Chapter 171: Where Fear Ends
Anna’s POV
"Annie, our son is back with me," Marcus said, his voice carrying through the speaker with a slight tremor I’d never heard before.
I clapped my hand over my mouth to muffle the sob threatening to escape.
Sophia was sleeping peacefully in the bassinet, and I couldn’t risk waking her. Tears streamed down my face unchecked as Marcus adjusted the camera to give me a better view of our son.
"Is he—" My voice cracked. "Is he okay?"
Marcus nodded, his expression softening as he looked down at Benedict. "He had a mild case of pneumonia, but it’s clearing up well.
The doctor says he’ll make a full recovery."
My throat constricted like someone had wrapped a steel wire around it.
Pneumonia. My newborn had been sick, and I hadn’t been there to comfort him. The weight of my failure pressed against my chest until breathing felt like pushing against concrete.
"I hired the best pediatric specialist and a professional nanny," Marcus continued, seemingly reading my thoughts. "He’s been getting round-the-clock care."
I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, struggling to compose myself.
"And Doyle?"
Something dangerous flashed in Marcus’s eyes. "Dead. I killed him myself."
The cold certainty in his voice should have disturbed me. Instead, relief washed through me like a wave. loosening the knot of terror that had lived in my stomach since Benedict’s kidnapping. My son was safe. The monster who took him would never threaten our family again.
I studied Marcus’s face carefully. His complexion seemed unusually flawless, almost like he was using a filter. "Are you hurt?’
"I’m fine," he replied too quickly, subtly shifting Benedict in his arms.
"Don’t worry about me."
*Liar.* I knew him well enough to recognize the slight tightness around his eyes, but I let it go. He was alive, and he had our son. That was all that mattered right now.
"When are you bringing him home?" I asked, unable to mask the desperate longing in my voice.
Marcus’s expression turned regretful.
"I think we should wait until Thanksgiving. Benedict needs time to recover fully, and another long flight right now might not be good for him."
The suggestion felt like daggers in my heart—more days without holding my son-but I understood. Benedict’s health had to come first.
"You’re right," I conceded, swallowing back disappointment. "Thanksgiving isn’t far away."
Marcus’s lips curved into that rare, genuine smile that made my heart skip. "I promise, Annie. By Thanksgiving, we’ll all be together."
I rose carefully from the sofa, keeping my movements slow to avoid jostling the sleeping Sophia. "Do you want to see your daughter?" I whispered, already moving toward the bassinet.
I turned the phone’s camera toward our sleeping daughter, her tiny chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath. Unlike her brother, she’d been spared the trauma of separation and strange surroundings.
"She’s beautiful," Marcus murmured.
"They both are. Our treasures."
William’s POV
The crystal tumbler trembled in my hand as Phillip delivered the news, amber whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim. My old heart stuttered, then raced like it hadn’t in decades.
"Marcus is alive? And he’s rescued Benedict?" My voice sounded foreign to my own ears thin and wavering like an old record. Warmth flooded my eyes, blurring my vision of Phillip’s beaming face.
"Yes, Dad. Our people in Oceancrest City confirmed it." Phillip’s voice vibrated with barely contained excitement. "Torres family’s making big moves, and several major families are scrambling. Commercial district’s in chaos."
I set the tumbler down before my trembling hands could betray me further. For months, I’d lived with the crushing weight of dread, expecting that phone call, that final confirmation of my youngest son’s death. Now it felt like someone had lifted a boulder from my chest.
"But... where the hell’s he been all this time?" The relief quickly ignited into anger, burning away the tears that had threatened to fall. "That reckless boy nearly got his own son killed! Had us all sick with worry!"
Phillip’s hand landed on my shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. "Dad, they’re safe now. That’s what matters. We’ll see them at Thanksgiving."
Something inside me softened at those words. *Thanksgiving*. The family together again.
"Layla," Phillip turned to his wife who’d been quietly observing our exchange, "we’ll need exceptional gifts this year. Set aside something for Marcus too. The Murphy family will be paying the Shaws a proper visit soon. And there’s a wedding to plan."
My attention snapped to this new direction, grateful for the distraction from my conflicting emotions. "Yes, Layla, please take my keys. The storage room has several items worthy of the occasion." My voice grew softer.
"Especially for Annie. That poor girl has endured too much."
Layla smiled warmly. "William, TIl handle everything perfectly, I promise."
George’s POV
I was reviewing reports when my private phone rang. The moment I heard the news, my blood turned to ice in my veins.
"Doyle is dead?" I repeated hoarsely, my hand gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. The pristine living room of Simpson mansion suddenly felt airless. I stood abruptly from the imported sofa, oblivious to Mary and Jack’s startled expressions.
"Marcus Murphy is alive?" The name escaped my lips before I could stop myself. The room seemed to tilt around me. The man who should have been dead was somehow still breathing -and with him, all my carefully constructed plans were crumbling.
The voice on the other end continued speaking, but I was barely listening.
Terror washed over me in relentless waves as I collapsed back onto the sofa, completely drained. My mind raced through the horrifying consequences: the police investigation, evidence Doyle might have left behind, potential charges against me... everything was unraveling.
Mary observed me with that familiar sardonic smile. "What’s the matter?
Did your European business partner meet an unfortunate end?"
Her tone dripped with disdain, but I was too consumed by my own fear to acknowledge her mockery. My palms were slick with cold sweat. What Mary didn’t realize was that I wasn’t mourning Doyle’s death-I was terrified of Marcus Murphy’s survival.
Jack stood by the fireplace, his voice cutting through the room like ice. "Just in international fugitive meeting his end. Why are you so worked up Father?"
But their voices seemed distant and irrelevant. My brain repeated a single devastating thought: *Doyle is dead, and Marcus Murphy is alive!*
This meant everything Doyle had promised me Skylake District, expanded influence, elimination of the shaw competition -had vanished into thin air. Worse still, Skyview City police were actively searching for evidence of my connection to Doyle.
With him dead, I would be the only one left to face the consequences if they found anything. The realization hit me like a physical blow. I couldn’t remain here, idle and exposed. I jumped to my feet, ignoring my family’s questioning looks, and grabbed my coat from the nearby chair. I had to act immediately, had to protect myself, or I would face complete ruin.