One Night Stand With My Ex's Uncle

Mary’s POV

The echo of Jack’s footsteps faded down the hallway. I trembled with indignation, pointing toward the doorway he’d just exited.

"He says I’ve embarrassed him! Has he forgotten everything I’ve done was for him?" My voice cracked with emotion.

"Marcus Murphy has billions in assets, and now that he’s dead, shouldn’t his own nephew inherit at least a few hundred million?"

Lucy’s eyes widened momentarily, and I caught the flash of raw greed that passed through them before she quickly composed herself. _Even this social-climbing nobody can’t resist the allure of that kind of money._

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Mrs. Simpson, please don’t say these things in front of Jack or any Murphy family member. Especially not William. Remember, even to inherit anything from Marcus, you’d need William’s approval."

I knew she was right, but just thinking about the Shaw family made my blood boil. The memory of that photograph I’d discovered in George’s study drawer-Elizabeth in her youth, worn around the edges yet meticulously preserved-made my stomach turn.

How many nights had George pretended to sleep beside me while secretly gazing at her image with a tenderness he’d never shown me?

"I know that," I snapped, struggling to rein in my fury. "I’ll be more careful."

But then another thought struck me— Anna Shaw had delivered twins.

_Twins_. Two children who would divert even more of the Murphy fortune away from its rightful heirs.

The bitter resentment rose in my throat like bile.

George’s POV

The amber liquid in my tumbler caught the fading daylight as I swirled it, savoring both its rich aroma and the moment at hand. My secluded mansion in the western outskirts of Skyview City had proven its worth yet again—a perfect sanctuary for conversations that required absolute discretion.

"Mr. Doyle, you may not be familiar with the hierarchy of Skyview City’s elite families," I said, reclining in my leather chair. "The Simpson family might not boast the longest lineage, but in this city, my word still carries considerable weight."

Doyle raised an eyebrow, ice cubes clinking as he tilted his glass. "Then if I have certain... *business* to conduct in Skyview City, you could handle any complications that might arise?"

I leaned forward, unable to contain the question burning in my mind. "You’re certain Marcus Murphy is dead?"

"I pulled the trigger myself," Doyle replied with a chilling smile. "Watched him take the bullet and fall into the Atlantic. Is there any doubt?" His eyes gleamed dangerously in the dimming light. "My men searched that section of ocean for two entire weeks. His bodyguards had no chance to save him."

Relief loosened the knot in my chest.

"He must truly be dead. He hasn’t even returned for his woman’s delivery."

Doyle’s attention sharpened instantly.

"His woman is pregnant?"

"We tried approaching him through various socialites, all unsuccessful," Doyle mused, genuine surprise coloring his voice. "I’m curious what kind of woman caught his eye."

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could suppress it. "Ironically, she was my former daughter-in-law. She divorced my son Jack after less than two years of marriage, only to take up with Marcus Murphy shortly after. A disgrace to our family name."

"They were already divorced," Doyle pointed out bluntly. "How is that any reflection on the Simpsons? Your family’s misfortune can hardly be blamed on her."

The directness of his response left me momentarily speechless. My jaw tightened with irritation.

Doyle shifted gears smoothly. "William Murphy is elderly. I’m concerned about potential complications should anything... unfortunate happen during the operation."

I immediately caught his meaning.

"You’re not planning to target old Murphy. You want Anna Shaw?"

"Is that a problem?" Doyle spread his hands, clearly expecting my cooperation.

"Not at all," I nodded eagerly, excitement surging through my veins.

If Anna Shaw were eliminated, Shaw Corp and the Skylake District would finally be within my grasp. She was currently in the hospital, the perfect opportunity to strike. Recent scandals had left me unable to move against her myself, but with Doyle, a foreigner, handling the situation... this was providence!

"Rest assured, I’ll manage any aftermath," I promised confidently, already calculating my impending gains.

Anna’s POV

The morning light filtered through the blinds of my private hospital suite, casting golden stripes across the pristine white sheets. I gripped the metal rail of my IV stand, focusing on each careful step forward. Every movement sent a dull ache radiating from my abdomen, but I was determined to reach the nursery.

"Easy does it, Ms. Shaw," the nurse encouraged, hovering nearby. "Just a few more steps."

My fingers tightened around the pain pump button, though I resisted pressing it. The fog of medication made it harder to think clearly, and I needed my wits about me. Each shuffling step was a small victory against my body’s protests.

"They’re doing wonderfully," the nurse chatted as we approached the viewing window. "Your little ones are quite the celebrities in the nursery."

Behind the glass, two tiny bundles lay swaddled in the finest Egyptian cotton blankets—gifts from Grandpa William, of course. Benedict’s shock of blonde hair was visible even from a distance.

Sophia, slightly smaller, had her tiny fist curled against her cheek.

’This is your two children, congratulations, Ms. Shaw." The nursery attendant beamed, gesturing toward the twins.

I stared through the glass, a warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with my surgical pain.

They were so small, so vulnerable, yet so perfect. In that moment, all discomfort faded to background noise.

"I’ve worked at this hospital for years and rarely seen such beautiful twins," she said sincerely. "Especially little Sophia-she’ll be as beautiful as her mother someday."

My eyes misted slightly as I managed a soft "Thank you. I just want them to grow up healthy." On the surface, I maintained composure, but inside, emotions churned violently.

ーーー

By afternoon, my room resembled a luxury florist’s showroom. William Murphy sat in the visitor’s chair while Layla arranged yet another extravagant bouquet among the dozens already crowding every surface.

"Annie, you’ve done so well." William’s eyes crinkled warmly. "Bringing two treasures to the Murphy family-these gifts are the least you must accept."

I glanced at the extensive list of items he’d arranged to be delivered to Goldenleaf Manor-everything from rare jewelry to imported baby furniture and premium health supplements.

"Grandpa William, this is too generous..."

"Generous? Nonsense!" He waved dismissively, pride glimmering in his eyes. "You’ve given the Murphy family healthy twins. This is well-deserved."

"Thank you, Grandpa William." I smiled, accepting his generosity while realizing Marcus’s extravagant gift-giving was clearly inherited from William. Thinking of Marcus made my smile falter slightly, my heart constricting.

William seemed to notice my shift in mood, patting my hand gently. "Don’t worry. That boy is too stubborn to die.

He’ll return."

I nodded, struggling to contain tears.

*Marcus, where are you? *

Later, while the nurse changed my dressings, Catherine watched with curious interest.

"Is that where the C-section scar will be?" She pointed at my fresh incision.

The nurse nodded professionally. "Yes, this is the standard cesarean incision site."

Catherine’s brow furrowed as she unconsciously glanced at her own abdomen. "Where would an appendectomy scar typically be?"

"Usually in this area," the nurse indicated my lower right abdomen.

"And appendectomy scars are much smaller than cesarean incisions."

Catherine’s expression suddenly froze, her eyes reflecting a panic I’d never seen before. She stared at her own midsection, her discomfort growing visibly.

"Catherine? What’s wrong?" I asked, concerned by her strange reaction.

"Why is my appendectomy scar in almost the same position as your C-section incision?" Her voice quavered slightly.

I recalled the scar on her body-the one she’d always claimed was from an appendicitis operation, which had developed keloids that she’d covered with her English initials tattooed over it.

"Maybe your surgeon preferred that entry point?" I offered weakly, but seeing her troubled expression stirred unease within me as well.

Catherine shook her head, seemingly forcing herself to dismiss some terrible thought. "It’s just... such a coincidence that it’s exactly the same position as a C-section. Never mind."

She deliberately changed the subject, reaching for a shopping bag. "I bought some adorable outfits for Benedict and Sophia. Do you like them?"

But beneath her forced smile, I detected profound shock and confusion.

– – –

After everyone left, I pulled out my tablet and secretly searched European news about Marcus Murphy’s disappearance. Surprisingly, Ascend Group showed no signs of chaos-a mysterious acting CEO had emerged to maintain operations.

All signs suggested Marcus might still be alive, yet my worry remained.

Logan’s POV

The early winter air sliced through my wool coat as I paced back and forth across hospital’s visitor parking lot.

The concrete beneath my feet had grown familiar over the past hour, each step wearing deeper grooves into my indecision. My breath formed small clouds that disappeared as quickly as my resolve to go inside.

*Just go upstairs, Porter. What’s the worst that could happen?*

Actually, I knew exactly what could happen. Anna’s dismissive glance. The awkward silence. The pity in her eyes when she realized I still cared too much. The twins-Marcus Murphy’s twins-crying in the background.

My fingers tightened around the small jewelry box in my pocket. A pair of silver rattles engraved with the twins birthdates, and a delicate bracelet for Anna. Appropriate gifts, nothing too intimate, nothing that screamed of my pathetic, lingering feelings.

I spotted Elizabeth Shaw walking toward the hospital entrance, her patrician profile unmistakable even from a distance. My feet moved before my brain could object.

"Mrs. Shaw."

She turned, her eyes widening slightly before settling into cool assessment.

"Logan Porter. What are you doing here?"

The question felt like a slap, though her tone remained polite.

"I wanted to go up and see Anna," I admitted, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets. "But I’m afraid she won’t want to see me."

Elizabeth’s lips pressed into a thin line.

"Annie and the babies are doing fine.

You must be busy; I won’t take up your time."

The message couldn’t have been clearer if she’d spelled it out: *You’re not welcome upstairs.* The rejection burned, but I’d expected it.

"Mrs. Shaw, wait a moment." I jogged to my car and retrieved the gift bag I’d prepared. The tissue paper crinkled loudly in the silence between us.

"This is for the babies. Could you please give it to Anna for me? I won’t go up." I placed the bag in her hands before she could refuse and backed away quickly, not trusting myself to maintain composure if she rejected even this small gesture.

Elizabeth looked down at the bag, then back at me, something softening in her expression. "I’ll make sure she gets it."

I nodded, already turning toward my car to hide the emotion welling in my eyes. But once Elizabeth disappeared into the hospital, I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Instead, I found a parking space with a view of the entrance and waited.

The sky darkened gradually, winter’s early nightfall swallowing the last hints of daylight. Hospital windows glowed yellow, one by one, like stars appearing in reverse. My fingers drummed against the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the entrance, searching for a glimpse of... what exactly? Anna wouldn’t be leaving today, and I’d already decided not to go up.

*This is pathetic, Porter. Go home.*

But as dinner time approached, I made a different decision. Just a quick walk past her room—I wouldn’t even go in. Just to be near her for a moment.

The freezing wind cut through my coat as I approached the entrance. My heartbeat accelerated with each step, throat tightening with anxiety. When the elevator doors opened, a man in scrubs hurried out, clutching a small bundle against his chest.

"Sorry," I muttered as he bumped against me, the contact jarring.

Something about his rushed movements triggered my instincts. His eyes—darting nervously, refusing to meet mine. The wrong shoes beneath his scrubs. The way he clutched the bundle... too tightly for a medical professional.

"Doctor with the baby! You dropped something!" I called out, voice echoing across the lobby, muscles tensing as I watched for his reaction.

The man’s head snapped up, panic flashing across his face. When he broke into a run toward the exit, my suspicions crystallized into certainty.

*Son of a bitch is stealing a baby.*