One Night Stand With My Ex's Uncle

Chapter 49: Grace Under Fire

Anna’s POV

"Logan?" I gaped in shock, momentarily forgetting how to respond. My brain short-circuited as I stared at the man across the table.

"How the hell is it you?"

Logan chuckled, his eyes wandering over my severe business attire, tight bun, and black-framed glasses. His lips twitched. "Dressed like that? Clearly trying to sabotage the date before it even started, huh?"

Heat crawled up my neck as I yanked off the unnecessary glasses. "My mom said I’d be meeting someone I already knew, but I never imagined it would be you." My fingers fidgeted with the temple of the glasses. "I just... I’m focusing on my career right now, not relationships. Hence the tactical fashion choice."

After ordering our meals, curiosity got the better of me. "Did Doris tell you I was your blind date?"

Logan’s smile widened as he poured water into my glass. "Not explicitly.

She just said she was setting me up with someone I already knew, and I figured it out from there." He shrugged with exaggerated helplessness. "Given my mother’s standards, how many women in Skyview City would she actually approve of as potential daughters-in-law?"

"If you knew it was me, why did you still come?" I asked, increasingly confused.

Logan’s eyes softened as they met mine. "Consider it making the parents happy. Besides, I needed to talk to you anyway, so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone and buy you dinner."

I couldn’t help but laugh. "I’m here for the exact same reason-keeping my mother happy. If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have been so nervous."

"Why’s that?" Logan raised an eyebrow.

The absurdity of the situation hit me all at once, and I burst into genuine laughter. "Because going on a date with you feels like... I don’t know, dating my brother or something? I’ve always seen you as an older brother.

I’d feel the same if I walked in and found Oscar sitting here instead."

Logan laughed with me, the tension between us evaporating. It felt good to just be ourselves again, without the awkward pretense of romantic possibility hanging over us.

His expression suddenly turned serious, the laughter fading from his eyes. "I heard Samuel Griffin met with George Simpson."

My stomach tightened into a knot.

"Have you heard anything specific?"

Logan shook his head, his jaw set in a grim line. "No concrete details yet, but I’m concerned they might join forces." He leaned forward, his voice dropping.

"Anna, you need to prepare yourself.

You’ve seen what Samuel is capable of, and if he aligns with the Simpson family, I’m worried about your safety.

If necessary, that historic building might need to be—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Your father, if he were here, wouldn’t want to see you hurt because of it."

A wave of warmth rushed through me at his concern. "Thank you, Logan. I appreciate the warning." But even as I said the words, I knew I had no real options. My only hope was that Samuel and the Simpsons would end up fighting each other, creating a space for me to maneuver.

"Griffin is dangerous," Logan continued, swirling the water in his glass. "He didn’t become Heritage Group’s heir by being soft."

I nodded, absorbing his words. "If Heritage and Simpson Group combine their resources against Shaw Corp..." I didn’t need to finish the thought. We both knew what that meant.

"Just be careful," Logan said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand briefly. "I don’t want to see you get hurt."

When I returned to Shaw Estate, my mother was waiting, practically hovering by the entrance with barely concealed anticipation.

"So?" she asked, attempting and failing to sound casual. "How was dinner?"

I brushed past her, heading for the kitchen. "Enlightening."

She followed me, her steps quick and nervous. "Look, it was all Doris’s idea.

She said both her sons are available— if you don’t like Logan, there’s always Oscar."

I simply hummed noncommittally, filling a glass with water.

Mom pressed on, the words tumbling out faster. "Your grandmother and I both think the Porter boys would be perfect for you. We’ve watched them grow up alongside you. They’re accomplished, talented, good-hearted — truly worthy matches. And since you’re already so familiar with their family, and Doris adores you, there wouldn’t be any of those nasty mother-in-law problems."

I nodded slowly. "That’s quite the sales pitch. Very thorough."

Mom’s face brightened instantly. "So you like Logan?"

I continued my humming. "Oh, I’ve always liked Logan. I’ve respected him like an older brother since childhood."

Her face fell dramatically. "You terrible girl! I knew this would happen." She threw her hands up in exasperation.

"If you won’t even consider Logan Porter, who *would* you consider?

Marcus Murphy?"

"Pffft!" Water sprayed from my mouth as I choked in shock. My eyes widened in horror. "Mom! Do you even hear what you’re saying?"

My mother seemed equally startled by her own words. "Good heavens, what am I saying?" She pressed her fingers to her lips, looking genuinely aghast.

"I’m just concerned about you," she recovered quickly, patting my arm.

"You’ve been through so much, and I want to see you happy."

I kissed her cheek, promising nothing.

A week later, my wounds had improved but were still visible. The upcoming gala demanded my presence —and my absolute best appearance. I couldn’t afford to look vulnerable, not with so many sharks circling.

I stood before my closet, contemplating my options. Finally, I selected a black knit dress with a strategic design that concealed my right shoulder and arm injuries while still highlighting my figure. The high neckline was elegant without being prudish, and the skirt hugged my hips before flaring out slightly at mid-calf.

I swept my hair into an intricate updo, exposing the graceful line of my neck, and added large pearl earrings and a matching ring-the stark contrast of white against black creating a dramatic effect.

When Rachel entered my room to remind me about the time, she stopped in her tracks, her usual professional demeanor momentarily slipping. "Ms. Shaw, you look... stunning."

I checked my reflection one final time, satisfied with what I saw.

"Let’s go," I said, gathering my clutch.

"We don’t want to be late."

The moment I entered the ballroom, I felt the shift-conversations pausing mid-sentence, heads turning, eyes locking onto me. I kept my chin up, my posture flawless, my expression a carefully calibrated blend of confidence and approachability.

I spotted Catherine across the room, deep in conversation with some celebrity I vaguely recognized. She caught my eye and waved enthusiastically, obviously planning to make her way over at the first opportunity.

But then I saw him-Samuel Griffin, standing by the champagne fountain, one arm draped possessively around Nora’s waist. My stomach tightened at the sight, but I forced myself to look away before he noticed me staring.

Too late. Just as I turned, his gaze found mine across the crowded room.

Anna’s POV

He had noticed me, and that look in his eyes sent a cold chill down my spine. I watched as he whispered something in Nora’s ear before making his way toward me.

"Ms. Shaw, it’s been a while," Samuel said as he approached. His posture was relaxed, confident-the stance of a predator who believed he had his prey cornered.

I forced my lips into a polite smile.

"Mr. Griffin, you’re still in Skyview City. Your business must be going well." My tone remained light, but I kept my guard firmly up.

Samuel raised his champagne flute, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "When Samuel Griffin sets his mind to something, failure is not an option." The threat behind his words hung in the air between us, unmistakable yet impossible to directly call out.

I simply smiled in response, taking a sip of my own champagne. There was no need to escalate things in the middle of a charity gala. Besides, antagonizing him openly would only give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under my skin.

And then I saw her-Jasmine Butler, the forty-something investment mogul whose career I’d followed since my college days. She stood near one of the fundraising displays, sipping a martini while observing the crowd with keen eyes.

"If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Griffin, " I said, already moving past him, "there’s someone I need to speak with."

I didn’t wait for his response, striding purposefully toward Jasmine. Here was a woman who had started with nothing, raised a child as a single mother, and built an empire of five successful investment firms. If I needed a role model in this male- dominated industry, she was it.

"Ms. Butler," I greeted her with genuine warmth, extending my hand.

"I’m Anna Shaw. It’s such an honor to meet you."

Jasmine’s handshake was firm, her smile reaching her eyes as she assessed me. "The pleasure is mine, Ms. Shaw.

I’ve heard impressive things about you."

"All good, I hope," I replied, feeling a girlish nervousness I hadn’t experienced in years.

"Ms. Shaw, you began managing your family business at eighteen? That’s truly impressive," Jasmine said, studying me with interest.

I shifted slightly, not wanting to dive into my family history during our first meeting. "Yes, circumstances were... complicated back then." The understanding in her eyes made me relax a little. "But honestly, I admire you more, Ms. Butler. Building five investment firms on your own-you’re my role model."

Her laugh was warm and genuine. "I had my share of sleepless nights and disaster meetings. The glamorous part only comes after you’ve survived the struggles."

We fell into an easy conversation about business strategies and market trends.

For the first time that evening, I felt truly engaged rather than merely performing the social dance required of me. Jasmine’s insights were sharp, her advice practical, and I found myself absorbing every word.

Then I heard it-the unmistakable sound of mocking laughter just behind me, followed by a voice that was deliberately pitched to carry.

"Shaw Corp is such a major company, yet they only donated $100,000? How stingy."

My spine stiffened. I didn’t need to turn around to know who was behind this performance.

"Lucy, your future father-in-law is so generous," another voice chimed in.

"When that Hope Elementary School is built, those children will have Jack’s father to thank."

My throat tightened. Being publicly humiliated like this stung, especially in front of someone I admired. I caught Jasmine’s eye and saw her watching the scene unfold with interest.

"Please don’t say that," Lucy’s saccharine voice dripped with false modesty. "Mr. Simpson does charity without expecting anything in return.

Besides, he’s not my father-in-law yet.

Stop saying that or I’ll get upset."

*God, could she be more obvious?* I wanted to roll my eyes at her transparent performance. Lucy had perfected the art of attacking while appearing to defend.

"And don’t talk about Anna like that," she continued, her voice a masterpiece of insincere concern. "Whether someone donates a lot or a little, it’s the thought that counts."

I mentally snorted. *The thought that counts?* This woman was getting better at her backhanded compliments.

As expected, her friends immediately seized the opening she’d provided.

"It is the thought that counts-just seems like Anna Shaw doesn’t have much thought for those children in the mountains," one of them said, barely suppressing a giggle.

"Exactly," another chimed in. "Even the Turner family, who aren’t as wealthy as the Shaws, donated $100,000. And the Porters, who are close to the Shaw family, donated $300,000."

I took a deep breath, forcing my shoulders to relax. Turning to Jasmine, I decided to be straightforward. "Cash flow has been tight lately," I admitted.

"Sorry you had to witness that, Ms. Butler."

Jasmine waved her hand dismissively, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

"What’s there to be sorry about? Every businessperson goes through cash crunches. I once attended charity events without donating a cent. I was so broke I could barely make payroll.

If I hadn’t finally turned things around, who knows what I’d be doing now. Don’t feel embarrassed."

Her candor was refreshing, washing away my discomfort in an instant. "I’m not embarrassed, really. I was just worried you might think poorly of me.

Ms. Butler, I’d love to learn from you –I wouldn’t want you thinking I’m stingy."

"Stingy?" She chuckled. "That’s not the word that comes to mind when I hear your name. ’Resilient’ is more like it."

Just as I was about to respond, Catherine’s voice cut through the air like a whip crack.

"Some people never learn. Lucy Taylor, didn’t that slap hurt enough last time? noveldrama

Why are you here putting down Anna Shaw? Is your name on the donation list?" She stalked toward Lucy’s little group, her eyes blazing. "Lucy, how much did you donate anyway?"