Chapter 176: Breaking Free
Mary’s POV
The kitchen smelled of rosemary and thyme as I supervised the final preparations for dinner. Lucy moved around the space with effortless grace, checking the roast and adjusting the table settings with meticulous attention to detail.
"Mrs. Simpson, do you think we should use the Waterford crystal tonight?" she asked, holding up one of the delicate glasses to the light. "I noticed Jack seemed particularly tired these past few days. A nice setting might lift his spirits."
"Excellent idea, Lucy. Jack needs the comforts of home right now," I replied, watching her set the table with practiced precision. "You remind me so much of myself at your age."
Lucy lowered her eyes modestly.
"That’s the highest compliment, Mrs. Simpson."
The front door clicked open, and Lucy’s head snapped up. She immediately abandoned her task and glided toward the foyer. I smiled to myself. *Perfect instincts*.
"Jack! You’re finally home." Lucy’s voice carried that perfect note of concern without nagging. "You must be exhausted. Dinner’s almost ready."
I followed her into the hallway, observing my son’s haggard appearance. Dark shadows haunted his eyes, his expensive suit hanging slightly loose on his frame. The Simpson Group was taking its toll on him—along with those nightly visits to his father’s hospital room.
"Lucy has been waiting anxiously for you," I said, gesturing toward the dining room. "She’s such a treasure, Jack. The kind of woman a man can rely on in difficult times."
Jack merely nodded, shrugging off his coat. The maid appeared silently to take it.
As we settled at the table, I couldn’t help but continue my earlier train of thought. "Women like Lucy understand their place in a man’s life.
Not like Anna Shaw-so domineering and headstrong. No wonder she brought nothing but trouble."
Jack’s fork paused midway to his mouth.
"Lucy doesn’t have an empire behind her," I pressed on, pouring wine into Lucy’s glass. "When she marries into the Simpson family, she’ll be properly appreciative, properly devoted. Not like Anna, who never respected our family traditions. Who nearly got your father killed."
Jack set down his utensils with a soft clink. "You call Anna vicious," he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "Do you know what people say about you, Mother?"
My throat tightened. "What?"
"I sometimes wonder if anyone besides Lucy would marry into our family," he continued, not meeting my eyes.
"Given what they know about its matriarch."
The words sliced through me like serrated blades. I’d given everything— *everything*—to this family. Sacrificed my youth, my ambitions, my very identity to the Simpson name. And this was my reward? This ungrateful child passing judgment?
Jack abruptly pushed back his chair and stood. The sudden movement made the crystal glasses tremble.
"Where are you going? You’ve barely touched your dinner," I protested.
"I’ve lost my appetite." He turned and walked out, footsteps echoing in the marble hallway.
I turned to Lucy, who sat watching the doorway with a carefully composed expression of concern. "Do you see what happens when I mention Anna?
He can’t even enjoy a family dinner."
Lucy reached across the table to touch my hand. "He’s under tremendous pressure, Mrs. Simpson. Would you like me to bring him some food upstairs? He needs to eat."
My irritation softened. At least someone in this house appreciated my efforts. "Yes, please do. Make sure to include some soup—he’s getting too thin."
I watched Lucy’s retreating figure, my mind already calculating the future of Simpson Group. Perhaps George’s illness was a blessing in disguise. If he retired now-voluntarily or otherwise —and Jack took full control, the company might weather the inevitable storm when George’s dealings came to light.
The thought of Jack visiting the hospital every night, after working himself to exhaustion, filled me with smoldering resentment. George
Simpson had never deserved such loyalty.
- - -
The next morning, I was buttering my toast when Jack made his announcement.
"I’ve decided to resign from Simpson Group," he said without preamble.
"Afterward, I’m thinking of spending some time abroad."
The butter knife clattered against my plate. "What did you say? Repeat that."
Lucy’s teacup froze halfway to her lips.
"Jack, that’s not something to joke about," she said, eyes wide with alarm.
"Your parents only have you. What will happen to Simpson Group?"
"I’m not joking." Jack replied, his expression unnervingly resolute. "My decision is final."
My entire body began to tremble. The room tilted dangerously as I rose from my chair, hand raised involuntarily.
Jack didn’t flinch, didn’t blink—just stared back with those cold eyes.
My arm remained suspended in the air, unable to complete its arc. "You-you’re out of your mind," I managed, my voice breaking on each syllable.
Jack’s POV
"Ladies and gentlemen of the board," I stood at the front of Simpson Group’s conference room, scanning the sea of shocked faces before me. The silence was deafening. "I’ve called this emergency meeting to announce my immediate resignation as President of Simpson Group."
The collective gasp that followed barely registered. This decision, made in the quiet darkness of my father’s hospital room last night, felt strangely liberating.
No lengthy goodbyes, no detailed transition plan. Within fifteen minutes, I had packed my few personal belongings and was heading toward the elevator.
"Jack! You can’t just walk away like this!" Lucy’s heels clicked frantically across the floor. "What about the company? What about Phoenix?"
_What about me? Her unspoken question hung between us.
I turned slowly, taking in her panicked expression. "It was him who pushed me away." My chest tightened with a bitterness I couldn’t swallow. "After everything-the long hours, the deals I closed—he accused me of waiting for him to die so I could take his company."
Lucy’s perfectly manicured nails dug into my arm. "Your father is ill. He doesn’t mean what he says."
"He’s always meant every word." I gently removed her hand. ’This time, I’m listening."
"Where are you going?" Her voice cracked slightly. "I’ll go with you."
For a moment, I almost pitied her.
Lucy had hitched her wagon to the Simpson star. My departure meant her carefully constructed future was evaporating before her eyes.
"I need time alone."
As the elevator doors closed on Lucy’s desperate face, a weight lifted from my shoulders. Benedict’s kidnapping, Anna’s revenge, my father’s crimes-l was choosing to walk away from it all.
George’s POV
The antiseptic smell of the hospital room clawed at my nostrils, making each breath a reminder of my confinement. Sunlight streamed through the window, mocking me with its cheerfulness while my world collapsed around me. The morning nurse had just left after changing my IV when Pax delivered the news that felt like a second heart attack.
"Mr. Simpson, Jack has resigned from Simpson Group. He’s... he’s left town."
The words hit me like physical blows.
My son. My only son. Gone.
I stared at the ceiling, not trusting myself to speak. The betrayal cut deeper than the pneumonia that had ravaged my lungs, deeper than the hypothermia that had nearly killed me. I’d built everything for him—the empire, the connections, the legacy.
And he’d thrown it all away.
The door to my private room burst open with such force that the decorative vase on the side table rattled. Mary stormed in, her usually immaculate appearance disheveled, eyes wild with a fury I hadn’t seen in years.
’This is all your fault, George!" she shrieked, grabbing my pillow without warning and swinging it at my face.
"You’ve driven away my son!"
I caught the edge of the pillow, yanking it from her grasp and flinging it to the floor. My chest heaved with the effort, the exertion sending sharp pains through my still-healing lungs.
"You have the nerve to throw a tantrum here?" I growled, pointing a trembling finger at her face. "If it weren’t for you, would my son and I have grown so distant?"
Mary’s face contorted. "Don’t you dare blame me! You’re the one who accused him of waiting for you to die!"
"Because of you!" The monitors beside my bed began beeping faster as my heart rate spiked. "Everything has been ruined by you and your petty mind. Jack is my only son, yet you couldn’t wait for me to die so he could take my place. If you hadn’t gone too far, I wouldn’t have lashed out at him in anger and said those things."
Something hot and unfamiliar pricked at the corners of my eyes. I blinked rapidly, refusing to acknowledge the moisture there. "If you want to blame someone, blame yourself for being too clever for your own good."
Mary’s face drained of all color before flushing a dangerous crimson. The transformation reminded me of a thermometer plunged into boiling water.
"You selfish old bastard!" she howled, lunging toward me with clawed fingers. "It’s all because of you!
Because of your stubbornness and self-righteousness that Jack left!"
Anna’s POV
I silently cursed the elevator for moving too slowly as I made my way up to the top floor of Shaw Corp. My first day back at work after giving birth, and I was already running ten minutes late. Elizabeth had practically barricaded the door this morning, insisting I should rest the full six weeks the doctor recommended.
"It’s only been a month," she’d protested, arms crossed as I packed my laptop.
But I couldn’t stay away any longer.
The walls of Shaw Estate had started closing in on me, and with Marcus still away with Benedict, I needed the distraction.
The office remained exactly as I’d left it -pristine, organized, and blessedly quiet compared to a house with a newborn. Rachel had everything prepared: reports stacked neatly, fresh flowers arranged by the window, and a light schedule for my first day back.
The November sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor.
I’d barely settled behind my desk when Catherine burst in without knocking, as usual.
’There she is! The working mom!" She flopped into the chair across from me.
"Your boobs look fantastic, by the way.
Better than mine now."
I rolled my eyes. "Good to see you too."
"So you’re really not breastfeeding?
Those two are just for show now?"
Catherine eyed my chest with unabashed curiosity.
I gave her an exasperated look. "We decided to bottle-feed both twins. It’s easier for everyone, especially with benedict’s situation." The memory of those terrifying days when he was missing still made my stomach clench.
She reached out as if to poke me. "Do they feel the same as before?"
I quickly swatted her hand away.
"Why don’t you have one yourself and find out?’