Chapter 73: The Rush Against Time

Anna's POV

The house feels different after midnight.

Not quieter—just heavier, like the walls themselves are listening now that secrets have started to surface. I lie awake in the guest room at Marcus’s house, staring at the faint glow of streetlight slicing across the ceiling, my mind replaying Bella’s words over and over until they blur into something sharp and dangerous.

My father planned this.

I turn onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter around me, as if fabric can keep the truth from seeping under my skin. I’ve spent years learning how power works—who gets to wield it, who gets crushed beneath it, who pretends their hands are clean while entire lives unravel. But this? This feels different. Personal. Intimate. Like we’re standing too close to an exposed wire.

Down the hall, a floorboard creaks. I’m already sitting up when Marcus knocks softly on the door.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks.

I shake my head and gesture for him to come in. He moves carefully, crutches quiet against the floor, his injury a constant presence even when neither of us names it. He lowers himself onto the chair near the bed with a tired exhale, rubbing at his knee like it’s an old habit he hasn’t yet unlearned.

“Me neither,” he admits.

For a moment, we just sit there. The unspoken between us is loud.

“I keep thinking about your father,” I say finally. “About what it would feel like to wake up in a hospital and realize your entire life’s work might have been engineered to fail.”

Marcus’s jaw tightens. “He built that company like a fortress. Or at least… he thought he did.”

“Fortresses still fall,” I say gently.

He looks at me then, really looks, and I see the weight behind his eyes. Not just fear for his father, but something deeper—disillusionment. The quiet grief of realizing that strength doesn’t always protect you.

“I don’t want to become him,” he says.

“You won’t,” I reply without hesitation.

“How do you know?”

“Because you question yourself,” I say. “He never did.”

That lands. I see it in the way Marcus’s shoulders drop just a fraction, like something unknot in his chest. He reaches for my hand, his fingers warm and familiar. “I don’t know how to do this without you.” The honesty in that nearly breaks me.

“You won’t have to,” I promise.

The next morning arrives too quickly.

Courtney shows up just after eight with coffee, dark circles under her eyes and determination written all over her face. She barely gets the door shut before she starts talking.

“I spoke to my uncle’s firm,” she says. “Not officially. Hypothetically. If there’s evidence of corporate sabotage tied to a hostile takeover, it changes everything.”

Damian, already seated at the dining table with his laptop open, looks up sharply. “How much everything?”

Courtney smiles grimly. “Enough to flip the narrative.”

Peter lets out a low whistle. “So instead of ‘McKay Enterprises under investigation,’ it becomes ‘McKay Enterprises targeted.’”

“Exactly,” she says.

Marcus exchanges a glance with me. Hope flickers there—but it’s cautious. Earned, not assumed.

Bella arrives an hour later, quieter than I’ve ever seen her. Gone is the sharp tongue, the defensive posture. She looks like someone who hasn’t slept, hasn’t decided whether she’s brave or terrified yet.

“Did you bring anything?” Damian asks.

Bella nods and pulls a small flash drive from her pocket. “Just metadata. I didn’t access files—just directories. Dates. Connections.”

Courtney takes it like it’s a live grenade. “Good. That was smart.”

Bella’s eyes flick to me. “I don’t want him to know yet.”

“I wouldn’t either,” I say softly.

Something passes between us then—an understanding that doesn’t erase the past, but acknowledges the present. People are rarely just villains or victims. Most of the time, they’re both.

We spend hours combing through information, mapping relationships, tracing timelines. I take notes, organizing threads into something that resembles order. This—this is what I know how to do. When everything feels like it’s spinning, I find the pattern.

At some point, Marcus reaches over and nudges my foot with his.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

I nod. “I think so.”

It’s not entirely true, but it’s close enough to be useful.

By late afternoon, the tension shifts. It’s still there—but now it’s edged with purpose.

Damian closes his laptop with finality. “If Ramsey’s involved, he won’t stay quiet. He’ll try to control the narrative.”

“Then we don’t give him the chance,” Courtney says.

Peter grins, sharp and bright. “I like this version of us.”

Marcus doesn’t smile. He’s staring at his phone, brow furrowed.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Press alert,” he says. “They’re moving the timeline up. The board meeting is tomorrow morning.”

My stomach drops. “That’s fast.”

“Too fast,” Damian mutters. “Someone’s nervous.”

Bella goes pale. “My father.”

Marcus stands, pushing through the discomfort in his knee. “Then tonight matters.”

He looks at all of us, but his eyes linger on me.

“I need you,” he says simply.

I don’t hesitate. “I’m here.”

That evening, as the sky darkens and the house fills with the hum of urgent motion, I step outside for air. The cold bites at my cheeks, grounding me. I think about the internship paperwork I submitted. The summer that’s supposed to come. The version of my life where things were simple enough to plan.

Then Marcus joins me, standing close enough that our shoulders touch.

“You ever wish,” he says, “that things would just slow down?”

“All the time,” I admit. “But they don’t.”

“No,” he agrees. “They don’t.”

He turns to me, eyes searching. “When this is over—however it ends—I don’t want to be someone who just reacts. I want to choose.”

I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers through his. “Then choose now.”

He smiles, soft and real. “I choose you.”

The words settle into my chest, warm and steady. Inside, the others are still working—still fighting. Outside, the night stretches wide and uncertain. I don’t feel like we’re being dragged toward disaster. I feel like we’re walking toward truth.