Marry Ex's Billionaire Uncle After Divorce (Aurora and Jasper) novel Chapter 195

Chapter 160: The Wrong Person

(Aurora’s POV)

I had a bad feeling the moment I stepped out the door.

I couldn’t explain it. Nothing was wrong. The morning was clear, Phineas’s car was waiting at the curb, and

I had my bag over my shoulder and my phone in my pocket. Everything was fine.

I got in anyway, and we pulled into traffic.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

Phineas glanced at me. “Go ahead.”

“Do you ever get that feeling – like something’s about to go wrong, but you can’t point to anything specific? Just this low–level dread sitting in your chest?”

He considered this for a moment. Then he reached over and took my hand.

“No,” he said.

“That’s not helpful.”

“Nothing bad is going to happen.” His thumb moved in slow circles across the back of my hand. I looked down at it – at the faint roughness along his fingertips, the kind that comes from steel strings and calluses.

“Wait.” I looked up. “Guitar?”

The corner of his mouth moved. “What about it?”

“You play guitar.” I tilted my head. “Let me guess. You were very serious about it for about three weeks and then completely gave up.”

“I did not give up.”

“So you still play?”

“I play when I have time.” He paused. “Which is less often now. Golf and tennis take up most of it.”

“Tennis.” I pointed at him. “You promised me tennis. I want that on record. And I’m telling you right now –

I’m going to beat you.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’m serious, Phineas. I played in college. I have a backhand.”

“I’ll find a weekend,” he said. “We’ll settle it then.”

The car slowed and stopped a few blocks from the research building. He glanced at the time.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” he said. “Enough time to get coffee.”

Carter 160 The Wrong Person

I grabbed my bag and opened the door. “If I’m wrong about the bad feeling, I’ll admit it.”

“And if you’re right?”

I looked back at him. “Then you owe me more than a tennis lesson.”

He didn’t answer, but I saw the almost–smile before I closed the door.

The coffee shop on the corner was quick. I ordered a large iced latte, paid, and walked out with the cup sweating in my hand. Nine minutes left. I picked up my pace.

The research building came into view. The glass doors, the security desk just inside, the small awning over the entrance. I was almost there.

I noticed the woman standing near the security guard because she was out of place – too still, too

focused, scanning faces instead of looking at her phone like everyone else. I registered her and moved on.

I was three steps from the door when her hand shot out and locked around my arm.

I stopped.

“Aurora Caldwell?” Her grip was tight. Her eyes were searching my face.

I pulled back slightly. “Let go of my arm.”

“Are you Aurora Caldwell?”

“Who are you?”

“Tiffany.” She said it like it should mean something. “Tiffany Rathbone.”

I went still.

She yanked the coffee cup out of my hand before I understood what she was doing. She pulled the lid off in one motion and threw the entire thing in my face.

The cold hit me first – a wall of ice and liquid, brown and freezing, pouring down my forehead and into my eyes. Ice cubes slid down my collar. The shock of it knocked the breath out of me. I stood there, dripping,

my white shirt soaked through, my hair plastered to my face.

The entrance went silent.

Tiffany’s voice came through the ringing in my ears. “That’s what you get. You think you can walk into someone’s marriage and just take whatever you want? You destroyed my family. You destroyed my son’s future. This is what you deserve.”

I didn’t move.

I stood in the middle of the entrance, coffee running down my face, and I breathed.

One breath. Two.

I looked at her.

< Chapter Two The Wrong Person

“I don’t know who your husband is sleeping with,” I said. My voice came out flat and even. “But it isn’t me. That’s your problem, not mine.” I turned toward the security guard. “Call the police. Now.”

“You ruined everything!” Tiffany’s voice cracked. She grabbed my wrist with both hands, her grip desperate. “Please. Just leave him alone. Leave my son alone. I’m begging you – stop destroying my family.”

She was crying. Full, ugly crying, her face crumpling, her hands shaking around my wrist.

People had their phones out. I could see the screens lighting up around us, cameras pointed in my

direction.

I didn’t pull away. I looked down at her hands on my wrist and waited.

The security guard finally moved. He stepped between us and got hold of Tiffany’s arms, pulling her back. She didn’t fight him. She just kept crying.

I wiped the coffee off my face with the back of my hand.

The police took forty minutes to arrive. I spent them standing in the lobby with a paper towel someone had handed me, my shirt soaked and my patience very thin.

At the station, I put my marriage certificate on the table.

Then I told them everything. The school meeting. Quentin’s behavior. Zachary’s attitude when we’d spoken.

I pulled up the recording on my phone and played it through without comment.

The officer listened. He took notes. He didn’t need long to reach a conclusion.

“Mrs. Rathbone,” he said carefully, “it appears there may have been a misunderstanding about the nature

of your husband’s relationship with Ms. Caldwell.”

Tiffany sat across the table with her arms folded. “She’s lying.”

“The recording-”

“She could have recorded anything.” Tiffany’s jaw was set. “She’s good at making herself look innocent.

That’s what she does.”

I looked at her for a moment.

“I want a formal apology,” I said to the officer. “Public, on record. If that doesn’t happen, I’ll be filing for

defamation and assault.”

Tiffany laughed – a short, bitter sound. “You’re going to sue me? After what you did to my family?”

“I didn’t do anything to your family.” I kept my voice level. “Your husband did. And you came after the

wrong person.”

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