Chapter 92: Concern
>Alisha
"Is that really necessary?"
Marcus had been standing off to the side, arms loosely crossed, watching me pace the room. I had sighed so many times since I hung up the phone that I’d lost count. On the last one, long and tired, he finally decided to speak.
I slowed to a stop and glanced at him. I couldn’t remember when I started allowing him the freedom to question me like this, but somewhere along the way, I must have given him that right.
He looked far too comfortable now, standing there with concern written openly across his face.
Another sigh escaped me as my eyes drifted back to the burner phone lying on my desk. It sat there innocently, dark and silent, yet it felt heavier than anything else in the room.
"If I’m being honest," Marcus said carefully, "you’re only hurting yourself by doing this."
I snapped my head toward him, irritation flashing through me. My thoughts were already tangled enough without his voice adding to the chaos.
I was ready to lash out—but then I noticed it. The tightness around his eyes. The way his jaw was clenched, not in judgment, but worry.
My glare faltered.
"I know what I’m doing," I replied, though the confidence I wanted to show didn’t fully reach my voice. The words stumbled out unevenly. I stepped closer to the desk, grabbed the phone in one swift motion, and shoved it into the small drawer beneath the tabletop. The wood knocked softly as I pushed it shut harder than necessary.
"Besides," I continued, rubbing my temple, "I wasn’t even sure she’d remember everything." I paused, staring at the grain of the desk as thoughts raced through my head.
"This is better. Now he’ll finally realize how helpless he is when it comes to things he can’t control. Their relationship can’t happen."
Marcus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he watched me, his expression unreadable.
"But are you okay?" he asked quietly.
"Marcus!" My voice rose before I could stop it, sharp and strained. Frustration swelled in my chest, pressing tight against my ribs. I turned away from him, dragging a hand through my hair. I knew better than anyone that he meant no harm—but his words struck somewhere raw.
He had always been there. Longer than I could remember. The only person I trusted without hesitation. The one who knew my flaws, my plans, my fears—sometimes better than I knew them myself.
That realization weighed on me, and guilt crept in slowly, settling deep in my chest.
I exhaled and forced myself to change the subject.
"Anyway," I said, turning back toward him, "what has Eleina been up to?" My hands curled into fists at my sides. "I don’t want a repeat of what happened at that restaurant."
The memory alone made my blood boil.
"She’s my little sister," I added, shaking my head, "but she’s far too wicked for her own good."
Everything I was doing—it was for her. One day, her attitude and recklessness would catch up to her. And when that happened, I didn’t know if I’d be strong enough to pull her back from the consequences.
"I’m monitoring her closely," Marcus said.
"But she still manages to slip past us now and then." He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. "It seems she’s been meeting someone with more influence."
He placed the envelope into my hand.
I returned to my chair and sank into it, the leather creaking beneath my weight. As I opened the envelope, I slowly rocked the swivel chair back and forth, scanning each document carefully. Names, locations, times—nothing escaped my attention.
"This is too suspicious," I muttered, flipping through the last page. "Keep watching her. Closely."
Marcus gave a short nod, accepting the order without hesitation.
"Are you sure you don’t want to visit the young madam in the hospital?" he asked.
I let out a sharp laugh and leaned back in my chair.
"Are you dumb?" I said flatly. "That hospital is probably swarming with security." I waved a dismissive hand. "Anne is enough. I planted her in that family ten years ago—they’d never suspect her."
"I understand."
I would rather have her hate me for the rest of her life than let her remember everything.
This way, I could protect her properly—without hesitation and without any weakness.
I was certain Trisha would understand. This was the only step left after my original plan failed. Marrying her to Mr. Barrow, poisoning him, making it look like a heart attack—it had been clean and I planned it for far too long but it had gone down the drain. That would’ve been best way for her to reclaim her life.
Sometimes, to protect someone, you have to stain your own hands.
I leaned forward and opened another drawer slowly, almost carefully. Inside, tucked away from sight, was a photograph turned face down. My fingers trembled as I picked it up, as if even touching it might undo me.
I hesitated before turning it over.
My hand hovered just above the image of the woman, unable to bring myself to trace her face. A bitter smile pulled at my lips.
"It would’ve been better if she had your eyes," I whispered. "I miss you so much..."
Her green eyes were bright in the photo, painfully alive. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away.
"By the way," I said, lowering the picture back into the drawer, "did you make sure to cut off every attempt Elisha made to contact the Phoenix?"
The thought alone unsettled me. After all these years—why now?
"Make sure they never get close to Mallory," I added, my voice dropping. "If things get worse, inform my father. Quietly. He’s better at keeping his wife under control."
"I understand," Marcus replied, nodding once, as he always did—never questioning, never hesitating.
"Leave me be. I want to be alone."
The order came out flat and final. I leaned back into my chair, letting its weight support me, and closed my eyes as if that alone could shut the world out.
I heard Marcus hesitate—just for a moment—before his footsteps retreated. They grew softer with every step until they faded completely, followed by the faint click of the door closing behind him.
Silence settled over the room.
I let out a slow breath. I hope everything works out somehow.
"One week," I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible in the quiet. "She just has to stay unconscious for one week. I don’t have to worry too much... I can trust Anne."
I repeated the words like a mantra, hoping they would calm me. Instead, a small seed of doubt took root in my chest, spreading despite my efforts to push it down.
"I’m just going to look."
The decision was sudden. I opened my eyes and stood up abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the floor. I walked to the desk, pulled open the drawer, and wrapped my fingers around the cold metal of the car keys.
Don’t worry. I’ll just stay outside the hospital, I told myself. What could possibly go wrong?
I grabbed a coat and shrugged it on as I headed for the door, my steps quick and purposeful.
Marcus was still standing outside, just as I expected, positioned like a silent guard.
"Just outside," I said, tossing him the keys.
"Yes, Madame!" he replied immediately.
...Weird. Why did he look so happy?
I shook the thought away and moved on.
The car ride was short. It didn’t take long at all to reach the hospital. We didn’t even bother parking properly. The engine stayed running as Marcus slowed the car near the entrance.
We rolled down the window as we passed by. It was supposed to be nothing more than a brief glance.
Then I saw him.
"Can we stay for five more minutes?" I asked quietly. Marcus eased the car forward at a crawl.
"We might hold up traffic," he said. "Do you want me to park nearby so you can look longer?"
I bit down on my lower lip, my eyes drawn back to the entrance. Asher stood there—his small frame held securely in the arms of Mara Bryce.
My fingers tightened around the fabric of my skirt.
Suddenly, her gaze shifted.
Straight toward us.
My breath caught. I turned my face away instantly, lowering my head before she—or worse, he—could recognize me.
"No," I said quickly. "Just go."
I pressed the button, and the window slid shut with a soft whir, sealing me off from the sight outside.
The drive back was silent.
Neither of us spoke. The air inside the car felt heavy, pressing down on me, filling the space between us. I tried not to let it get to me—but it was useless.
No matter how hard I tried to harden my heart, it always reminded me of the truth.
I was still human.
"Do you want me to buy you some ice cream?"
Marcus’s voice cut through the silence.
I turned to him sharply. "You think you can console me with ice cream?"
He didn’t answer.
I clicked my tongue, crossed my arms, and leaned against the seat, staring out the window.
"...Chocolate," I muttered.
He smiled. "Understood."
Tch.
What shallow happiness.
