Marry Ex's Billionaire Uncle After Divorce (Aurora and Jasper) novel Chapter 223

Chapter 188: The Soup

(Author’s POV)

Cla

“I need something,” she said, settling into the chair across from his desk. She let a small, tired smile cross

her face. “With everything going on for the wedding, I’ve been thinking – I want to have something in my own name. A place that’s just mine. Security, you know?”

Sebastian leaned back. “How much?”

“Thirty million. There’s an apartment I’ve been looking at. Good building, good location.” She paused. “I

know it’s a lot to ask.”

“It’s not a lot to ask.” He was already reaching for his phone. “You should have done this years ago,

honestly. Always have something in your own name – that’s just sense.” He completed the transfer in under

three minutes and set the phone down. “Put it in your name only. Don’t add anyone else to the deed.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Thank you.”

He waved it off. “Just take care of yourself.”

She drove away from the building with thirty million dollars in her account and a very clear sense of what

to do next.

She transferred five million to Neil’s account and called him.

“That’s half of what we agreed,” he said immediately.

“The rest comes after you leave,” she said. “I need you out of the city today. Buy a ticket, send me the

confirmation, and the remaining funds transfer the moment your flight lands.”

A pause. “You’re serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

Another pause, shorter. “Fine. Today.”

She waited for the flight confirmation to come through. It arrived forty minutes later a one–way ticket, departure at four in the afternoon. She looked at it for a long moment.

Neil didn’t know that she’d already made other arrangements. He didn’t know that boarding that plane was the last decision he’d ever make freely. She’d been careful about that. She was always careful.

She confirmed receipt of the booking and set her phone face–down on the seat.

By the time she arrived home, it was nearly noon.

At the Everett estate, Phineas was in the study with a calendar open on the desk. Aurora stood by the window, the morning light coming in behind her.

“End of next month,” he said, turning the calendar toward her. “This date. It works.”

Chapter 188 The Soup

Aurora looked at it. Her brow creased slightly. “That’s only a few weeks away. We haven’t sorted out half of

it- the venue, the guest list, the-”

“I’ll handle it.” He set the calendar down and walked to where she was standing. There was something quieter in his expression than usual. “All of it. You don’t need to worry about any of it.”

She looked up at him.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “we go take the wedding photos. Everything else is already in motion.” A faint smile

crossed his face. “End of next month. The timing is exactly right.”

(Author’s POV)

Leo got home just after five.

He pushed open the apartment door, shrugged off his backpack, and immediately noticed the kitchen was

dark. The food on the table – the roast chicken Martha had been planning all week, the bowl of mashed

potatoes she’d pulled out of the fridge – sat untouched and cold.

“Mom?” He checked the living room first. Empty. He crossed the hallway and knocked on her bedroom

door. “Mom, you in there?”

A pause. “Come in.”

He opened the door. Martha was curled on her side in bed, facing the wall, blanket pulled up to her

shoulder.

“You okay?” He stepped inside. “Did something happen?”

“Just a cold.” Her voice was muffled against the pillow. She didn’t turn over. “I took something for it. I just

need to sleep.”

“You should’ve called me. I could’ve-”

“I’m fine, Leo.” A beat. “There’s food in the fridge. Order something if you don’t want to cook. Don’t worry

about me.”

He stood in the doorway a moment longer. “If you’re not better by tomorrow, we’re going to the doctor.

“I said don’t worry.” Her voice caught slightly. “Go eat. Please.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see it, and pulled the door shut behind him.

In the kitchen, he stood at the counter and looked at the cold food on the table. Then he opened the fridge, took stock of what was there, and started cooking.

He was seventeen. He’d been cooking for himself since he was twelve. He knew how to work with

whatever was on hand.

He found a leftover rotisserie chicken carcass, half a bag of rice, some garlic, and a carton of broth in the back of the fridge. He set a pot on the stove and started a proper chicken and rice soup slow–cooked,

<Chapter 188 The Soup

thick, the kind that settled in your stomach when nothing else would. While it simmered, he washed the

dishes Martha had left in the sink, wiped down the counter, and sat at the table to work through a set of

practice problems for his upcoming exam.

He wasn’t thinking about the exam.

He was thinking about her voice. The way it had caught. The way she hadn’t turned over to look at him.

Martha cried sometimes – he wasn’t naive enough to think she didn’t – but she usually hid it better than

this. Whatever had happened today, it had hit her hard.

He ladled the soup into a bowl, set it on a tray with a glass of water and two crackers, and carried it to her

room.

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