Chapter 273
Chapter 273
Anna’s POV
I needed answers about that night at Olympus Club—answers that might help me understand how Logan had managed to deceive me so thoroughly.
"Was there anything unusual that happened that night at Olympus Club?" I asked, my fingers drumming against the polished desk.
Sean's brow furrowed in concentration. "Unusual? Not particularly, although it was special for me personally." His eyes brightened slightly. "It was the first time I met Joseph Walker."
My pulse quickened. "Joseph? The owner?"
"Yes. He rarely makes appearances unless there are important guests." Sean shrugged. "I don't know who warranted his attention that night."
Rachel leaned forward. "Does Joseph typically stay behind the scenes?"
"He does. Olympus Club practically runs itself, and he only emerges for VIPs." Sean shifted uncomfortably. "I just assumed someone significant was there that night."
The pieces refused to align in my mind, like a puzzle with half its edges deliberately filed down. Something about Joseph's presence felt significant, but I couldn't place why.
---
Later that night, I pushed open the bedroom door at Brown Manor to find Marcus stretched across my bed, phone to his ear. He glanced up, immediately ending his call with Oliver who audibly cursed "old bastard" before being cut off.
"Is everything resolved?" Marcus asked, his sharp eyes scanning my face.
"Yes," I answered, the lie bitter on my tongue. "I'm going to shower."
Under the scalding spray, I scrubbed my skin raw, as if I could wash away Logan's revelation. When I finally emerged, Marcus had pulled back the covers in silent invitation. I crawled in beside him, burying my face against his chest, clinging to his solid warmth like a lifeline.
"Tired?" His deep voice vibrated through his chest as his hand traced soothing patterns along my spine.
"Mmm." I closed my eyes, breathing in his familiar scent—sandalwood and something uniquely him. My brain wouldn't shut off, but at least in Marcus's arms, the chaos felt temporarily contained.
"Sleep," he murmured, reaching over to extinguish the lamp.
In the darkness, questions continued to swirl through my mind. What was Joseph's role that night? Why had Sean been called away? The scattered threads seemed significant, yet I couldn't weave them into a coherent pattern.
---
I woke to an empty bed but caught the low rumble of Marcus's voice from the nursery. Tiptoeing to the doorway, I found him seated in the rocking chair, Benedict and Sophia captivated by his deep voice as he read from a leather-bound volume.
"...the very definition of beauty is simplicity and grandeur," he recited in perfect Oxford English.
"They can understand that?" I smiled, leaning against the doorframe.
Marcus finished his sentence before looking up. "Someone had mediocre grades in school. Our children already started with a disadvantage in terms of prenatal education—we can't delay anymore."
"They can't possibly understand what you're—" I stopped abruptly. "Wait, are you calling me stupid?"
"Don't worry," he replied with absolute seriousness. "I had excellent grades at Harvard."
I opened my mouth to protest, but he glanced pointedly at his watch. "We're continuing our lesson. Please don't disturb our studies."
His accent was impeccable, like a nineteenth-century British aristocrat. Watching him—this powerful, sometimes terrifying man—gently rocking our babies while reading classics made my heart constrict. For one sharp, painful moment, I wished Marcus were their biological father.
---
That evening found me at an upscale restaurant in the Financial District, trying to focus on my meal rather than the tangled threads of my investigation. As fate would have it, I spotted Logan near the bar. Our eyes met briefly before I deliberately looked away, striding past him without acknowledgment.
Mid-dinner, I stepped outside to take an important call about the Phoenix Project. Absorbed in budget discussions, I didn't notice the chill until something warm settled across my shoulders.
I spun around to find Logan standing there, his hands lingering on the jacket he'd just draped over me. My pulse stuttered traitorously.
"It's drafty here. You'll catch cold," he said, his eyes intense behind his glasses.
I quickly ended my call and shrugged off his jacket, thrusting it back at him. "I'm not cold."
The lie was transparent—my arms were covered in goosebumps—but I'd rather freeze than accept his warmth. I turned and walked away, my heels clicking against the marble like angry exclamation points.
In my haste to escape, I nearly collided with a young woman rounding the corner.
"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, jumping back.
"It's fine," I managed a smile, forcing my voice to steady. "Are you okay? I was walking too fast—it wasn't your fault."
When she looked up, recognition flashed across her face. She was young, probably early twenties, with a softness that spoke of inexperience.
"Is something wrong? Do you know me?" I asked, suddenly curious.
She started to shake her head, then nodded instead. "You're Ms. Shaw. You're even more beautiful in person than in photos."
"And you are...?"
Her shoulders hunched slightly. "Ms. Shaw, I'm Amanda Lewis, Mr. Porter's secretary. I was looking for him."
So she worked for Logan. I studied her face, struck by an odd sense of familiarity I couldn't place.
"He's outside, if you go left from here," I directed her.
Her eyes widened with surprise, as if my helpfulness was unexpected.
Amanda’s POV
I puffed out my cheeks with a deep exhale, watching Anna Shaw's retreating figure. Her heels clicked against the floor with purpose, like exclamation points punctuating her exit.
"My God, she's even more stunning in person..."
Of course I'd seen Anna Shaw before—Logan's office walls were practically a shrine, covered with photos of her throughout the years. But photographs never captured that particular grace, those eyes that somehow managed to be both piercing and kind. The way she spoke to me just now, with that warmth completely devoid of condescension, made me instantly understand why Logan had been obsessed with her for so many years.
Who wouldn't be captivated? If I were a man, I'd probably be entranced too...
Still mulling this over, I reluctantly went to find Logan. From a distance, I spotted him standing by a window smoking, a cigarette butt already discarded on the pristine floor.
No class. I judged silently.
I grabbed a napkin from a nearby server's station to pick up the cigarette butt, deliberately wiping the floor clean before walking to a trash can. Only after completing this task did I approach him, head lowered obediently.
"Mr. Porter, Mr. Walker is looking for you to join him for drinks."
Logan took a deep drag from his cigarette, exhaling a cloud that hung between us like his unspoken schemes. He didn't acknowledge my message, instead asking: "Did you just run into Ms. Shaw?"
"Yes, I did," I answered tersely.
"She saw you?" he pressed, with that familiar urgency in his tone.
"She did. We chatted briefly."
Logan's eyes flickered with interest: "What did she say? How did she react when she saw you?"
A sudden jolt of understanding hit me like cold water. Anyone with half a brain could see that he had intentionally sent me to find him, knowing I'd encounter Anna Shaw. No, more precisely, he wanted Anna to encounter me, her "knockoff version."
My stomach twisted with disgust, but my face remained professionally blank. "Ms. Shaw didn't have any particular reaction. She's incredibly beautiful, spoke very kindly, and even pointed me in your direction."
I silently thanked my good sense for never harboring any illusions about the man before me. Otherwise, after meeting the real Anna Shaw, I'd probably die from insecurity. Logan's petty schemes were so transparent, it was almost pathetic. Fortunately, Anna was too principled to think along such lines.
Seeing Logan still standing motionless, I prompted him again: "Mr. Porter, Mr. Walker really is looking for you. He mentioned something urgent he needs to discuss."
Logan finally extinguished his half-smoked cigarette on the windowsill, casually instructing me: "Clean this up."
I clenched my jaw behind a neutral expression. There was a cigarette disposal bin literally one step away, yet he deliberately humiliated me like this.
Bastard, I thought viciously, no wonder Ms. Shaw wants nothing to do with you.