transformed my body into a foreign landscape. Before, I’d merely disliked cigarette smoke; now, the mere whiff sent me spiraling into nausea so intense it made my vision blur.
I slumped against the wall, sweat beading along my hairline. Rachel hovered nearby, concern etched across her face, but there was little she could do. My mouth tasted like acid, and my legs felt like they’d been replaced with wet noodles.
The bathroom door suddenly burst open. Through my watery vision, I made out Marcus Murphy’s tall figure, his expression twisted with concern.
Before I could process what was happening, strong arms scooped me up like I weighed nothing.
"I’ve got you," he murmured, his voice a low rumble I could feel through his chest.
I wanted to protest-to insist I could walk—but exhaustion had drained the fight from me. I found myself curling instinctively into his embrace, my head resting against his shoulder. His cologne carried notes of sandalwood and something crisp that oddly settled my churning stomach rather than aggravating it.
Back in private dining room, Joseph’s eyebrows shot up as Marcus carried me in.
"Well, if it isn’t Anna Shaw! What happened to her?" His tone held unmistakable teasing. "What’s going on? Is she okay?"
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. Being carried in like some damsel in distress wasn’t exactly aligned with my carefully crafted image of independence.
Marcus waved his hand dismissively.
"Open the windows, give her some space, don’t crowd around." The sharp edge in his voice made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for Joseph’s antics.
Nora rushed toward us, worry creasing her forehead. "Ms. Shaw isn’t feeling well," she explained, reaching for an unopened water bottle.
But Marcus was faster, pressing a glass into my hand. "It’s mine, I haven’t drunk from it yet. The temperature is just right."
Our fingers brushed during the exchange, sending an unexpected current up my arm. I took small sips, the warm water soothing my raw throat. The nausea began to recede like an ebbing tide.
"Thank you, Marcus. I’m causing trouble for you again," I managed a weak smile. "It seems I’m always creating problems for you."
Before Marcus could respond, Joseph jumped in. "No problem at all. He doesn’t mind the trouble." His
exaggerated wink made my stomach clench for reasons entirely unrelated to morning sickness.
Marcus shot Joseph a withering glare.
"Just eat your food. If you don’t want to eat, then leave."
"Hey, you jerk, this dinner is on me, in case you forgot?" Joseph laughed, seemingly immune to Marcus’s irritation.
Marcus turned to me, his expression softening. "Are you done with your meeting? I’ll take you home."
"Please don’t trouble yourself. I’ll be fine once I’ve rested a bit," I protested, though the thought of escaping to my quiet bedroom was increasingly appealing.
"Marcus, weren’t you all discussing business? Maybe I should step out..." I offered, feeling like an intruder.
"They’re not important. You sit here and don’t move," he commanded, an unfamiliar tension lacing his words.
Then, more severely: "Look at the state you’re in. If you faint outside, I’ll have to carry you back again."
His unexpected harshness caught me off guard. I blinked, unsure why he seemed suddenly angry.
A server arrived with a small bowl of rice porridge-bland enough not to trigger nausea, yet substantial enough to settle my stomach. I surprised myself by finishing it quickly, my appetite returning with unexpected force.
Marcus observed this with a slight frown. "That bowl is tiny. How could that be enough? Bring two more."
Joseph stared at me with undisguised amazement, probably wondering what society lady would consume three bowls of porridge in one sitting. A fleeting thought crossed my mind:
*three bowls, one for each of us*. The notion warmed me from within like sunshine after rain.
When Marcus and Joseph were called away to handle some commotion outside, Sawyer leaned toward Nora with predatory intent.
"Miss Price has her protectors now, so she’s getting quite high and mighty," he drawled, malice dripping from every syllable.
Nora froze, her posture screaming trapped prey. Something protective flared inside me.
"Mr. Walker, whatever issues you have with Nora are your business, but she’s with me now. Please respect that and don’t give her a hard time," I stated firmly.
Sawyer’s lips curled in contempt.
"Think you’re a big internet celebrity now? Feeling powerful?" He paused, then twisted the knife. "Oh, I almost forgot. You’d rather sell yourself than accept help from our family. Ms. Shaw, what do you think of a woman like that—is her pride worth something, or nothing at all?"
Nora’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her slender frame visibly trembling. My heart ached for her vulnerability.
"Mr. Walker, would abusing her verbally or even physically really make you feel better?" I nodded to Rachel, who quietly guided Nora out of the room.
When Marcus returned, Catherine bounded in behind him with characteristic enthusiasm.
"It’s all taken care of. The smoking guy took the money and went to the hospital to get stitches himself," she announced.
Mason shifted nervously beside her.
"Ms. Shaw, I’m the one who broke his head. I hit him."
"You did what you had to do," Catherine insisted. "If you hadn’t moved so quickly, I would have slapped him myself."
"Right, that guy was incredibly rude,"
Mason nodded, seeking validation.
I felt a wave of gratitude that they’d defended me, however dramatic their methods. "Thank you for handling that, Marcus."
He checked his watch. "It’s late. Time to go home."
Before I could respond, he stepped forward and scooped me into his arms again. Instinctively, my arms encircled his neck for balance.
Anna’s POV
Marcus’s arms felt like steel bands around me as he carried me toward the elevator. My heart beat so hard I was certain he could feel it through my blouse. The warmth radiating from his chest made it difficult to maintain my composure, and I hated that my body betrayed me this way.
"Put me down," I said, my voice edged with irritation.
Marcus acted as if he hadn’t heard me, striding directly into the elevator without breaking his pace. From the corner of my eye, I caught Joseph deliberately blocking Rachel and Clayton from following us. Rachel’s expression hardened, her protective instincts clearly kicking into overdrive.
She’d be furious about this-my safety was her top priority, after all.
The moment the elevator doors closed, I tried again. "Uncle Marcus, please put me down. I’m perfectly fine now." After that bland rice porridge, strength had returned to my limbs. There was absolutely no reason for him to continue carrying me like this.
"I’m not tired," he replied, his voice flat and distant.
I fell silent, rage building inside me.
Who cares if you’re tired? That wasn’t the point.
"Are you doing this on purpose?" I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice. "If you were too afraid to face me before, why put on this show now?" The memory of waiting six hours for him in Europe still stung like an open wound.
Marcus looked down at me, his eyes unreadable. "Who said I was afraid?"
I laughed internally. Six hours. Six entire hours! What else could that mean?
"Uncle Marcus, I know you’re a busy man, but surely you wouldn’t deliberately toy with me." I didn’t directly reference those unspoken moments between us, choosing instead a more subtle approach to express my frustration.
I tilted my face up, meeting his gaze directly. My heart raced, but I forced a casual tone: "If you’re so brave, carry me straight to the marriage registration office. Do you dare?"
His pupils contracted noticeably, and his face turned ashen. But I was beyond fear now, so I pushed further.
"Let’s make this interesting. The city hall opens first thing tomorrow morning. We could be first in line to register. Wouldn’t that be something?"
"Shut up," he growled, his low voice vibrating with barely contained anger.
My smile slowly faded. I had gambled that he would react differently, and I’d clearly lost. Bitterness flooded my mouth, but I maintained my façade of nonchalance, shrugging slightly.
"Opportunity knocks but once, Uncle Marcus. Think about it."
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and my heart sank with them.
Marcus strode out, still carrying me. I turned my face into his chest, surreptitiously wiping the corner of my eye against his jacket. By the time I looked up again, I’d reconstructed my bright, composed expression.
When he finally set me down beside my car, I took a deep breath, determined to end this charade.
"Uncle Marcus, you’ve missed your chance," I said, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that surprised even me.
Marcus stared back, saying nothing.
I challenged his gaze. "So please stop with these gestures that could be misinterpreted." My chest ached, but I knew this clarity was necessary-for both of us.
He didn’t offer explanations. Instead, he reached out and gently touched the top of my head. "I’m returning to Europe tomorrow morning, so there won’t be opportunities for misunderstandings. Take care of yourself. If you encounter problems you can’t solve, go to my father."
His hand moved to my cheek, and I couldn’t help glaring at him. I could feel my cheeks puffing slightly with indignation, my lips pressed into a pout.
I noticed his gaze drop to my lips, and for a breathless moment, I thought he might kiss me. My heartbeat stuttered as I waited for a kiss that might never come again. But he withdrew his hand, his eyes darkening as whatever impulse he’d felt was crushed by his iron self-control.
Suddenly, a white-hot rage tore through me—the pain of rejection and dismissal burning my chest from the inside out.
"Marcus Murphy, you bastard!" I shouted, the volume of my own voice startling me.
Catherine and Jasmine rushed over, shocked by my outburst.
Regret instantly followed my explosion. What right did I have to call him names? I was carrying another man’s children in my womb— how could I justify being angry with him? This realization extinguished my fury immediately.
A cool breeze swept past, clearing my head. He and I belonged to different worlds. From his words, I understood he would visit Skyview City even less frequently, perhaps returning once every few years as he had before.
A future Skyview City without Marcus Murphy. The thought cut like a knife, but I quickly composed myself and said with a dry voice, "Safe travels, Uncle Marcus."
When Clayton brought the car around, I hurried inside, desperate to escape this torturous goodbye.
Marcus knocked on the window. I wanted to ignore him, but the window automatically lowered.
"Sorry, Ms. Shaw. I pressed the wrong button," Clayton apologized.
I glared at Marcus standing outside.
Like an overprotective father, he launched into a litany of concerns:
"Don’t worry about the Skylake District project. I guarantee it won’t lose money."
"If you feel unwell, tell my father immediately. He’ll make arrangements for you."
"Watch out for the Simpson family.
George Simpson wants to use Skylake District to climb the social ladder.
Since you’ve taken that from him, he won’t let it go easily."
"And that Logan Porter-avoid confrontation with him. He’s somewhat obsessive, and I worry he might harm you."
"Annie..." he began again.
I couldn’t bear to hear more, my heart constricting painfully. I cut him off:
"Uncle Marcus, I managed perfectly well without you before, and I’ll continue to do so. Thank you for your concern. Get some rest. Goodbye, Uncle Marcus."
Then I instructed Clayton: "Drive."
Rachel quickly got in, and Clayton pulled away. Through the rearview mirror, I watched Marcus standing motionless, his expression unreadable.
I knew he had more to say, but perhaps some words were better left unspoken.