Chapter 51: Show Time!

Marcus's POV

I don’t see her. At first, it’s just a flicker of unease—something subtle, easily dismissed. The great hall is fuller now, the hum of conversation swelling as people drift toward the stage. Glasses clink. The quartet transitions into something more ceremonial. The lights dim just a shade. I scan the crowd again. Still no Anna. My jaw tightens.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the presenter’s voice booms smoothly over the sound system, “if you could please direct your attention to the stage—”

I tune him out, eyes cutting left, then right. Courtney stands near the bar with Damian, laughing at something he’s said, but Anna isn’t with her. Where did you go? I pull my phone from my pocket, thumb hovering over her name.

No signal. Of course. This place is a concrete and glass fortress—built to impress, not to connect.

The presenter continues, “—we are honored tonight to welcome a man whose leadership has shaped not only his industry but this city itself. Please welcome Mr. Richard McKay.”

Applause rolls through the hall, polite at first, then thunderous. My father steps into the spotlight.

He looks exactly like he always does in moments like this—composed, commanding, untouchable. The woman on his arm earlier is gone now, replaced by a perfectly curated distance. He smiles, waits for the applause to die down, then lifts a hand.

I barely see him. My attention is still slicing through the crowd, pulse thudding hard enough that I feel it in my throat.

“Looking for someone?”

I turn sharply.

Anna stands there, just emerging from between two clusters of guests like she’s stepped out of thin air. Relief hits me so fast it almost knocks the breath from my lungs. And then I see her eyes.

They’re lit up—not with fear, not with nerves—but with unmistakable mischief. The kind that sparks trouble. The kind that tells me she didn’t just step away. She survived something. And won.

My mouth curves before I can stop it. “There you are.”

She smiles slowly, knowingly. “Miss me?”

I don’t answer. I step into her space instead, my hand finding her waist on instinct, grounding myself in the warmth of her, the solid proof that she’s okay.

“You vanished,” I murmur. “I was about to tear this place apart.”

She tilts her head up at me, lips twitching. “I had a… detour.”

The way she says it makes my heart kick hard.

I brush my thumb against her side, leaning in. “You look like you got into trouble.”

Her voice drops, intimate and electric. “You have no idea.”

That’s it. That’s all the encouragement I need.

I bend down, intent on kissing her right there—damn the crowd, damn the cameras, damn the stage my father is standing on—

“MASON!”

I pull back just in time as Peter barrels toward us, eyes bright, grin feral.

“Let the games begin!” he declares.

Anna laughs softly, slipping her fingers into mine. “That sounds ominous.”

Peter claps his hands together. “Oh, it’s very ominous.”

Damian joins us a second later, expression controlled but eyes sharp. “Positions,” he says under his breath.

I glance at the stage. My father is midway through his speech now, voice smooth and authoritative.

“…a year of unprecedented collaboration…”

I look back at Peter. “You good?”

“Born ready,” he replies. “Phones synced. Evidence queued.”

Anna’s fingers tighten around mine. “Evidence?”

I glance down at her. “I was going to tell you.”

She arches a brow. “You’re forgiven later.”

A ripple of tension rolls through the room as Patrick Ramsey approaches the stage, taking a seat in the front row—Bella at his side, pristine and smug in pale gold. Bella’s gaze snaps to us. She freezes.

Anna catches it instantly. Her smile sharpens just a fraction. That mischievous light in her eyes flares brighter.

My father gestures broadly. “—which is why tonight marks not just a celebration, but an evolution.”

I know that tone. He’s building toward it.

“The McKay Group has always believed in strategic growth,” he continues. “In partnerships that secure stability for generations to come.”

Bella straightens, lips curving. I feel Anna shift beside me. Calm. Steady. Unafraid.

“You okay?” I murmur.

She leans in, lips brushing my ear. “I’m better than okay.”

That sends a jolt straight through me. My father pauses for effect. The room leans forward as one.

“And so,” he says, “it is my pleasure to announce—”

Peter’s phone vibrates. He glances down, then up at me, eyes gleaming. “Showtime.”

The screen behind the stage flickers. Just for a second.

My father frowns slightly, but continues, “—a merger that will redefine—”

The screen flickers again. Then it changes entirely.

A murmur ripples through the hall as the McKay Group logo disappears, replaced by something else.

Photos. Text messages. Email threads. A hush falls so fast it feels like the air itself has been pulled from the room. Bella’s smile dies.

Patrick Ramsey half-rises from his seat. “What is this?”

My father turns slowly, confusion creasing his brow. On the screen: timestamps. Names. Proof.

Bella’s voice—recorded, unmistakable—fills the hall.

“She’ll be dealt with. Don’t worry. She won’t make it to the gala.”

Anna inhales sharply beside me. I tighten my arm around her waist. The crowd erupts into whispers, then gasps as the images change—security footage, financial documents, messages outlining manipulation, sabotage, coercion.

Peter steps forward, loud and clear. “Technical glitch,” he announces pleasantly. “Or maybe just the truth.”

My father’s face hardens. “Peter.”

“Dad,” Peter replies evenly. “You should probably sit down.”

Bella’s eyes are wild now, darting between the screen and her father. “Turn it off!” she hisses. “Turn it off!”

Patrick Ramsey stands fully. “This is a lie.”

Damian’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Then you won’t mind the forensic audit.”

The room is electric—shock, outrage, curiosity colliding in real time. Reporters surge forward, cameras flashing, voices overlapping.

My father stares at the screen, then at me. Our eyes meet.

For the first time in my life, I don’t look away. Anna’s hand slides into mine, steady and sure.

“You did this,” my father says quietly.

“I finished it,” I reply. “You started it.”

Bella looks at Anna then—really looks at her—and something breaks.

“You,” she snarls. “This is your fault.”

Anna steps forward just enough to be seen, her voice calm, clear, carrying without effort.

“No,” she says. “This is the consequence.”

Silence follows. Heavy. Final.

Security moves in. Patrick Ramsey argues furiously. Bella is ushered away, her protests dissolving into noise as the truth swallows her whole. I turn to Anna, heart pounding, awe blooming fresh and fierce.

“You going to tell me what she tried to do to you?” I ask softly.

She smiles, wicked and proud. “Maybe over a nice tall chocolate milkshake at our favorite cafe,”

I laugh under my breath, then pull her into me, pressing my forehead to hers. “I wanted to kiss you earlier.”

She tilts her head. “What’s stopping you now?”

Nothing.

I kiss her as the world shifts around us—cameras flashing, alliances crumbling, futures rewriting themselves in real time.

When I pull back, Peter’s voice rings out again, triumphant and laughing.

“Told you,” he says. “Knight in shining armor.”

Damian shakes his head, smiling faintly. Courtney rushes in, eyes wide and fierce, throwing her arms around Anna.

“We did it,” Courtney breathes.

We did, I think.

The gala was supposed to be about power. About legacy. About control. Instead, it became something else entirely. A reckoning.

And as I look at Anna—brilliant, unbroken, standing exactly where she belongs—I know this is only the beginning. For all of us.

And I wouldn’t change a single moment.