All Chapters of One Night Stand With My Ex’s Uncle : Chapter 231 - Chapter 240

Rachel's POV Night had finally fallen completely. Marcus and I sat in a black sedan not far from the mansion, silently observing our surroundings. I felt nervous. Marcus turned to me, his eyes reflecting trust and expectation. "You'll approach the gate." Those simple words filled me with a sense of responsibility. I took a deep breath and nodded calmly. This was the first step in our plan, and I had to execute it perfectly. "Leave it to me," I said quietly, my fingers unconsciously tightening on the edge of my jacket before deliberately relaxing them. "T'll draw their attention." The moment I left the car, the cold night air hit my face. I walked alone toward the imposing iron gates, each step firm and determined. As I pressed the intercom button, my heart raced, but I deliberately maintained a composed expression. After the intercom buzz, I watched a security guard approach from inside, wearing an expression that suggested he'd been expecting me. This made my heart sink

_Does he really believe he can target Anna and my children just because he's older and connected to the Murphy family?_ The room fell silent. No one moved. Even George's security team seemed frozen, uncertain whether to help their employer or continue restraining us. "Sir!" one guard finally broke the stillness, stepping toward George. A provocatively dressed woman suddenly appeared from a side room, her high heels clicking rapidly across the floor as she rushed to George's side. "Oh my God, George! What happened to you?" she exclaimed with theatrical concern, dropping to her knees beside him. George blinked up at her through watering eyes. "Who are you?" "It's Mia, George! Don't you remember? Let me help you!" She collapsed dramatically on top of him, further restricting his already limited movement. I watched with dark amusement, recognizing Mia from Olympus Club. Rachel had made the right call. While George struggled beneath Mia's "helpful" ministrations, Rachel

Jack's POV I stood frozen in the doorway of the bedroom, my lungs refusing to function properly. This secret mansion -this temple to my father's deception was bad enough. The once-pristine room had been savaged. Shards of crystal vases glittered across imported carpet. Silk bedding lay torn from the king bed. Expensive artwork hung in tatters, and the unmistakable scent of a woman's perfumenot my mother's-lingered beneath the sharp sting of spilled alcohol. "Look at your father," Mother said beside me, gesturing toward the wreckage with a bitter laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "Quite the player, isn't he? Even puts you young men to shame." The words carried a forced lightness, but I heard the tremor beneath them. A toxic mixture of disappointment, rage, and shame flooded my chest, making it impossible to respond. The father Id spent my life trying to emulate, whose approval I'd desperately sought, had been nothing but a carefully constructed facade. I moved closer to M

Anna's POV The hospital's fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over Sean's pale face. His head was swathed in white bandages, a stark contrast against the dark bruise spreading from beneath them. Despite his injuries, his eyes focused on me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. "Ms. Shaw, why are you still here? You should go home and rest. I'm fine," Sean urged, his voice carrying more anxiety than pain. His eyes kept prompting me toward the door, as if my pregnant presence in the sterile room was somehow more concerning than his own head injury. Beside me, Marcus stood silently observing Sean's face. I caught his brief, assessing glance, but Sean seemed oblivious to it, his attention locked entirely on me. "I'm not tired," I smiled, trying to ease his tension. "All I did today was eat, drink, and sleep. I barely moved." It was true-George Simpson's forced hospitality had involved a lot of sitting around in luxurious rooms. The doctor had confirmed Sean needed sever

Anna's POV The morning sunlight streamed through the bay windows as Catherine leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You won't believe what's happening at the Simpson house." I raised an eyebrow, cradling my herbal tea while trying to find a comfortable position on the plush sofa. At eight months pregnant with twins, comfort was becoming an increasingly foreign concept. "What now?" Mom asked, settling beside me with uncharacteristic eagerness. Ever since the incident at George's secret mansion, she'd developed a rather vindictive interest in Simpson family drama. Catherine's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Two women showed up at their doorstep yesterday, claiming George ruined their lives, stole their family fortunes, and-get this-maintained intimate relationships with them behind Mary's back for years." I nearly choked on my tea. "Seriously?" 'The women are threatening to sue," Catherine continued, popping a grape into her mouth. "And they're n