Chapter 487 Plenty More Fish in the Sea
"You really think that of me?" Elissa shot him a sidelong glance. "You make it sound like I've treated you so terribly. I think you're incredible. You can handle anything. That's why I rely on you. That's why I trust you."
Francis's brow eased. "This time I pulled off something big. How are you going to reward me?"
Hope, unable to watch any longer, ended the video call.
Elissa didn't call back. She knew distance made her helpless. Worrying wouldn't fix a damn thing.
She leaned against Hope's shoulder with a sigh.
Hope ruffled her hair. "Stop sighing all the time. We've already found a way to deal with it."
"I just feel for Anne."
"No one goes through life without hardship."
Elissa knew that, but she still hated seeing Anne struggle.
Hope unlocked her phone and showed her something.
Elissa's eyes widened. "A pink dolphin?"
"Yes," Hope said. "Anne took the photo."
"Why didn't she send it to me?"
"Jerry sent it to me. Probably found her camera over there. Look, it's not very clear—definitely not the original."
Elissa's eyes narrowed. "That pink dolphin isn't something Willard arranged, is it?"
Hope chuckled. "I just wanted to cheer you up. All that sighing is going to give you frown lines."
Elissa bit back another sigh. "What kind of man do you think Willard really is?"
Hope shook her head. "I still can't figure him out."
By the time Lyndon arrived, dawn had broken.
He went straight to Anne, checking her for injuries.
Seeing she was unharmed, he said nothing and led her away.
With Louis in charge, Willard would survive.
Francis didn't stay.
Neither did Jerry.
Simon was only there to protect Anne. Once she left, so did his reason to remain.
But before he could board a plane, Francis shipped him off to Arcturus.
After all, Simon had failed to prevent what happened today, leaving Francis owing a favor.
And there was no way he could just sit at Willard's bedside.
Besides, the whole point was to end things between Anne and Willard—and now, in a way, it was done.
Simon was bitter, but he kept it to himself.
Lyndon took a different route, boarding another plane with Anne.
Francis and Jerry boarded a private jet, Francis speaking briefly to Elissa.
Lyndon's situation was more complicated; he would likely land later.
Jerry pocketed his phone and asked Francis, "You got a plan for that deal you made with Louis?"
"No."
"I don't believe you."
"Then why ask?"
Jerry smirked. "Fine. I won't give you advice. Safer for me—Hope won't make me sleep on the couch."
Francis leaned back and closed his eyes, ignoring him for the rest of the flight.
When they landed, Jerry, ever eager for drama, asked, "So when are you calling Ondine?"
"You got a better idea?"
Jerry gave a mocking hum. "Now you want me?"
Francis was unbothered. "I'll just tell my wife you had a way to help and refused. By the way, Hope's at our place."
Jerry joked. "Save the attitude for someone else. Just let Willard die."
"You've got time for sarcasm—use it for solutions."
"I've got none."
On Lyndon's flight, he handed Anne a cup of warm milk.
They flew straight to Silverlight City, heading to the hospital for a full check-up.
She had no visible injuries, but he wasn't taking chances.
Anne resisted, but Lyndon's insistence won out.
While she was being examined, Lyndon's phone rang. It was Uriah.
Uriah's voice cut through the air, low and cold, "You know the consequences of leaving your post without permission?"
Lyndon knew all too well. But his worry had outweighed protocol.
"Don't worry, Grandfather. I know what I'm doing."
Uriah's tone was sharp. "Everything you have now was bought with blood. If you lose it, how will you protect them?"
"I'll take responsibility. I won't let the Myles family suffer. I won't lose what I have now."
Otherwise, he'd never be able to keep Willard away from Anne.
Uriah sighed. He was old, and there was only so much he could do.
"Anne's unharmed?"
"Still in the middle of her tests."
"Willard was wrong, but think before you act. Don't turn the tables against yourself."
"I understand."
When the call ended, Anne finished one test, and Lyndon joined her for the next.
On the island, the surgery dragged on for over ten hours.
Uma waited outside, nerves fraying, tearing at her hair.
She couldn't tell Willard's parents.
She couldn't let a whisper of his condition leak.
The few who knew were more likely to wish him dead than sympathize.
She ended up talking to Quinton just to keep from unraveling.
"Do you know what Louis wants from Francis in exchange?"
Quinton was tense too, though he hid it well. "I think I do."
"Is it about Isla?"
He nodded.
Of course. What else could Louis want? Isla had become an obsession for him.
She hated him—enough to move to the far north, join a classified unit, anything to avoid crossing paths.
Yet he was determined to see her, to drag her into his twisted idea of love.
"Why is Francis the only one who can help?"
"Years ago, Mr. Francis Peterson fought bitterly with his family to marry Mrs. Elissa Peterson. In the end, he had someone—Ondine—take his place in politics while he went into business. It was a perfect solution."
Uma had only heard of it in passing. As head of her own family, she had been too busy to care.
She had thought Elissa's pregnancy was what finally made the Petersons relent.
"Francis knows how to get things done. My brother's been friends with him for years but never learned a thing—look where that's gotten us."
"But this Ondine… what's her background, that the Petersons kept quiet?"
"She's capable, but she had no background. That's why she agreed to Francis's plan."
"Then why would the Petersons accept her? Did Francis have another trick?"
"He did."
"Well?"
"Francis married her into the Garcia family."
Uma stared. "The Garcia family? As in Everglade City?"
"What other Garcia family could silence the Petersons?"
Uma gave a low whistle. "Impressive."
"Here's the twist—Ondine is Isla's direct superior."
"No wonder Louis is pushing Francis. Anyway, I've got one more question."
"Go ahead."
"Why would Ivan marry Ondine? The Garcias don't need a Peterson alliance."
Quinton hesitated. The marriage had been arranged by Ryan—a name Uma wouldn't tolerate.
"Even I can't know?" she pressed.
She wasn't chasing gossip; she wanted to learn Francis's methods.
Uma asked, "Was it some kind of leverage?"
"No."
"Then why do you look like you can't say it?"
After a pause, Quinton said carefully, "It was Mrs. Martin…"
Uma's face cooled instantly, as if doused in ice water.
She shouldn't ask further, but she couldn't let go. "What did she do?"
Quinton hesitated for a moment before speaking, "Mrs. Martin had gone to Mrs. Hope Hammer to have a dress made for her wedding anniversary..."
He stopped mid-sentence, a decision forming in his mind.
He would strip away Uma's illusions about Ryan—once and for all.
So he changed his story. "In truth, it was Mr. Martin who went to see Mrs. Hope Hammer. Mr. Jerry Hammer used the opportunity to strike a deal: if he ever needed something, Mr. Martin would help him.
"Mr. Martin agreed. But when Mrs. Peterson was kidnapped by Aiden, Mr. Martin stepped in to help—and that was when he cashed in the favor."
He spoke in one breath, not daring to meet her eyes.
Silence thickened between them.
At last, Uma said flatly, "I see."
Quinton spoke as if it might cost him dearly. "Ms. Larson, there are plenty of fish in the sea. You don't have to fixate on just one. Look around—you might find someone you like even more."
Uma's voice was cool. "Are you comparing Ryan to… a fish?"
Ryan was certainly no fish.
Even in a crowded sea, he was the one that stood out.
Quinton had only meant to help, but somehow, he had still managed to make Uma dislike him.
"I didn't mean—"
"Enough. I don't want to hear it."
"Understood."
Francis's pace was brisk when he reached home, nearly leaving Jerry behind at the elevator.
Inside, Francis watched the floor numbers climb while Jerry leaned back, scrolling his phone.
When the doors opened, Francis strode out, punching in the code to his apartment—too fast, and wrong the first time.
Jerry's laugh was merciless.
On the second try, the door opened from the inside.
Hope stepped out, grabbed Jerry, and pulled him away, clamping a hand over his mouth before he could speak.
Once the elevator doors shut, Jerry pinned her against the wall, caging her in.
His voice was low, almost a murmur against her ear, "Since when do you get to decide when I speak?"
Hope pressed a hand to his chest and pushed him back, her voice low, "Not so close... There are cameras."
"I'm blocking them. No one can see."
"Missed me?"
"You were gone two days."
"Two days is enough. That's twenty-seven hours, sixteen hundred and twenty minutes, ninety-seven thousand two hundred seconds—"
"I missed you," she cut in.
His grin turned wicked. "Where exactly?"
Francis headed straight for the shower. When he emerged, he pulled Elissa into his arms.
She stroked his hair. "You've worked hard."
"Not really." He sat her down, studying her face. "You look thinner. Haven't been eating?"
"Francis," Elissa said with a helpless shake of her head, "you were gone for, what, a couple of hours? Even if I starved myself, I wouldn't lose that much weight."
She folded her arms. "Besides, I did eat — you had food sent over, remember?"
He nodded. "Hungry now? Want something?"
She shook her head. "Did you eat?"
"On the plane."
"That's not the same. Heat something up—there's food you made in the fridge."
"Not hungry."
"You must be exhausted." Elissa reached up to gently press his head, her touch lingering for a moment. "Rushing here like that, and after such a long flight."
Francis caught her hand, his grip warm and steady. "Anne's fine — Lyndon took her to Silverlight City."
"I know. He messaged me. All tests came back clear."
She then led him to the bedroom, pushed him onto the bed, and gestured for him to lie down.
Francis felt a spark of anticipation as he tugged loose the belt of his bathrobe and sank back onto the bed. A flicker of longing stirred in his gaze.
Elissa let out a soft laugh, sweeping the blanket over him in one smooth motion until he was completely covered. "Catch up on some sleep."
Lyndon hadn't taken Anne to a hotel, not even one of Damon's, even though those were safe. That sense of security had already been shattered by Willard.
Instead, he brought her to his own home—a place where Willard's shadow could never touch her.
"The room's ready. Fresh sheets. Get some rest."
Anne nodded. She hadn't slept on the plane, her mind too full. Now, exhaustion hit.
"There are toiletries inside if you want to wash up first."
"Thank you, Lyndon."
He patted her head. "No need for thanks."
"Then I won't."
"Good."
He closed the door. The apartment was usually empty, cleaned and stocked by Myles family staff, but he rarely ate here—either at work or with Damon.
Thinking of that, he called Damon.
Damon teased, "Well, look who finally remembers I exist."
"That shoot we talked about—it's postponed," Lyndon said bluntly. "Anne's not feeling well."
Damon laughed. "That shoot was just an excuse for Anne in the first place. Whether I postpone it or not doesn't really matter."
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