Hi Ex, Your Uncle Is My Hubby Now - Chapter 61: Chapter 61

As Irene stepped out of the restroom, she spotted Dorian standing in the open-air garden, one hand casually tucked in his pocket, phone pressed to his ear.
As she walked closer, she caught part of the conversation. "Uncle Jeremy, Irene's coming home with me for dinner this Saturday. My dad wanted me to ask if you're free to join us."
There was a pause—whatever the response was, it clearly gave Dorian pause.
He ended the call and turned toward Irene, offering the update: "Uncle Jeremy's coming to dinner Saturday night."
Then, almost to himself, he added, "Kind of odd, though. He hasn't been to our place in ten years." He frowned slightly. "Why the sudden change of heart?"
The moment Irene heard that Jeremy would also be there, her heart skipped a beat. An absurd thought crept into her head. 'Could he be coming… because of me?'
The idea barely had time to take root before she mentally smacked it back down.
'Irene, seriously? Have some shame.'
She cleared her throat. "When I said goodbye to your uncle yesterday, he mentioned you accused him of being too distant with me.
"Maybe he's using this dinner to show his support—and give you some reassurance while he's at it.
"Think about it. If Uncle Jeremy takes a seat at the Barnes family dinner table, it sends a clear message: you're someone cherished by both the Barnes and Tucker families."
Dorian nodded, visibly moved. "Uncle Jeremy's the only elder who's ever truly looked out for me."
He remembered it vividly—he was eighteen, left for dead deep in the mountains. When they finally brought him back, he was delirious with fever and unconscious for days.
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Jeremy, standing right beside his bed.
Back then, Jeremy was only 23, but he'd looked Dorian straight in the eye and made a promise. "As long as I'm alive, I'll protect you."
And he'd kept that promise.
Under Jeremy's quiet but unwavering protection, Dorian had never faced danger again.
Friday afternoon, Valerie showed up at Irene's studio, a hiking backpack slung over one shoulder.
Irene was still wrapping up some work, so she waved her off. "Go entertain yourself. I'll be a bit."
Valerie, dead tired, wandered into the staff lounge next to the kitchenette and collapsed on the couch, fast asleep within seconds.
Meanwhile, Anthony walked in with a fresh Americano in hand. He spotted the sleeping figure on the couch and assumed it was the new intern.
He lightly tapped her on the head with a throw pillow. "Vickie, the sun's still up and you're already napping? Trying to age backwards with beauty sleep?"
No response.
His expression shifted. He raised his voice a notch. "Vickie, it's still work hours." Even the nicest boss wouldn't be thrilled to find a team member passed out during office hours.
Still nothing.
Annoyed now, Anthony reached out to shake her shoulder. "Write up your resignation letter. I—"
Before he could finish, Valerie on the couch suddenly flipped him over her shoulder in one clean, practiced move.
In the blink of an eye, he was the one flat on the couch, staring up in a daze while she hovered above him, pinning him down with ease.
He was dizzy. He'd nearly died at the hands of someone half his size.
Then came a cool, unfamiliar voice from above. "You're Anthony?"
Definitely not the intern.
Anthony blinked hard, trying to focus.
The woman looming over him wasn't Vickie at all—she was a total stranger. She looked like she was in her twenties, with long black hair streaked with silver highlights. She wore a fitted white tank top and black-grey cargo jeans.
Her makeup was bold and dramatic, almost theatrical, concealing her real features.
Anthony mentally filed her under oil-paint palette, his personal nickname for people with intense makeup aesthetics.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked, eyeing her warily. "One of Irene's friends?"
Valerie let out a yawn and flopped onto the couch next to them, grabbing Anthony's Americano like it was hers. She took one sip—and nearly died on the spot from the bitterness.