Hi Ex, Your Uncle Is My Hubby Now - Chapter 64: Chapter 64

And since her life was going to be short and tragic anyway, she figured—might as well try a man before she died.
If she was going down, she'd go down as a certified man-eater.
Irene was tipsy herself, her mind a little foggy. She pressed down on Valerie's shoulder, leaned their foreheads together, and mumbled, "Ye–yeah... male models sound great."
"You wait—I'll call Melody right now and get you someone clean!" Melody was the queen of the nightlife scene. No one had better connections.
The two of them staggered over to the stairs and sat down, propped against each other like drunks in a buddy movie.
Irene pulled out her phone, squinting at the screen through the alcohol haze.
The words were swimming; she could barely make out the contacts.
Melody's avatar was a yellow cat, if she remembered right.
She scrolled until she saw something vaguely yellow, didn't think twice, and hit the voice record button.
Voice Message: "Melody, got any clean, top-tier male models? Gotta be 6'2", packing heat, good-looking and good in bed. Money's not a problem—we're booking overnight."
She paused, then sent another. Voice Message: "Uh... preferably someone gentle and experienced. My friend's a first-timer. No hands-on experience yet."
Watching her seriously shop for a male escort on her behalf, Valerie was both amused and touched. She slumped into Irene's arms and sniffled, "That's a real friend... we share everything—even the good stuff."
Just then, Irene's phone buzzed. "It's vibrating. Melody replied," she said, reaching to unlock the screen.
Before she could, the phone gave one final rumble and shut down—battery dead. Irene shoved the phone back in her pocket with a pout. "Great. Phone's dead. No more male models."
What she didn't realize... was that the voice messages hadn't gone to Melody at all. They'd gone to Jeremy.
His profile picture wasn't a cat. It was a sunflower.
"It's fine... I've got you," Valerie murmured, gazing at Irene with bleary eyes.
And then the tears started falling.
She buried her face in Irene's arms, gripping her shirt like a lifeline. Her voice broke as she whispered, "Rini, I wish we could stay like this—laughing, messing around—for the rest of our lives."
She could feel the walls closing in.
Her undercover mission was getting riskier by the day, and the sense of looming death pressed heavy on her chest.
She didn't have much left in this world. No family, no attachments.
Only Irene.
Trying to steer the mood somewhere lighter, Irene said, "You're drunk, Valerie. Come on—I'll stay with you tonight." She half-carried Valerie to a nearby hotel and booked a room with a big bed.
Since Irene's phone was dead, Valerie paid.
Once inside, Valerie dragged them both down onto the carpet and started rambling. She cried, laughed, and suddenly launched into what sounded a lot like her last will and testament.
"Rini... my bank card password is your birthday. 990218. There's 40 thousand dollars in it.
"If anything happens to me, take it out and give it to my aunt."
She paused, then added softly, "And Rini... I know your birthday falls on your sister's death anniversary, but her death wasn't your fault. Don't punish yourself for something the older generation caused."
She rolled over, nestled her head in Irene's arm, and stared at the ceiling, slurring, "Next year, and the year after, and every year after that... eat cake on your birthday. Always.
"You're such a wonderful person—you deserve the most beautiful, most delicious cake in the world."
Irene burst into tears. "Stupid Valerie... cake means nothing compared to you."
She gently sat up, cradling Valerie's messy head in her lap.
Her makeup was a disaster—tear-streaked mascara, snot, foundation, and eye shadow smudged everywhere like modern art.
But Irene didn't care. She cupped her friend's face and whispered like a lullaby, "Valerie, let's keep living, okay?
"We'll live, eat cake, chase hot guys, and when we're old, we'll go road-tripping across the world..."
Valerie nodded like a little kid, "Okay... okay... world trip..."
The two of them laughed and cried into the night, eventually falling asleep right there on the carpet.
Later that night — 10:30 PM
Aiden was getting ready to head home.
He stepped into the living room to say goodbye to Jeremy, only to find the man in the exact same position as half an hour ago.
Book open. Same page. Unmoved.
"Sir?" Aiden asked with concern. "Is something wrong? Can't sleep?"
Jeremy finally stirred.
He shut the book with a snap and tossed it onto the table. His gaze drifted toward his phone.
An hour and a half ago...
Irene had sent him two voice messages—explicit, scandalous voice messages.
Then she disappeared. No replies. No calls. Like some trashy online tease who vanishes after dropping a few flirty lines.
He unlocked his phone.
The WhatsApp window was still open on their chat. It had been over 80 minutes since those messages.
Plenty of time... Plenty of time for her to meet her male model.
If she was fast, they were probably already in a hotel. If she was impatient... well, who knew how far things had gone by now?
He clenched his jaw.
"Aiden," Jeremy's voice was cold and razor-sharp, like frost cutting through steel. "Find out exactly where Irene is. Right now."
Aiden blinked, stunned.
He thought, 'At this hour? He is asking me to track... his nephew's girlfriend?
'Is this... really okay?'