Chapter 169: Our Son Is Found
Anna’s POV
My heart skipped a beat. My fingers shook as I took the phone, afraid to hope yet unable to stop myself. When his face appeared on screen-that face I’d feared I’d never see again— something inside me shattered. Tears spilled down my cheeks in hot, unstoppable streams.
"I’m sorry for making you worry again," Marcus said, his voice warm and familiar through the speakers. His eyes were clouded with guilt.
I tried to respond, but my throat constricted painfully. All I could do was shake my head vigorously, tears flying everywhere. I knew I looked terrible-red-faced and snotty-but I couldn’t control it. Every fear, every sleepless night, every moment of despair since Benedict’s kidnapping crystallized into those tears.
"Don’t cry. I have good news-your son is here," he said urgently. "I swear I’ll bring Benedict back without a scratch. Trust me."
The news hit me like an electric shock.
My son was alive. My tears only fell harder, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Take care of yourself too. No more injuries," I managed to whisper, my voice thin but charged with meaning.
Each time Marcus put himself in danger, it felt like someone was carving out pieces of my soul with a dull knife.
"I will," he promised too quickly, his eyes darting away from the camera.
*Liar*
I didn’t press him for details about his plan. There was no point—he wouldn’t tell me. And even if I wanted to fly over and help, I’d only be a liability.
The thought made my chest compress until breathing became difficult.
"Can I tell Grandpa William that you’re alive? He’s been devastated about you and Benedict," I asked softly, remembering how William had aged years in just days, his robust frame suddenly frail with grief.
Marcus shook his head firmly. "Not yet. We can’t be sure if there are any of George’s people in the Murphy household. He must have connections with Doyle."
"I understand," I nodded, my mind already calculating. If Marcus was willing to reveal himself to me, his plans must be nearly ready to execute.
The realization provided a small measure of comfort.
"Annie, I’m sorry I broke my promise," he said, eyes searching mine through the screen, filled with longing and remorse.
I noticed him studying my gaunt face, the dark circles under my eyes, and felt a tenderness spread through my chest. "Bring our son back and I’ll forgive you."
Marcus’s lips curved into a slight smile. "I swear, I’ll bring Benedict home to celebrate Thanksgiving with you and Sophia."
"Really?" My eyes widened, hope flickering to life inside me.
"This time I’ll keep my word," he promised, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
"Good, I believe you." For the first time since Benedict was taken, I smiled genuinely.
"Don’t worry, Benedict is safe," Marcus continued. "Doyle thinks I’m dead. He took Benedict to pressure Oliver Jones, hoping to take over my European assets. For his plan to succeed, he needs to keep Benedict unharmed."
His explanation loosened the vise grip of fear around my heart slightly. But the thought of my newborn in strangers’ hands—possibly crying, hungry, or ill-still twisted my insides like a knife. Was he being kept warm enough? Were they feeding him properly? Did they know how to hold his delicate head?
After ending the call, I felt pounds lighter. Rachel exhaled heavily beside me, her shoulders dropping with relief before she suddenly straightened.
"Ms. Shaw, please let me go help. I want to bring young Benedict back," she pleaded, her eyes burning with determination and lingering guilt.
I shook my head firmly. "Absolutely not. My son has already been taken from us. We can’t risk anyone else getting hurt."
Shock flashed across Rachel’s face. I quickly softened my tone. "I’ve never blamed you. This isn’t your responsibility. Don’t punish yourself for what these criminals did. Besides, I trust Marcus will make them pay."
"I understand, Ms. Shaw," Rachel nodded, a hint of a smile finally returning to her face.
Immediately after, I shared the news with Margaret and Elizabeth, being careful to keep it from the household staff. While countless worries still filled my mind, at least now hope’s fragile flame had been rekindled. My son was found. Marcus was alive. And they were coming home.
Marcus’s POV
My phone chimed with a message, and Peter Reed’s voice broke through the suffocating silence that had enveloped my office for the past eight hours.
"Sir, the doctor has been brought in.
Mr. Jones is interrogating him now."
The words sent electricity through my veins. Two months of helplessness, of imagining my newborn son in the hands of that monster Doyle, crystallized into this moment. Every fiber of my being screamed to rush downstairs, to extract information from this doctor with my own hands if necessary, but I forced myself to remain still.
"Tell me the moment Oliver gets anything useful," I replied, my voice betraying none of the storm raging beneath my composed exterior.
From downstairs, Oliver’s voice carried through the open door, low and threatening.
"I’ll ask one more time. How is the child’s condition?"
I froze mid-step, straining to hear the doctor’s response.
"The baby has mild pneumonia," came the trembling reply. "It developed three days ago. I’ve prescribed antibiotics and breathing treatments."
_Pneumonia._ The word struck like a physical blow. My chest constricted, making each breath a deliberate act of will. Benedict was sick because of me —because I’d failed to protect him from my enemies.
"Is he eating? Sleeping?" Oliver pressed.
"Yes, yes. Doyle has hired a professional nanny. The baby is being well cared for, all things considered."
I closed my eyes, allowing myself one moment of fragile relief. At least Benedict wasn’t suffering from neglect.
But the thought of him crying, frightened in a strange place, without his mother or father to comfort him— it hollowed me out from the inside.
I descended the stairs, emerging from the shadows just as Oliver finished the interrogation. Our eyes met, and I saw my own anguish mirrored in his face.
"My son has pneumonia." My voice sounded alien to my own ears-raw and exposed. "Because Doyle dragged him through the cold."
Oliver’s jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. "That animal won’t get away with this. I swear it."
The name sent acid coursing through my veins. Doyle. My greatest mistake.
The enemy I’d underestimated once, and my family was paying the price.
Oliver placed a hand on my shoulder, the weight of it anchoring me to reality. "Soon. We rescue your son. then eliminate Doyle permanently. No loose ends this time."
"Soon" meant another week of intel gathering. Another week of Benedict in Doyle’s clutches. But rushing in would only endanger my son further. I knew this. I understood it. Yet every cell in my body rebelled against the rational choice.