Marry Ex's Billionaire Uncle After Divorce (Aurora and Jasper) novel Chapter 170

Chapter 135: Buying a Bed

(Author’s POV)

The photo went up at 11:47 a.m.

Two marriage certificates on the center console. A woman’s hand resting beside them, Phineas’s hand

over hers. The caption was nothing – not a word, just the image.

By noon, Serena had already left three question marks in the comments and fired off a private message:

*Uncle Phineas. Is this real? Did you actually get married?? Who is she???*

Patrick Sloan saw it while eating lunch. He set his fork down, picked up his phone, and called Gavin.

“Tell me I’m reading this right,” Patrick said. “Phineas got married?”

“You’re reading it right,” Gavin said.

“To who?”

‘Not my place to say.”

“Gavin.”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Patrick was quiet for two full seconds. Then: “This is going to be interesting.”

Arthur Everett didn’t follow social media. He had never once opened i********: voluntarily. But Serena had cornered him in the hallway, held the screen six inches from his face, and refused to move until he looked.

He stared at the photo. He took off his glasses, cleaned them, and put them back on. He looked again.

Then he picked up his phone and called Phineas.

Phineas was driving. He glanced at the screen on the dashboard, then declined the call.

Aurora noticed. “You’re not going to answer?”

“It’s not urgent.”

She didn’t push it. She turned back toward the window, watching the street pass.

She had no idea that at this exact moment, word was already spreading through every corner of their social circle. People were speculating, texting each other, pulling up the photo and zooming in on the certificates. Nobody could make out the names. Everyone was guessing.

If Aurora had known, she would have demanded Phineas delete the post before the car had moved

another block.

(Aurora’s POV)

The home goods store was large and well–lit, organized by room. Phineas walked in and didn’t pause at

Chapter 135 Buying a Bet

the entrance the way most people do. He moved directly toward the back, where the bedroom displays

were set up.

I followed him, still holding my document folder.

He stopped in front of a king–size display bed, turned, and looked at me with that expression he

sometimes gets – like he’s already decided something and is waiting for me to catch up.

“Two people now,” he said. “We need a bigger bed.”

My ears went warm. I looked at the price tag on the nightstand instead of at him. “You can decide. It

doesn’t matter to me.”

He patted the mattress beside him. “Come try the firmness.”

“I’m fine.”

He shrugged and turned to flag down the store manager himself. When the man appeared, Phineas

described exactly what he wanted – a custom king–size, extra–wide, delivered in three days.

The manager’s expression shifted. “Sir, our standard rush timeline is ten days minimum. An expedited order would carry an additional fee of five hundred dollars, and even then-”

“Fifty thousand,” Phineas said. “Three days.”

The manager stopped talking. He blinked once. “I’ll make a call.”

He was back in under two minutes. “Three days. Confirmed.”

I watched this from two feet away and said nothing. There was nothing to say.

When we moved to the register, I stepped forward and picked up the bill before he could reach for it.

Phineas raised an eyebrow.

“My contribution,” I said. “To the marriage.”

He looked at me for a moment. I kept my expression neutral and handed my card to the cashier.

The receipt printed. Phineas picked it up, glanced at the total, and set it back down. The corner of his

mouth curved.

“Your contribution to this marriage,” he said slowly, “is a bed?”

There was something in the way he said it. I couldn’t immediately identify what was wrong with the sentence, but something was. My face went warm again.

I gave him a look. He looked back, entirely unbothered.

We moved on.

We were heading toward the window treatment section when his phone rang. I was a few steps ahead, looking at a display of linen curtains, and I heard him stop walking behind me.

Obote 15 Biging a fed

The voice on the other end was loud enough that I caught fragments from where I stood. Male.

Authoritative. Not happy.

Phineas answered in short, even sentences. His voice didn’t change pitch. He said something I couldn’t

fully hear, then said, “I’ll be there.” Then he hung up.

He walked over to me. “I have to go handle something at home. I can’t stay.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine. Just needs to be dealt with in person.” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out

a card. Matte black, no visible logo. He held it out. “No limit. Take whatever you need. My money doesn’t

need to be paid back.”

I took the card without arguing. I’d already spent enough energy on the bed.

He reached over and rested his hand briefly on the top of my head – not a pat, just a moment of contact,

light and unhurried.

“Take your time,” he said quietly. “I’ll pick you up when I’m done. Then we’ll head back and I’ll introduce you

properly.”

He dropped his hand, turned, and walked toward the exit. I watched him go.

I stood there for a moment, not moving.

*Introduce me properly.* Which meant there were people waiting. Which meant the phone call was more significant than he’d let on.

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