One Night Stand With My Ex's Uncle

Chapter 28: The Deed and the Debt

Anna’s POV

"Are you sure you don’t want Daniel to handle this?" Rachel asked, her concern clear in her voice as she sat beside me.

I shook my head. "This needs to be done in person. I want to make it absolutely clear."

The drive to the Simpson mansion was mercifully short. As we pulled up to the grand iron gates, I could already hear Mary Simpson’s shrill voice echoing through the open windows. She was yelling at Jack what about, I didn’t care anymore.

I took a deep breath, straightened my spine, and stepped out of the car. Behind me, Rachel and the driver carefully carried the wrapped painting. As we approached the front steps, the massive doors flung open before we could even knock.

Mary stood there, face pinched, eyes narrowing the moment she saw me. "I just knew it!" she spat, every word laced with venom. "Showing up first thing in the morning you’re obviously looking for an excuse to reconnect with Jack!"

A cold smile curved my lips. I didn’t rise to the bait. Jack appeared behind her, face unreadable save for a flicker of emotion in his eyes guilt? Anger? Regret? He knew why I was here. And he hated it.

"Mrs. Simpson, Mr. Simpson," I began evenly, my tone polite but utterly devoid of warmth, "the Shaw family doesn’t accept rewards we haven’t earned. My grandmother appreciates the sentiment behind your gift, but she cannot accept something so extravagant."

I stepped aside so Rachel and the driver could set the painting down in the foyer. "She asked me to personally return it and express her gratitude. But it must be returned."

Jack’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "Returning a gift after it’s been given?" His voice was sharp. "Is this how the Shaw family conducts itself now?"

"The Shaw family doesn’t attach hidden agendas to our gifts," I replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I won’t speculate on your motivations, but your appearance at her birthday wasn’t out of sincere well-wishes."

Jack’s face flushed an angry shade of red. He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. He had no good defense, and he knew it.

"If that’s all, I’ll be going." I turned to leave, eager to escape the suffocating tension of this place.

"Stop right there," Jack snapped behind me. I paused, turning slowly.

"Yes?" I asked, arching a brow.

"But you accepted the Skylake mansion?" he challenged, eyes burning with accusation. "My gift isn’t good enough, but you’ll happily take a two-hundred-million-dollar estate from my uncle?"

I almost laughed at the absurdity. "Is that any of your business?"

"Such principles you have," he sneered, stepping closer. "Too proud to accept my painting but eager enough to take Marcus’s mansion. You couldn’t be more transparent, Anna."

Something inside me snapped.

The weeks of stress, the public humiliation of our divorce, the constant whispers behind my back, the way he still tried to control the narrative it all surged like fire through my veins. I stepped forward and placed both hands on his shoulders. Jack stiffened, caught off guard by the gesture.

I smiled sweetly.

Then I drove my knee sharply into his gut.

The sound of air rushing from his lungs was more satisfying than it should have been. He crumpled, clutching his stomach, stunned and breathless.

I stepped back, lighter somehow.

"Ms. Shaw," Rachel said, holding the car door open, her tone full of barely concealed admiration. "That was... impressive."

"Standard form, wouldn’t you say?" I slid into the back seat, my heart still thudding but my voice calm.

"Textbook perfect," she agreed, climbing in beside me. "Though next time you might want to use a bit more force. Mr. Simpson looks like someone who needs a solid reminder to reconsider his life choices."

I smiled faintly but said nothing.

The moment of victory faded quickly. As we pulled away from the Simpson estate and toward the Murphy residence, a headache bloomed behind my eyes. I massaged my temples. Facing Marcus Murphy suddenly felt much more daunting than dealing with my ex-husband.

When we arrived at the Murphy Estate, the car rolled silently to a stop at the base of the fountain-lined path. I clutched the folder containing the deed and turned to Rachel.

"Wait here," I said. "This one I need to do alone."

She nodded without question.

In the garden ahead, Marcus stood by the fountain, as if waiting. For me. William was nowhere in sight. Without him, the familiar façade of family friendship slipped away, leaving only unspoken tension behind.

I swallowed and forced my steps forward.

"Uncle Marcus," I called out, voice light. "Admiring the garden? Where’s William?"

Marcus turned slowly, eyes dropping to the folder in my hands. "My father isn’t here."

Disappointment settled in my chest. He motioned for a nearby servant to leave us and gestured to the terrace.

"Let’s sit," he said.

The table was already set with coffee and pastries, as if he’d known I was coming. He wiped his hands with a napkin and reached for the teapot.

"Uncle Marcus, please, allow me," I said, keeping my tone airy as I took over pouring.

He let me. I took the opportunity to speak, voice careful. "You scared my grandmother and mother yesterday. I only asked you to help find the buyer, not to gift us the mansion. We can’t accept something so valuable. My mother couldn’t sleep all night worrying over it. She insisted I return the deed."

"I bought it for you," he said plainly.

My heart stuttered. Five simple words far too loaded.

I laughed softly, playing dumb. "I know William cares about our family, but we really can’t accept it. If you think it’s appropriate, I could purchase the mansion instead?"

"Not for sale," he replied, eyes never leaving mine. "I don’t take back gifts. If you don’t want it, donate it to charity."

I nearly rolled my eyes. It was my family’s ancestral home. Donate it?

He was being difficult on purpose. But this was Marcus Murphy I couldn’t afford to lose my temper.

"You’re putting me in an impossible position," I said carefully. "I don’t know how to explain this to my mother. We simply can’t accept such generosity it wouldn’t be appropriate."

"Why not?" he pressed.

I bit down on my frustration, realizing the truth with stunning clarity: he wasn’t just being generous. He was interested in me.

Me.

Despite all my experience navigating corporate sharks and PR disasters, I felt my cheeks grow warm under his stare. I pinched my thigh discreetly beneath the table, gathering my composure.

"Uncle Marcus," I began, keeping my brightest smile firmly in place, "you’re an incredibly wealthy man. I know this mansion doesn’t mean much to you, but two hundred million dollars is no small matter for us. Gifts like this create obligations we can’t afford."

He said nothing, but I saw the amusement in his eyes. He wasn’t buying the innocent act.

I tried again, pouring more tea. "People might misinterpret your intentions. Worse, what if your girlfriend misunderstands? That would be terrible."

His pupils dilated at the word.

"Girlfriend?" he repeated.

"Yes. Catherine mentioned you’d met someone. I’m looking forward to meeting her," I added with deliberate cheer.

The look he gave me was unreadable except for one thing. He knew I was bluffing. And he liked it.

Marcus’s POV

I never expected one house to win over Ann Song.

The mansion was a gesture a calculated one. A way to test the waters while making my intentions clear, so she’d stop seeing me as some harmless "Uncle Marcus."

In that regard, I succeeded. She played dumb, but not cold. That was enough. If she truly resented my feelings, she would’ve thrown the folder at my face and walked out without another word. That’s the kind of woman she is.

So I’ll take it slow.

I slid the folder across the table, my voice calm and unreadable.

"Take it. Consider it repayment of a debt I owe your father."

Her expression flickered curious, unsure. "My father? Uncle Marcus, were you and my dad close?"

"Not particularly. But I owe him a debt of gratitude."

She wasn’t buying it, and frankly, I didn’t blame her. Her eyes said it all skepticism, suspicion, restraint. She was right to doubt me, but I had time. I could wait.

"Some matters are better left for another time," I added smoothly. "Perhaps when the moment is right, you’ll understand. You don’t believe me?"

Ann hesitated. Her instincts pushed her toward the truth, but she was too polite to call me out directly.

"But Uncle Marcus—"

"If you don’t want it, donate it to charity," I cut in.

That silenced her. We both knew she wouldn’t give away her mother’s childhood home. Her fingers gripped the folder tighter, her lips pressing into a conflicted line. noveldrama

"I’ll consider what you said," she murmured at last.

She walked out with the folder still in hand a quiet victory that pleased me more than I’d ever admit.

I was still on the driveway when my father approached, cane tapping against the stone, his eyes already narrowed in disapproval.

"I thought you were supposed to be the smart one," he grunted. "All that dramatic staging, dragging me into your little charade, and you still couldn’t make your intentions clear. Annie’s not the type to fall for theatrics."

"Should I book my flight back to Europe then?" I asked dryly.

He raised his walking stick like he was ready to swing it. "Don’t test me. You think this’ll end cleanly? Jack’s going to be a problem. That boy’s not giving up without a fight."

"Too late," I said simply.

He gave me a hard look. "Of all the women in this world, you had to fall for Ann Song? She calls you ’Uncle Marcus’ for God’s sake. She calls me Grandpa William. Do you realize how messy this is?"

"I don’t care," I replied. "There won’t be anyone else. Only her."

He took a long drink from his flask, the whiskey catching in his throat. "You’re creating chaos. How am I supposed to look Annie in the eye now? You stubborn boy."

But I knew he was already scheming how to make this work for me.

"Maintain our relationship with the Shaw family," he warned. "That girl’s already suffered enough because of our family once. Don’t you dare hurt her again. And Jack once Mary finds out, she’ll cause hell. You can’t dismiss our family ties like they’re nothing."

"She’d better stay out of my business," I said coldly.

Just then, Peter approached with news.

"Mr. Murphy, Mr. Phillip Murphy has invited you both to lunch at his residence today. He specifically asked for your presence."

My father shot me a look. "See? It’s already starting."

I simply nodded. "Perfect timing. I have matters to discuss with him too."

Ann’s POV

I stepped into Shaw Estate, the folder still clenched in my hand like it might disappear if I let go. My mother spotted me from across the room. Her gaze landed on the documents immediately.

"You saw Marcus?" she asked, already worried.

"I saw him," I said with a sigh, setting the folder on the entryway table. "He refused to take it back."

Her face tightened. The worry was etched in every line. I could tell this unexpected ’gift’ disturbed her as much as it did me.

"He said something odd," I continued. "That it was to repay a debt to Dad. Did either of you know Marcus had any connection to him?"

My mother stiffened. Her gaze darted to Grandma Margaret, who responded only with silence.

"No," she finally said. "Your father barely knew Marcus. They might’ve crossed paths at functions, but there was never any real connection."

Exactly what I’d suspected. I dropped onto the sofa, exhausted.

"I figured. It was just a convenient excuse."

The folder sat on the table like it belonged there. Maybe it did.

"This mansion belonged to our family," I said softly, brushing my fingers along the edge. "And now it’s back. I don’t want to give it up again. But Marcus won’t accept payment. We need to find a way to repay him properly."

I hadn’t meant to sound so anxious, but my voice betrayed me.

Grandma’s expression shifted. Serious now, eyes sharp.

"Did he say anything else? Anything... unusual?"

I knew what she meant. The question struck a chord.

"I played dumb," I admitted. "He saw right through me. But he didn’t press the issue."

She nodded, relieved.

"Marcus is clever," she muttered.

My mother frowned, her thoughts racing. "But why buy the mansion in the first place? He’d just returned from Europe, hadn’t even met you yet. Annie, are you absolutely sure you hadn’t met him before? The way he acted the first time he visited calling you ’Annie’ so casually..."

"I’m positive. I’d remember someone like Marcus Murphy. Believe me."

I stood, suddenly restless. "He’s returning to Europe anyway. I’ll just avoid Murphy Estate until things settle."

I forced a smile. "It’s better to have someone interested than hated, right? I must be quite the catch."

That earned a rare laugh from Grandma. "That’s right. It was never your fault to begin with."

Then my phone rang. Catherine Murphy’s name lit up the screen. I excused myself and hurried upstairs to answer.

"Don’t speak, just listen," she said the moment I picked up.

And I did.

The sound of the Murphy family in heated debate filled my ear. Catherine had deliberately looped me into their drama.

I listened, frozen, as Mary Simpson’s voice snapped through the noise.

"We’re all family here, so let’s not pretend. Dad, explain what Marcus is thinking. Why would he hand over the Skylake mansion to the Shaws? Doesn’t he know Simpson Group has development plans for that entire area?"

The war had officially begun.