One Night Stand With My Ex's Uncle Chapter 45: He Knew

Anna’s POV

I’m not afraid of being the subject of gossip. Over the years, I’ve collected enough rumors and whispers to fill a small library, and I’ve developed a thick skin as a result. Standing in the grand hall of the Olympus Club, I could feel eyes on from every direction, but none of it could shake .

My mind drifted to a scene from a few years back—a wealthy Skyview City socialite had mistaken for her husband’s mistress and burst into Shaw Tower with security in tow. The man had sohow obtained photos of , causing his wife to seek out. In the end, I sued him for sexual harassnt and won a million-dollar settlent. I split the money evenly, sharing half with the employees who had helped through the ordeal, while treating myself to several limited-edition handbags with the remainder. This was one of the many reasons Mary Simpson disapproved of -in her eyes, a "proper" society woman shouldn’t be so assertive.

My thoughts were interrupted as Marcus Murphy returned to the party with . His presence imdiately beca the focal point of the room; all conversation paused montarily before erupting into more fervent whispers.

"Well, if it isn’t Mr. Murphy! We et again." Samuel Griffin greeted him with exaggerated enthusiasm, calculation gleaming in his eyes. His gaze shifted between Marcus and , a mocking smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Marcus completely ignored him, turning to instead. "Go ahead and attend to your guests. I’ll just find a place to sit for a while." His voice was calm, yet sohow instilled in an inexplicable sense of security.

I watched as he made his way to a sofa in the corner. People imdiately flocked around him with offers: "Mr. Murphy, please sit here." "Sir, what would you like to drink?"

Soone remarked with thinly veiled sarcasm: "Ms. Shaw certainly has influence, even Mr. Murphy has co to show his support."

Before I could respond, Catherine jumped in: "Is there sothing wrong with my uncle coming to pick up?" Her tone carried obvious displeasure.

Samuel persisted: "Of course not, but that jacket Ms. Shaw is wearing—it certainly doesn’t look like yours, does it?" He fixed with a pointed look, his eyes full of insinuation.

I felt a tightening in my chest, knowing he was testing .

Catherine shot back without hesitation:

"Mr. Griffin, don’t your many female admirers find your ddling tireso?"

I decided to take control of the situation, deliberately adjusting Marcus’s jacket to reveal my bandaged arm. With a practiced air of resignation, I said: "When I heard Mr. Murphy had arrived, I went out to greet him and unfortunately took a fall." I let out a small sigh, infusing my voice with a touch of pain. "It hurts terribly. Mr. Murphy lent his jacket—otherwise, I wouldn’t be presentable at all."

Catherine asked in surprise: "How did you manage to fall so badly? Since when did you beco so delicate?"

Thanks a lot, I ntally rolled my eyes. Looking around, I noticed everyone staring at my arm. Jack had even stood up, seemingly intending to co check on my injury. Oscar and Logan were already approaching, with Oscar beginning his customary stream of concern.

Only Samuel maintained his knowing smile, eyes fixed on . I was absolutely certain he knew exactly how I’d gotten hurt. This sent a wave of unease through , though I couldn’t let it show.

"You need to go to the hospital," Oscar insisted, his doctor’s instincts taking over. "That doesn’t look like a simple scrape."

I tried to refuse, but Oscar was adamant about taking to the hospital. Eventually, Catherine suggested that Marcus drive us.

Sitting in the back seat of Marcus’s luxury sedan, I could sense Oscar’s displeasure. I actually wanted to speak with Marcus privately about Samuel, but Oscar’s presence forced to change the subject.

"It’s just a minor injury, no need for such a fuss," I said impatiently to Oscar, trying to mask my nervousness.

"I organized this party, and now the host is leaving in the middle of it— how does that look?"

Oscar retorted indignantly: "You shouldn’t have thrown that kind of party in the first place. Do you know what they’re saying about you behind your back?" His tone was laden with protectiveness.

I feigned indifference: "What could they possibly say? Just the usual clichés-damaged goods, ball-buster, seductress, shaless... They hate yet want to be —it’s love and hate intertwined." On the surface, I appeared nonchalant, but there was a tinge of bitterness inside. Over the years, I’d grown accustod to idle gossip, but that didn’t an it couldn’t still hurt.

Oscar remained silent for a mont, then suddenly applauded. "Brilliant and spot-on. That’s so you, Annie." His eyes reflected both admiration and concern.

Throughout all this, Marcus maintained his silence. But I could feel

his gaze occasionally resting on , giving an inexplicable sense of calm.

At the ergency room, I removed the jacket, and both Marcus and Oscar’s expressions imdiately changed. My injuries were worse than I’d let on— blood had seeped through the temporary bandages.

"Anna, are you insane? You’re bleeding through and you didn’t say anything?" Oscar’s voice carried both anger and worry. He quickly removed his suit jacket, tossing it to Rachel, then grabbed a white coat from a rack and put it on, expertly retrieving a mask from a nearby drawer.

Faced with the attending physician’s bewildered expression, I could only explain awkwardly: "Sorry, he’s a doctor too—occupational hazard."

As Oscar tended to my wounds, he muttered curses under his breath, though his touch remained exceptionally gentle. I kept my eyes closed, not daring to look, gripping Rachel’s hand so tightly I was likely leaving marks.

When the bandaging was finally complete, Oscar removed his mask and looked down at , his eyes filled with suspicion: "A fall? You jumped from a building, didn’t you? How else could you possibly end up like this?"

Anna’s POV

I exhaled deeply, deciding to be honest with Oscar. "You’re right. I actually did fall from a building."

Oscar’s face imdiately transford, his expression hardening with concern.

"What the hell, Anna? Are you out of your mind? What did you do this ti?"

I couldn’t stand his motherly fussing.

"Nothing," I said dismissively. "I’m kidding. It was just a fall." His skeptical expression amused , but I didn’t feel like explaining. I glanced around the room, suddenly noticing soone was missing. "Where’s Uncle Marcus? I don’t see him."

Oscar let out a cold snort. "Your uncle dropped you off and disappeared.

Probably left already."

The attending physician prescribed an anti-inflammatory spray, and was about to write a prescription for scar removal cream when Oscar intercepted. "We don’t need that. I have so at ho."

The doctor smiled at . "When your boyfriend is a doctor, why even co to the hospital? He could’ve treated you at ho."

Oscar jumped up as if his tail had been stepped on. "No, no, no! I am not her boyfriend."

I nodded, adding very seriously, "And I could definitely do better than him."

Rachel drove back to Rosa Villa, where I declined Oscar’s offer to stay and help with my wounds.

Back at Rosa Villa, I still didn’t see Marcus anywhere. I guessed he had probably returned to the Murphy estate.

Since I couldn’t shower with my injuries, I had Rachel help clean up with a damp towel, her movents gentle yet efficient.

"Ms. Shaw, you should rest. Your body needs ti to recover," she advised.

I nodded, settling back against the pillows.

My phone rang—it was Sean. I picked up, putting it on speaker so Rachel could hear.

"Ms. Shaw, the party has ended. After you left, I continued monitoring the situation," he began. "You should know that shortly after your departure, Mr. Griffin went to a private room for drinks with Logan Porter and Mr. Simpson. I don’t know what they discussed specifically."

After hanging up, Rachel brought so pain dication and a glass of water.

"Try to get so sleep, Ms. Shaw. I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything."

I nodded gratefully, though I doubted sleep would co easily. After Rachel closed the door, I was left alone with my thoughts. I replayed recent events in my mind, becoming increasingly suspicious of Samuel Griffin.

I lay in bed, unable to sleep. Every inch of my body felt like it was on fire, the pain from my wounds refusing to let rest. Just then, a knock sounded at my bedroom door.

"Co in," I called, assuming it was Rachel.

The door opened, and to my surprise, Marcus Murphy stepped into the dim room. My eyes widened. "Uncle Marcus?"

Feeling it improper to receive him while lying down, I quickly tried to sit up, but the sudden movent pulled at my shoulder wound. "Oww!" I gasped, collapsing back onto the pillow.

Marcus set down whatever he was carrying and crossed the room in a few long strides. With one fluid movent, he slipped his arm behind and gently pulled upright. His voice carried an edge of urgency and worry. "Did you tear your wound?"

I felt suddenly self-conscious, acutely aware of how practiced his movents seed. As if he’d done this before.

"Does it hurt?" Marcus frowned deeply, "Let take a look."

I froze completely. Take a look? Where exactly was he planning to look?

Before I could process that thought, Marcus was already gently pulling aside the strap of my nightgown. I felt my entire body temperature skyrocket, certain I now resembled a thoroughly cooked lobster, bright red and radiating heat.

Marcus had just co in from outside, and his fingers were slightly cool.

When they made contact with my skin, I couldn’t help but shiver. He carefully pulled down my gown just enough to reveal the shoulder wound. The bandage had a bright spot of fresh blood.

"You’re bleeding," he said, his voice dropping to a deep rumble.

I quickly pulled my gown back up and grabbed the robe lying nearby, wrapping it around myself. "It’s fine.

Doesn’t hurt." The embarrassnt was overwhelming; I wished I could disappear into the mattress.

Thankfully, Marcus stood and retrieved what he’d brought with him. Desserts, of all things.

"Uncle Marcus, where did you get these?" I asked, surprised.

Marcus answered simply: "I bought them."

He took out a small cake from the paper bag and handed it to . I happily accepted it. "Thank you, Uncle Marcus." A sweet treat was exactly what I needed right now.

As I took the cake, a familiar aroma of milk and chocolate wafted up to my nose. I paused for a second, though I thought that particular shop had probably closed years ago.

I scooped up a small bite with the provided spoon and put it in my mouth. The lt-in-your-mouth cream and slightly caralized chocolate instantly awakened mories that had been dormant for years. I stared at Marcus in shock. "Uncle Marcus, where did you buy this dessert?"

Marcus looked down at from his imposing height. "A little-known dessert shop. It’s quite far from here, which is why I’m late."

"This... this..." I was too shocked to form a complete sentence. "Uncle Marcus, is this place called Isla’s Bakery?"

Marcus nodded. "Yes."

My surprise intensified as I looked at him incredulously. "Uncle Marcus, how did you know about this bakery? How did you know I like their desserts?"

Marcus just regarded silently, offering no explanation. Instead, he asked, "Are you still in pain?"

My heart was racing, my mind filled with questions. The story behind Isla’s Bakery was special-the owner had once been a pastry chef for the Shaw family, who later left to open her own cake shop. My father frequently bought treats from there. Those desserts had been my emotional anchor during difficult tis. After my father passed away, the shop suddenly changed hands, and I’d spent a long ti searching for it without success.

Even my mother probably didn’t rember this detail. How could Marcus possibly know?

I barely slept that night, and was up early the next morning. As I made my way downstairs, I saw Peter Reed coming in from outside, one arm in a sling. When he spotted , he clearly wanted to retreat but wasn’t quick enough.

My expression darkened. "You’re injured?"

"M-Miss Shaw," Peter actually stuttered, "I-I took a fall, and then..."

I had no patience for his fabricated story and cut him off. "Did soone attack Uncle Marcus again last night?

Is that why he ca back so late?"

Concern and anger surged through simultaneously. Marcus had not only risked himself to buy my favorite dessert but had likely encountered danger on his way. This realization made my chest tighten with both gratitude and distress.

"Tell what happened," I demanded, stepping closer to Peter.