Hi Ex, Your Uncle Is My Hubby Now - Chapter 35: Chapter 35
You are reading Hi Ex, Your Uncle Is My Hubby Now, Chapter 35: Chapter 35. Read more chapters of Hi Ex, Your Uncle Is My Hubby Now.
Irene knew Anthony's instincts were spot on—but she had to stay in character, playing the devoted, lovestruck fool. So she smiled gently and said, "Anthony, I know you're just looking out for me.
"But I trust Dorian. He's not the kind of man to stray."
Anthony gave her a long, hard look. When it was clear she wasn't going to listen, he slammed his coffee cup down on the table with a loud clunk. "Fine! Don't say I didn't warn you. Just wait till you're crying your eyes out."
He grabbed his blazer and briefcase, ready to leave.
Irene caught his arm. "You're really not coming downstairs for a drink?"
"Drink my ass," Anthony snapped, storming off.
Watching him walk out, clearly pissed, Irene let out a helpless sigh.
She thought, 'Sorry, Anthony. I know you care.
'But until this whole charade is over, I have to stay in character—and keep the act together.'
She drove home to her apartment. When she saw a warm glow leaking from under the front door, her heart lifted.
'Grandma's back?'
She opened the door and spotted an old denim duffel bag by the entryway—one she recognized immediately. Ruth had used that thing for over ten years.
A wave of relief washed over her.
As she stepped inside, she called out, "Grandma? When did you get in? Why didn't you call me—I would've come to pick—"
Her words froze in her throat the moment she saw who was sitting on the sofa. Henry.
Her expression turned cold, her voice sharp and biting. "Well, well. Seems you've forgotten whose home this is, Mr. Jackson. You're a guest, but you've made yourself comfortable in the main seat while an elderly woman's stuck sitting on a decorative chair. Is this what passes for Jackson family manners?"
The apartment wasn't small—about 120 square yards—and Irene had designed every inch of it herself.
She'd opened up the study, blending it seamlessly with the living room.
The main seating area had only a two-seater sofa and an asymmetrical coffee table.
Next to it sat a whimsical turtle-shaped accent chair—she'd always liked turtles.
Now, the uninvited Henry was lounging casually on the main sofa, while Ruth was awkwardly perched on the turtle chair.
Anyone seeing this would've been furious.
Henry flushed with embarrassment.
He stood up stiffly and gestured to the sofa. "Mom, come sit here." He still couldn't bring himself to call her "Mom" out loud.
Ruth rose from the turtle seat, about to move, but Irene stepped forward and gently took her arm. "Grandma, go rest in your room."
Noticing the tension between them, Ruth hesitated. She was afraid father and daughter might come to blows. "Rini," she said gently, "your father told me everything that happened between you and your mother.
"Your mom was wrong, no doubt. But she's still your mother. It's fine to be angry, to punish her a little—but don't really send her to jail."
As he heard Ruth take his side, Henry's eyes lit up. He jumped in, "Exactly! Irene, even your grandma is asking you to be understanding. Can't you listen to her just this once and forgive your mother?"
"Forgive her?" Irene narrowed her eyes, instantly suspicious that Henry hadn't told Ruth the whole story.
She knew Ruth.
Ruth was a woman who couldn't tolerate even the smallest injustice. If she knew the truth, there's no way she'd be asking Irene to "let it go."
"Grandma, please go rest."
She gently but firmly led Ruth to her room, then returned to the living room and sat down squarely on the main sofa—her place.
Henry wasted no time. "It's been three, four days now. Don't you think it's time to let this go?
"Your mother's been stuck in that detention center for days. She looks terrible—lost so much weight.
"You've made your point. She knows she was wrong. Can't you just sign the settlement and get her released?"
He raised his right hand, as if making an oath. "I promise, on her behalf—nothing like this will ever happen again.
"And..."
He pulled a bank card from his suit pocket and slipped it into Irene's hand with a fawning smile.
"There's 1 million dollars on it. You know how it is—your mom handles business, I handle the household. We really can't scrape together much more."
But Irene's face remained calm, cold, and completely unmoved.
Inwardly, Henry cursed her—damn little brat—but out loud, he stayed composed. "I know 1 million dollars isn't much," he said smoothly, "but once your mom's out, I'll have her send you another 700 thousand dollars…"
"But I trust Dorian. He's not the kind of man to stray."
Anthony gave her a long, hard look. When it was clear she wasn't going to listen, he slammed his coffee cup down on the table with a loud clunk. "Fine! Don't say I didn't warn you. Just wait till you're crying your eyes out."
He grabbed his blazer and briefcase, ready to leave.
Irene caught his arm. "You're really not coming downstairs for a drink?"
"Drink my ass," Anthony snapped, storming off.
Watching him walk out, clearly pissed, Irene let out a helpless sigh.
She thought, 'Sorry, Anthony. I know you care.
'But until this whole charade is over, I have to stay in character—and keep the act together.'
She drove home to her apartment. When she saw a warm glow leaking from under the front door, her heart lifted.
'Grandma's back?'
She opened the door and spotted an old denim duffel bag by the entryway—one she recognized immediately. Ruth had used that thing for over ten years.
A wave of relief washed over her.
As she stepped inside, she called out, "Grandma? When did you get in? Why didn't you call me—I would've come to pick—"
Her words froze in her throat the moment she saw who was sitting on the sofa. Henry.
Her expression turned cold, her voice sharp and biting. "Well, well. Seems you've forgotten whose home this is, Mr. Jackson. You're a guest, but you've made yourself comfortable in the main seat while an elderly woman's stuck sitting on a decorative chair. Is this what passes for Jackson family manners?"
The apartment wasn't small—about 120 square yards—and Irene had designed every inch of it herself.
She'd opened up the study, blending it seamlessly with the living room.
The main seating area had only a two-seater sofa and an asymmetrical coffee table.
Next to it sat a whimsical turtle-shaped accent chair—she'd always liked turtles.
Now, the uninvited Henry was lounging casually on the main sofa, while Ruth was awkwardly perched on the turtle chair.
Anyone seeing this would've been furious.
Henry flushed with embarrassment.
He stood up stiffly and gestured to the sofa. "Mom, come sit here." He still couldn't bring himself to call her "Mom" out loud.
Ruth rose from the turtle seat, about to move, but Irene stepped forward and gently took her arm. "Grandma, go rest in your room."
Noticing the tension between them, Ruth hesitated. She was afraid father and daughter might come to blows. "Rini," she said gently, "your father told me everything that happened between you and your mother.
"Your mom was wrong, no doubt. But she's still your mother. It's fine to be angry, to punish her a little—but don't really send her to jail."
As he heard Ruth take his side, Henry's eyes lit up. He jumped in, "Exactly! Irene, even your grandma is asking you to be understanding. Can't you listen to her just this once and forgive your mother?"
"Forgive her?" Irene narrowed her eyes, instantly suspicious that Henry hadn't told Ruth the whole story.
She knew Ruth.
Ruth was a woman who couldn't tolerate even the smallest injustice. If she knew the truth, there's no way she'd be asking Irene to "let it go."
"Grandma, please go rest."
She gently but firmly led Ruth to her room, then returned to the living room and sat down squarely on the main sofa—her place.
Henry wasted no time. "It's been three, four days now. Don't you think it's time to let this go?
"Your mother's been stuck in that detention center for days. She looks terrible—lost so much weight.
"You've made your point. She knows she was wrong. Can't you just sign the settlement and get her released?"
He raised his right hand, as if making an oath. "I promise, on her behalf—nothing like this will ever happen again.
"And..."
He pulled a bank card from his suit pocket and slipped it into Irene's hand with a fawning smile.
"There's 1 million dollars on it. You know how it is—your mom handles business, I handle the household. We really can't scrape together much more."
But Irene's face remained calm, cold, and completely unmoved.
Inwardly, Henry cursed her—damn little brat—but out loud, he stayed composed. "I know 1 million dollars isn't much," he said smoothly, "but once your mom's out, I'll have her send you another 700 thousand dollars…"
End of Hi Ex, Your Uncle Is My Hubby Now Chapter 35. Continue reading Chapter 36 or return to Hi Ex, Your Uncle Is My Hubby Now book page.