One Night Stand With My Ex's Uncle

George’s POV

The crystal glass gleamed under the dim lights of Midnight Oak’s VIP section as I poured another finger of Macallan 25 for Keith Dunn. His face was a mess of purple bruises and swollen flesh. He winced as the amber liquid burned down his throat.

"So you’re saying Anna Shaw was behind this?" Keith’s eyes narrowed, his ego clearly more bruised than his face.

I sighed dramatically, letting my shoulders slump forward. "Keith, don’t take it personally. She’s done worse to me, her own former father-in-law." My lungs ached with phantom pain, a souvenir from that night tied to a tree in freezing temperatures. "This woman... she appears refined, but she’s more ruthless than most men I’ve encountered."

"You’re afraid of some spoiled bitch?"

He scoffed, draining his glass in one defiant gulp.

I refilled it promptly, carefully concealing the cold satisfaction blooming in my chest. The insult had landed exactly as Id hoped.

"Anna isn’t just ’some bitch," I replied, my voice deliberately dropping to a cautious whisper. "She’s Marcus Murphy’s woman now. One wrong move against her, and you’ll have the entire Murphy family hunting you."

Keith’s face contorted with disgust at the mention of Marcus. "Murphy?

What power does he have here? This is America, for Christ’s sake!"

I feigned concern, leaning forward while stealing a glance at his increasingly flushed face. "You don’t understand. I’m related to the Murphys by marriage, and even I have to walk on eggshells around them."

His laugh was ugly and bitter. "No offense, Simpson, but you seem scared of your own shadow these days. If I can’t handle one woman, I don’t deserve the Dunn name."

*Perfect*. The trap was set, the bait taken. Keith would now pursue his vendetta against Anna, creating exactly the kind of distraction I needed before the upcoming land auction.

---

"The Financial District development plan is officially approved," Pax announced, spreading the city map across my desk the following morning.

His finger traced along the colored zones. "The auction is scheduled for December 10th."

My gaze fixed on the Nestling Crest Bay area, marked in red on our map.

"If the Financial District expands as projected," Pax continued, "Nestling Crest Bay will become the commercial heart of Skyview. And right next to it—"

"Skylake District," I finished, a familiar bitterness rising in my throat like acid.

The very mention of Skylake felt like salt ground into an old wound. That land could haveshould have-been mine years ago. Instead, I’d dismissed it as worthless, while Marcus Murphy had seen its potential before anyone else.

I still remembered laughing when he purchased that barren plot. *Who buys wasteland surrounded by old warehouses?* Now that "wasteland" was Skyview’s most exclusive residential area, with property values that made my most lucrative investments look like pocket change.

"Sir?" Pax’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. He’d noticed my expression darkening.

My eyes drifted to Golden Oak Manor’s location on the map. Marcus Murphy’s foresight had turned a risky investment into a paradise, while I— supposedly the more experienced businessman-had missed the opportunity entirely. The injustice of it made my blood boil.

*Why is he always one step ahead?* The thought burned through me like wildfire. *What makes him so special?*

"The auction will be extremely competitive," Pax said, wisely changing subjects. "Several major players are already positioning themselves."

I straightened in my chair, deliberately pushing aside thoughts of Marcus Murphy. This time would be different.

This time, I wouldn’t be outmaneuvered.

"Nestling Crest Bay is non-negotiable,"

I stated, my voice hardening with determination. "I don’t care what it costs. We’re securing that land."

Pax’s POV

I stood in George Simpson’s spacious office, Simpson sat behind hisimported desk, his face stormy as he glowered at the documents spread before us detailed specs of several prime Skylake District land parcels up for auction.

"Mr. Simpson, these lots are excellently positioned. Competition will be fierce," I observed carefully, watching his expression darken further. Shifting tactics quickly, I pointed to another document. "The market analysis suggests several potential bidders might be deterred by current interest rates."

His features softened marginally, but his voice remained weighted with steel.

"Whatever the cost, Pax. Tomorrow, we must secure those parcels by any means necessary."

"Yes, Mr. Simpson," I responded promptly, my tone deferential while anxiety churned beneath my practiced composure.

He drummed his fingers against the polished wood, each tap like a miniature thunderclap in the tense silence. Simpson Group’s financial situation wasn’t exactly robust these days—a fact I’d never dare mention aloud.

My mind drifted to the cascade of troubles that had plagued us recently.

Those so-called "ex-girlfriends" Marcus Murphy had dug up from God-knows-where had been particularly costly to silence. Their accusations linking George to their husbands’ deaths years ago were impossible to prove, of course, but the settlements had bled millions from company coffers.

Marcus’s strategy had been transparent —create enough distractions to keep George from interfering with Anna Shaw. Yet I couldn’t help but marvel at my employer’s ability to compartmentalize. The man had lived wearing multiple faces for decades without even Mary suspecting his true nature.

Even that construction worker, Lucius Cox, who’d fallen from the scaffolding at Paradise Valley Estates-George had emerged untouched from that potential disaster. Allegations and suspicions couldn’t secure convictions without concrete evidence.

Add to that the whistleblowing incident with Logan Porter that had sent our stock into a downward spiral, and Simpson Group was running on fumes financially. I’d witnessed George’s volcanic eruption during this morning’s executive meeting bellowing with such intensity that Marcia from Accounting had actually burst into tears.

At the height of our power, we’d still failed to acquire Skylake District. Now, in our weakened state? The challenge seemed insurmountable. But suggesting as much would be career suicide.

I studied George’s determined profile, knowing he’d bet everything on tomorrow’s auction. As his assistant, my job was to support his vision, however unlikely its success. Still, dread sat heavy in my stomach like a cold stone.