One Night Stand With My Ex's Uncle -
Chapter 43: Locked with My Mistake
Chapter 43: Locked with My Mistake
Anna’s POV
I stood in the center of the grand banquet hall at Olympus Club, watching the tension between Jack Simpson and Samuel Griffin gradually escalate. My meticulously planned party was slowly turning into a psychological battlefield, with Samuel deliberately provoking Jack at every opportunity.
I quickly interjected: "Mr. Griffin, both Mr. Simpson and I aren’t people who settle for less. Our divorce simply means we’re both better off going our separate ways. Isn’t that right, Mr. Simpson?"
Something flashed in Jack’s eyes-hurt, perhaps, or anger-but he quickly masked it with a smile. "Ms. Shaw’s personal affairs aren’t any of your concern, Griffin." He took three flutes of champagne from a passing server’s tray. "I’m late. I believe that means I owe a penalty."
Jack downed all three glasses in succession, his eyes never leaving Samuel’s face.
He set the empty glasses on the table.
Without another word, he walked away toward Logan at the other side of the room.
"Your nephew lacks his uncle’s maturity," Samuel called out, loud enough for others to hear.
Jack’s back stiffened momentarily, but he didn’t turn around.
Samuel’s comment confirmed my suspicion-he knew far too much about the relationships between Jack, Marcus, and me. He wasn’t just testing waters; he was deliberately stirring trouble.
The evening continued, with me moving between various groups. I raised my glass frequently, toasting to partnerships, prosperity, and other diplomatic platitudes.
Catherine caught my arm. "Don’t get drunk again," she warned, "I won’t take care of you if you pass out."
I laughed. "That won’t happen tonight."
Logan approached, concern in his eyes:
"Anna, you should drink less."
"Don’t worry," I replied, "I’ve improved my tolerance recently."
Only Rachel and I knew that my glass contained mostly water. The real alcohol only appeared when necessary for show.
Samuel materialized beside me again.
"Speaking of drinking," he announced, drawing the attention of nearby guests, "I wonder who was carried home unconscious just days ago, rescued by none other than Mr. Murphy himself."
The room didn’t fall completely silent, but I could feel the shift in attention, whispers mentioning my name. I saw Jack gripping his glass so tightly it might shatter.
Damn it. Samuel was deliberately bringing up Marcus, knowing exactly what this implied to everyone especially to Jack.
"Uncle Marcus happened to be at the bar when Mr. Griffin was testing my alcohol tolerance," I explained, "He took me home when I couldn’t drive.
My mother lectured me afterward, all thanks to you, Mr. Griffin."
Samuel’s smile remained unchanged:
"Ms. Shaw, I’m a man of my word.
Show enough sincerity, and our partnership agreement can be signed anytime."
I changed the subject: "Mr. Griffin, alcohol is harmful to health. Could we discuss our partnership some other way?"
"Drink! Drink!" The crowd began to chant. I recognized this ritual—a business gathering custom where alcohol served as both a social tool and a symbol of power. How many deals had been made or broken based on someone’s drinking capacity? I detested it, silently vowing to change this culture someday.
Samuel watched me expectantly, enjoying my predicament. The crowd grew louder. This was his test-how badly did I want the Skylake District project?
I signaled Rachel, who brought over a special bottle-one that looked like vodka but contained water.
"Mr. Griffin," I announced, "here’s the agreement. I’ll drink first as a show of goodwill, then you can decide whether to sign."
I unscrewed the cap and tilted my head back. The crowd cheered as I drank. Some water deliberately spilled, trickling down my neck, attracting male gazes.
Jack noticed these looks, his expression darkening. He suddenly came over and grabbed the bottle.
"Griffin, what kind of man picks on women?" he said, "I’ll drink in her place."
Before I could react, Jack had already started drinking. For a moment, confusion crossed his face-he realized it wasn’t alcohol-but he continued until he finished.
Rachel and I exchanged bewildered glances. Neither of us had anticipated this.
Pax stood nearby, looking uncomfortable. I could almost see his worry-how would he explain this to the Simpson family? His client defending his ex-wife at her party?
Jack slammed the empty bottle down, challenging Samuel with his eyes.
Samuel began to applaud, others following suit.
"Mr. Simpson’s feelings for Ms. Shaw run deep," Samuel remarked, his tone suggestive.
I felt the weight of every gaze in the room. Over the years, I’d developed thick skin—a necessary shield.
"Thank you, Mr. Simpson, for drinking on my behalf. You’re truly a good person," I said calmly.
Jack maintained silence, looking uncomfortable. Around us, laughter rippled through the crowd. I kept my expression neutral. In these gatherings, projecting strength was far more important than caring what anyone thought.
I turned to Samuel, meeting his gaze directly. "So, have I demonstrated my sincerity now that the drinks are finished?" Can this damn drinking game finally end?
Samuel nodded, his eyes flickering between Jack and me. "Yes. How could I not consider it sincere when Mr. Simpson was so eager to drink on your behalf?"
His insinuation infuriated me, but I maintained my smile. What a boundary-pushing bastard.
My dress, damp from spilled alcohol, clung uncomfortably to my skin. The fabric felt cold and sticky, making me desperate to leave.
"I need to freshen up in the restroom," I said, forcing a polite smile.
When the restroom door closed behind me, I finally sighed with relief. I examined the alcohol stains on my dress.
"Rachel, is there a spare outfit anywhere?" I asked, peeling the damp fabric away from my skin.
Rachel frowned, searching through the closet in the restroom. "I thought I brought one in... Maybe it’s still in the car?"
"Could you check? This is unbearable," I said.
Rachel nodded. "I’ll go get it. Sean is right outside."
Once she left, I decisively removed my wet dress and wrapped myself in a white towel. It was large enough to cover me from chest to thighs, much more comfortable than the sticky dress.
Just as I was contemplating my next move, a knock came at the door.
Finally. Rachel must have found the clothes.
I opened the door, only to freeze in place.
Jack stood in the doorway, his eyes widening as he registered my state of undress. I instinctively tightened my grip on the towel, suddenly aware of my near-nakedness.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice catching in my throat.
Jack’s POV
I pushed open the rest room door, expecting to find anyone but her. Anna stood there with nothing but a white towel wrapped around her body, her shoulders still damp in the light. The towel barely reached mid-thigh, exposing the legs.
My mouth went dry. The air between us crackled, and I felt my body responding in ways I couldn’t control.
"I..." The word stumbled out, and I realized I was *stuttering*. Jack Simpson, heir to one of Skyview City’s most powerful families, reduced to incoherence by the sight of his ex-wife in a towel.
Anna’s eyes widened, then narrowed.
Her hand tightened around the towel where it was tucked above her chest.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, backing up. "This is the women’s rest room! Get out!"
I struggled to remember why I’d come looking for her. The heat rising up my neck was unbearable.
"You need to leave. Now." She motioned toward the door, her face flushing with anger—or was it embarrassment?
"Annie, I need to talk to you. I-"
"Wait, what did you just call me?" She cut me off, her expression shifting to surprise.
"Annie," I repeated, the nickname feeling right on my tongue. A softness spread through my chest, reminding me of better times.
Her face hardened into disgust. "Stop it. Don’t you dare call me that."
The vehemence caught me off guard.
"Why not? Marcus calls you that all the time." The words came out before I could stop them, thick with jealousy.
"Jack Simpson, are you serious right now?" She laughed without warmth.
"You want to know why I don’t let you call me that? It’s simple. Only people who genuinely care about me get to call me that." She jabbed toward the door. "And you don’t qualify. Now get out."
The words stung. I took a deep breath, focusing on why I’d come looking for her.
"Anna, I didn’t come here to argue. I wanted to talk about the Skylake project. I’m hoping you can put aside your prejudice and consider a partnership."
"Not happening." Her refusal was immediate.
"Why are you being so stubborn? I’m trying to help you." I stepped further in, closing the door. "I know you want to keep that historic building. I promise I’ll help you preserve it."
Anna’s eyes flashed. "I don’t believe you. From our marriage to our divorce, I’ve learned one lesson: take control of your own destiny. Relying on others is pointless."
Her words hit hard. Had our failed marriage taught her to trust no one?
"Anna, don’t try to fight the Simpson family, you can’t!" Then I turned and left.
I tried to open the door and go out, but the handle wouldn’t turn.
I tried the handle myself. Nothing.
"It’s locked. From the outside."
Anna’s expression shifted from confusion to suspicion. "This is a first —being set up at my own party." Her eyes scanned me with calculation.
"Why did you come in here, Jack?"
"You’re suspecting me?" I stared at her, hurt by the accusation. "You think I planned this?"
"I’m suspicious of everyone right now."
Her tone was ice-cold. "Someone locked this door, and it’s too convenient that you’re trapped in here with me."
"Think logically," I argued. "How could this benefit me? Being discovered alone with you in the women’s rest room-with you dressed like that—would cause a scandal."
Anna’s eyes never left mine. "For you, maybe a mild embarrassment. For me?
My reputation would be destroyed.
Everyone would assume I was trying to reconcile with you." She paced, clutching her towel. "The timing is too perfect. Samuel Griffin is outside making insinuations about us, and suddenly we’re locked in here together?"
She had a point. Someone was playing games. But who?
"Let me call Pax. He can get us out discreetly." I reached for my phone, only to remember I’d left it with my assistant.
"Of course you don’t have your phone," she muttered, eyes searching for alternatives. Her gaze settled on the window, and I saw the decision form.
"No way," I said, reading her intention.
"That’s insane."
Anna was already moving toward the window, testing whether it would open. "Do you have a better idea?
Because I’m not waiting to be discovered here with you."
The window slid open. Anna peered outside, gauging the distance to the ground.
"You’re crazy," I said, stunned by her determination. "This is the third floor!"
"So what’s your solution?" She turned to face me, resolute. "If someone sees us in here alone, with me dressed like this, what do you think they’ll believe?
No matter what really happened, the gossip would be brutal."
"Anna, we were married once. What’s the big deal if we’re found together?" Even as I said it, I knew it was weak reasoning.
Her laugh was bitter. "Married? If we’d ever had a real marriage, that might be an argument. But the truth is, we never even..." She stopped herself.
"Never mind. Even if this is just a misunderstanding, I don’t want to be associated with you."
Her words hit me like a blow. I stood stunned. There was a time when I might have berated her for being so blunt, for not caring about appearances. Now I could only blame myself. I had her once and didn’t appreciate what I had. Now that I wanted her back, it was too late.
"I can’t let you do this," I said firmly.
"It’s too dangerous."
"I’m not asking for your permission," she replied, unwavering. "And I’m certainly not staying here to be discovered with you."
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