One Night Stand With My Ex's Uncle - Chapter 90: The Man Behind Room 3303

Chapter 90: The Man Behind Room 3303

Marcus’s POV

I stared at my phone beneath the polished conference table, reading Anna’s message for the tenth time: “It’s fine.” Two simple words that twisted in my gut like a knife. The dismissive finality of her response to my rejection of continuing our arrangement left me uncharacteristically unsettled.

In the gleaming conference room, twenty executives waited for my reaction to the presentation. I forced my attention back to the spreadsheets displayed on the wall-to-wall screen, my expression betraying nothing of the storm brewing inside me.

Who was I to Anna Shaw? In public,

“Uncle Marcus” – the family friend, the respected elder. In private, a nameless lover she knew only by a hotel room number. If I lost both versions of myself in her eyes, what would remain?

My finger hovered over the screen.

_Tomorrow night?_ I typed, then hesitated. Was I being pathetic?

Desperate? I deleted the message, then typed it again.

“Mr. Murphy?” The analyst’s voice faltered.

“Continue,” I commanded, my tone leaving no room for questions.

I pressed send before I could reconsider, then set the phone face down, determined to ignore it for at least five minutes. My heart pounded against my ribcage like a teenager’s, not befitting a man who controlled a global financial empire.

Three excruciating minutes passed before my phone vibrated softly against the table.

One word: “Yes.”

Something unfamiliar expanded in my chest – relief mixed with anticipation. I allowed myself exactly two seconds to savor it before shutting down all visible emotion.

“That’s all for today. Peter, come with me.” I stood abruptly, ending the meeting thirty minutes early. The executives exchanged confused glances but knew better than to question my decision.

“Sir?” Peter Reed fell into step beside me as we strode through the corridors. “Is everything alright?”

“Book the jet. We’re returning to Skyview City tonight.”

“Tonight?” Peter’s eyebrows shot up.

“But the meeting-”

“Reschedule it.” My tone brooked no argument.

– – –

Skyview City materialized below as our private jet began its descent.

Would Anna continue our arrangement if she discovered the man from room 3303 was actually “Uncle Marcus? The thought sent cold dread through my veins.

At precisely 8:45 PM, fifteen minutes before our appointed time, I entered the familiar hotel suite.

I paced the room, something I never did in any other context. My usual iron self-control seemed to evaporate whenever Anna was concerned. At 9:02, a soft knock echoed through the room.

When our bodies met, I touched her with uncharacteristic gentleness, tracing patterns across her skin as if memorizing a map I feared losing access to. My fingertips lingered at her collarbone, her wrists, the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder.

Her responsiveness fueled something primal within me, yet I tempered my usual intensity with a tenderness that surprised even myself.

“What’s this?” Her fingers brushed against the raised scar on my forearm, her touch feather-light.

“A scar,” I answered, voice deliberately neutral.

“You were injured?” Concern laced her voice, sending an unexpected warmth through my chest.

Instead of answering, I captured her lips with mine, diverting her attention from questions I wasn’t prepared to answer. Some secrets were better left buried, especially the ones that might reveal too much of myself to her.

Anna’s POV

I woke to sunlight streaming through the half-drawn curtains, my body pleasantly sore in ways that brought last night rushing back. Blinking away sleep, I realized the other side of the bed was empty. Again.

The suite had been meticulously cleaned—no evidence remained of our encounter except for the marks scattered across my skin. I sat up, wincing slightly as I surveyed the damage. Purple bruises bloomed along my collarbone and inner thighs.

I pulled open the bedside drawer, counting the remaining condoms. Four missing. The realization sent heat rushing to my face.

“At least someone’s thorough,” I muttered, unable to decide if this arrangement left me satisfied or hollow. Our physical connection was undeniable, but the emotional distance he maintained-disappearing before I woke, never showing his face in daylight-created a peculiar ache I refused to examine too closely.

—

The historical building in Skylake District looked better than I’d

expected. Sunlight glinted off the fresh copper on the Victorian-era roof, replacing what generations of rain had corroded. The structure stood proud against the winter sky, like it had weathered the past century just to reach this moment of renewal.

“The interior framing should be completed by March,” I told Sean, who was taking detailed notes beside me. “I want Mother and Grandmother to visit during summer vacation. Make sure the master suite on the ground floor is prioritized.”

I pictured Grandmother Margaret enjoying tea on the wraparound porch, Mother Elizabeth tending to heritage roses in the garden. This place would offer them peace away from Skyview City’s relentless social obligations. The thought warmed me against the chill.

“Holy shit!” Catherine exclaimed, her eyes widening as I removed my scarf in her new apartment. “What happened to your neck?”

Her luxurious new home-Marcus’s gift-sparkled with contemporary elegance. Floor-to-ceiling windows captured the Financial District skyline, while minimalist furniture in cream and charcoal created a sophisticated backdrop for the art being installed.

“Keep your voice down,” I hissed, hastily rewrapping the scarf. The workers hanging her new paintings pretended not to hear.

Catherine dragged me into her bedroom, shutting the door before her curiosity exploded. “You look like you were mauled by a tiger. Last night must have been… intense.”

“It was fine,” I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant while heat crept up my neck.

She leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Still the same guy?

That 3303 mystery man?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “Easier that way.

Less complicated.”

_Less complicated than what?_ The unasked question lingered between us.

“So my uncle really has no chance?”

Catherine’s expression fell slightly.

Anna’s POV

My spine stiffened instantly. “I’d rather not discuss Marcus Murphy.” The mention of his name felt like salt in a wound that refused to heal. After his rejection in Europe, I’d locked away any lingering feelings, determined never to be that vulnerable again.

Catherine quickly drew an X over her lips. “Sorry! Forget I said anything.

Whatever makes you happy.”

Her easy retreat told me she understood she’d crossed a line, though I caught the wistfulness in her eyes. She still harbored foolish fantasies about her uncle and me.

—

Over lunch in Catherine’s gleaming kitchen, she casually dropped a bombshell.

“Did you hear Lucy Taylor’s staying with the Simpsons? They invited her for Christmas, but she’s still there.”

I sipped my vegetable soup, keeping my expression neutral despite the strange twist in my stomach. My marriage to Jack felt like another lifetime-a Chapter closed and bound.

“Good for Jack,” I replied evenly.

“Mary always wanted her for a daughter-in-law. I hope she’s happy now.”

Catherine snorted. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen the drama. George Simpson is furious-he wants someone from the right social circle for Jack.

They even dragged Grandpa William into it, begging him to intervene.”

The image of William Murphy being pestered with Simpson family drama made me smile despite myself.

“What did William do?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Kicked them out!” Catherine laughed.

“Told Mary not to come crying to her family about Simpson problems. It was glorious.”

“Mary’s certainly devoted to Lucy,” I observed dryly, remembering how my former mother-in-law had constantly undermined me while promoting Lucy at every turn.

Catherine’s eyes gleamed with insight.

“She needs someone she can control.

You were too independent, too strong-willed. Lucy will bend to her every whim.”

I nodded slowly, finding peace in that truth where once there had been only pain.

—

The charity gala glittered with Skyview City’s elite, all gathered to support the Children’s Hospital expansion. I was discussing donation strategies with a hospital board member when I spotted them-Mary Simpson and Lucy Taylor, entering arm-in-arm.

Lucy had changed. Gone was the aggressive confidence that had once defined her. She seemed smaller somehow, more cautious, her eyes constantly darting to Mary for approval. When she noticed me, she merely nodded slightly before averting her gaze.

I maintained my distance, refusing to let old history disturb the event’s purpose. Whatever game Lucy and the Simpsons were playing, I wanted no part in it. My life had moved beyond their petty machinations.

– – –

The morning of the Skylake District auction arrived with crystalline clarity.

Rachel had my car detailed to perfection the previous day, the silver paint gleaming like liquid mercury under the winter sun.

I adjusted my sunglasses, checking my reflection one last time. This auction represented everything I’d worked for —my vision for Shaw Corp’s future, my promise to my father’s legacy.

“Ready, Ms. Shaw?” Sean asked, portfolio tucked under his arm.

I nodded, a calm determination settling over me. “It’s time.”

Samuel’s POV

The Grand Ballroom hotel pulsed with quiet power. Crystal chandeliers cast honeyed light across America’s business elite, their murmured conversations forming a symphony of ambition and calculation.

“Is Anna here yet?” Catherine

Murphy’s voice cut through the ambient chatter. She stood beside her father Phillip, elegant in a dress that complemented her commanding presence, eyes scanning the crowd.

“She just texted that she’s on her way.

Should be here any minute,” I replied with practiced nonchalance, though a part of me tensed with anticipation.

This auction would cement our partnership.

I guided Nora through the crowd, my steps purposeful as I approached the various power players. The Skylake District auction had drawn them all like sharks to blood in the water.

Everyone wanted a piece of what Anna Shaw had fought so hard to secure.

“Mr. Murphy, pleasure to see you,” I extended my hand to Phillip Murphy, whose firm handshake spoke of generations of wealth and influence.

“Mr. Simpson, Mr. Simpson, it’s been too long.” I greeted both George and Jack with identical smiles while mentally cataloging the subtle tension between father and son. Useful information for later, perhaps.

When I reached Sawyer Walker, I maintained my pleasant expression despite the chill that settled between us. “Mr. Walker, good to see you.”

He stared at my outstretched hand with undisguised contempt, deliberately leaving me hanging as nearby conversations hushed. My palm burned with the public slight, but I kept my smile fixed, refusing to let him see me flinch.

Joseph Walker quickly intercepted, grasping my hand firmly. “Samuel!

When are you going to come by the Olympus Club? I’d love to buy you a drink.”

I caught Nora’s eye and deliberately misconstrued the invitation. “Joseph, you’re going to get me in trouble! Not appropriate to talk about that kind of establishment in front of the ladies.

Nora might get the wrong idea.” My tone remained light, but the barb was aimed squarely at Sawyer.

Nora’s fingers dug into my forearm. “I see some friends over there. Let me introduce you,” she murmured, her voice tight with anxiety. I followed her gaze to find Sawyer’s eyes fixed on her with an intensity.

Instead of retreating, I pulled her closer. “My dear Nora is always so thoughtful, isn’t she? So attentive.” I turned deliberately toward Sawyer, my smile sharpening. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Walker?”

Sawyer’s eyes flashed like struck flint.

He gave Nora a dismissive once-over before saying loudly enough for nearby guests to hear: “Miss Price certainly maintains professional standards. Quite the dedicated companion. How much does she cost per month, Mr. Griffin? I’ll double it if you’ll let me borrow her services.”

The surrounding conversations stuttered to silence. Nora went rigid beside me, her face draining of color as if she’d been physically struck.

I swallowed my rage and smoothly slipped my arm around her shoulders, both comforting her and making a clear statement about our relationship.

“That’s rather presumptuous, Mr. Walker. Nora is my companion, not a commodity to be traded. Even if you admire her, there are more gentlemanly ways to express it.”

I kept my tone conversational but allowed steel to enter my voice.

“Besides, Nora is a person, not an object. Your suggestion is incredibly disrespectful.”

Then I turned to Nora with exaggerated surprise, deliberately loud enough for others to hear: “Wait, this is your ex-boyfriend? Now I understand why things didn’t work out. Character clearly wasn’t his strong suit.” I tightened my embrace around her trembling shoulders, hoping to offer some protection from this public humiliation.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by AiKurou