Chapter 262

Chapter 262
Jack’s POV
The cold air bit through my coat as I stood at the entrance, an exquisitely wrapped bottle of Macallan 25 clutched in my gloved hand. The murmur of voices drifted from the courtyard, punctuated by occasional laughter that sounded more calculated than genuine. Another family gathering, another performance. My shoulders tensed at the thought of navigating the inevitable undercurrents.

I handed the bottle to the waiting butler, offering him the practiced smile I'd perfected over years of these obligatory visits. "For Andre and Cynthia. Please see that they receive it."

The butler nodded with silent efficiency, disappearing into the sprawling mansion. I lingered a moment longer, gathering my resolve. The Simpson family name carried far less weight these days, especially with my father bedridden. Every interaction would be a chess move, every conversation a potential minefield.

I spotted Cynthia and Donna huddled near the decorative fountain, their heads bent close in conspiratorial whispers. Their conversation stopped abruptly when they noticed my approach.

"Ladies," I greeted, deliberately casual. "You seem to be enjoying yourselves. What's the hot topic tonight?"

Donna's face soured instantly, her smile vanishing like morning mist in summer heat. Whatever they'd been discussing, they definitely hadn't intended for me to hear it.

Cynthia recovered first, her social polish instantly kicking in. "Jack! We weren't expecting you so early. Where's Mary? Isn't she joining us tonight?"

"Mother sends her regrets," I replied smoothly. "She's feeling under the weather. Asked me to convey her best wishes to you and Andre."

"Such a shame," Cynthia murmured, not sounding particularly disappointed. "Please tell her we missed her presence."

Donna's eyes narrowed, her fingers fidgeting with her diamond bracelet. "Jack, how is George doing? This holiday season has been so busy, I haven't had a chance to visit him at the hospital."

Of course you haven't. The mental eye-roll nearly gave me a headache. "Father's condition has stabilized. He's still receiving treatment, though his recovery timeline remains... uncertain."

My throat tightened thinking about my father. The stroke had left him a shell of his former self—the once-powerful George Simpson now reduced to slurred speech and partial paralysis. The doctors remained noncommittal about his prospects.

"Such a shame," Donna repeated, her voice dripping with false concern. "Your father isn't even that old. If he hadn't gotten so upset at that auction, perhaps this wouldn't have happened."

She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "We're just the second and third branches, so perhaps it's not our place to say, but it seems unfair that William and Marcus would keep you in the dark. Family should help family, shouldn't they?"

Christ, she's transparent. Her clumsy attempt to drive a wedge between the Simpson family and Murphy's first branch was almost amusing in its predictability.

I turned to Cynthia. "So Andre wasn't informed either? That's interesting."

Cynthia's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, Andre doesn't concern himself with such matters. He has his political pursuits. Marcus was extremely careful—the entire Skyview City has been preparing for his return."

She sighed dramatically, patting my arm with practiced sympathy. "Jack, dear, if things hadn't gone so poorly between you and Anna, I'm sure Marcus would have included Simpson Group in these opportunities."

A cold laugh nearly escaped my lips. I knew damn well why Marcus had excluded us from the Nestling Crest Bay project. It had nothing to do with my failed marriage and everything to do with revenge. My father had collaborated with Doyle to kidnap Murphy's newborn son and spirit him overseas. Dad had escaped prosecution only because he'd stayed in America. Otherwise, he'd have ended up like Doyle—dead in a ditch somewhere.

"Donna," I said, "if you're so interested in these opportunities, why not speak directly with Marcus? Perhaps he'll throw a profitable bone your way if you ask nicely."

Without waiting for her response, I strode into the house, my patience thoroughly exhausted. These family machinations were becoming increasingly tiresome.

Anna's POV
I felt Donna Murphy's eyes boring into my back as I was led to my seat. Her deliberate avoidance since our earlier confrontation didn't surprise me. What did surprise me was Cynthia Murphy strategically placing me next to her niece, Melissa Dixon, whose stiff posture and tight smile screamed reluctance.

"Our Melissa just finished her master's degree," Cynthia announced, pride dripping from her voice. "She's already leading a development team at a top tech firm. So accomplished."

I smiled politely while sensing Melissa's complete disinterest in engaging with me. Cynthia's persistent glances between us were becoming increasingly obvious. What game was she playing?

Turning to Layla beside me, I gratefully seized a chance to escape the awkward silence. "Your chef is exceptional, Cynthia. Everything looks exquisite."

Layla nodded appreciatively. "The soup is particularly delicious."

Our conversation drifted naturally to Simon's education, and I found myself genuinely invested. "If Simon wants to pursue higher education, I think that's wonderful. There's such value in advanced degrees, and you and Phillip are still young."

Pride bloomed across Layla's face—the universal response of a mother hearing her child praised. "Catherine said the same thing. We probably can't refuse him anyway. He's determined to continue his studies."

When I excused myself to use the restroom, I froze mid-step at the top of the stairs. Melissa had cornered Jack in the hallway, her body language unmistakable as she leaned toward him, one hand resting on his arm. I quickly retreated.

So that's it. Her coldness suddenly made sense. She had feelings for Jack and saw me as competition, despite my relationship with Marcus. But this realization only deepened my confusion—if Melissa was interested in Jack, why was Cynthia so insistent on pushing her toward me?

The contradiction left me uneasy as I made my way back downstairs.

By early evening, I'd decided to leave. When I announced my departure, Cynthia's smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Marcus will be spending more time stateside now, so we'll have plenty of opportunities to get together," she said, her voice honey-sweet. "Before you go, you must visit my greenhouse. Since I'm not a career woman like you, gardening is my humble hobby. Please select a plant to take home."

Her backhanded compliment stung, but I maintained my composure. At the greenhouse entrance, Cynthia's phone rang. She checked the screen and frowned.

"I need to take this. Please, go in and choose whatever you like. Nothing particularly valuable, but I hope you'll find something acceptable."

I forced a gracious smile. "I'm sure everything is lovely. Go ahead with your call."

The greenhouse was impressive despite Cynthia's dismissive comments—a two-story glass structure filled with perfectly maintained plants. Rows of exotic flowers lined the walkways, and hanging baskets cascaded from the ceiling. I'd just selected a delicate orchid when I heard the distinctive click of the door shutting behind me.

My body tensed instantly, the temperature in the room suddenly feeling ten degrees colder. I set down the plant, my expression darkening as I scanned my surroundings.

"So this is the main event of today's ambush?" I muttered, anger rising in my chest.

Spotting golf clubs in a corner, I quickly grabbed one, the metal cold against my palm. My heartbeat accelerated as I moved cautiously toward the sound, muscles taut and ready.

A figure emerged from behind a large fern, and my jaw dropped in shock.

"You?" I gasped.