Marcus's POV
I stared at my phone beneath the polished conference table, reading Anna's message for the tenth time: "It's fine." Two simple words that twisted in my gut like a knife. The dismissive finality of her response to my rejection of continuing our arrangement left me uncharacteristically unsettled.
In the gleaming conference room, twenty executives waited for my reaction to the presentation. I forced my attention back to the spreadsheets displayed on the wall-to-wall screen, my expression betraying nothing of the storm brewing inside me.
Who was I to Anna Shaw? In public,
"Uncle Marcus" - the family friend, the respected elder. In private, a nameless lover she knew only by a hotel room number. If I lost both versions of myself in her eyes, what would remain?
My finger hovered over the screen.
_Tomorrow night?_ I typed, then hesitated. Was I being pathetic?
Desperate? I deleted the message, then typed it again.
