Hi Ex, Your Uncle Is My Hubby Now - Chapter 30: Chapter 30

Anthony's chewing slowed. He looked out the window at the taller office tower across the street, his voice laced with quiet bitterness. "I'm the worst kind. The kind that doesn't even deserve to be loved."
Irene looked at him thoughtfully, as if seeing him in a new light.
Everyone had their own story. Maybe Anthony had once let down that girl—Jaycee.
By the time he realized what he'd lost, she was already gone.
People really were pathetic like that.
Not just men—she was no exception. Irene knew she was just as much of a fool.
"Your grandma's waffles are amazing," Anthony said shamelessly. "I want more tomorrow."
"Nope. She went back already."
"Just like that? Couldn't she stay a few more days?"
"She'll be back tomorrow night," Irene said, lips curving into a soft smile. "But this time, she's staying for good."
"That's great." Anthony cleaned up his lunch container, then shifted gears instantly. "There's this young billionaire—rich to the point of delirium—who wants someone to design a house for his socially anxious crush."
"You're full of crazy ideas. Let's give it a shot," Irene said, intrigued.
She grabbed her things and followed him out.
Anthony drove them to one of the oldest five-star hotels in Eldraeth City. They were greeted by a middle-aged man, likely the assistant to the mystery billionaire.
Given how lucrative the job was, plenty of design studios had shown up to compete. Irene recognized more than a few familiar faces.
While Anthony signed them up, Irene ducked into the restroom to fix her makeup.
On her way back, she passed the elevator lobby—and stopped dead. That same assistant was standing there, head respectfully bowed, escorting a young man into the VIP elevator.
The moment Irene saw the man's face, her heart lurched.
She picked up her pace, rushed back to the main hall, and grabbed Anthony's arm. "Guess who the money-burning mystery client is!"
"No idea," Anthony said. "Who?"
"Charles Webb."
Anthony had never met him, but he definitely knew the name. Everyone did.
The Webb family was a legal dynasty.
Their firm—Goldee Legal Services—was one of the most powerful third-party legal outfits in global finance. The ultra-wealthy across multiple countries scrambled to hire them for protection and discretion.
Word was, Goldee Legal Services didn't just deal in legal work. They handled high-end pawning, private security contracts—even bespoke assignments for the elite.
And Charles? He was the heir to it all.
The more Anthony thought about the Webb family's reach, the more confused he became. 'I don't even know Charles—so how does Irene?' he thought.
"I have to get this job," Irene said, voice low but firm.
In her previous life, it had been Charles who showed up at Jeremy's funeral and publicly read out his will.
That document carried Goldee Legal Services' official seal, the Tucker family crest, and Jeremy's personal stamp. It couldn't have been faked.
Irene had her own plans—she wanted to make a deal with Charles. Which meant this job wasn't optional—it was essential.
Anthony didn't question her. He believed in her talent, though he also knew there was always someone out there better. Still, he smiled and encouraged her. "You got this. If you land this client, your year-end bonus is a sports car."
Irene shook her head immediately. "Forget the car. I want cash."
"You little money gremlin."
They were still playfully bickering when the assistant returned, holding a stack of business cards.
He handed one to each contestant and said, "Please submit your design proposals to the email listed here within the next three days. We'll respond within five business days."
Irene glanced at the card. The name on it wasn't Charles—it was Devin Crawford, the assistant.
Below that, just an email address.
All these firms had traveled here, put in the time and effort, and they didn't even get to meet the client. Naturally, some were annoyed at the high-handed attitude.
Nearby, a young newcomer muttered under his breath, "No royal blood, but acting like he's the damn emperor."
Irene almost laughed. She wanted to tell him—Charles really did come pretty close.