His Belated Love for the Abandoned Ex-Wife Chapter 158: The Misunderstanding

"She thinks you're prettier than most women," Iris said, choosing her words carefully, "and that you and Julian are together."

For a second, Daniel just stared at her, the meaning not quite sinking in. Then it clicked.

He shot to his feet, disbelief turning into outrage. "Are you serious? You might not know me that well, but you know Julian. Does he look like he's into guys?"

His voice rose sharply, echoing through the room.

Iris instinctively shrank back, startled by the sudden outburst.

Before she could respond, Julian crossed the distance in a few quick steps and shoved Daniel back, forcing him to stumble. His expression hardened instantly. "Who do you think you're yelling at?"

Daniel froze, the anger draining from his face as quickly as it had appeared. He immediately bent forward in apology. "Sorry, Iris. I wasn't yelling at you. I'm just frustrated with Zoe. She's got the wrong idea. Julian and I are completely straight."

Julian frowned, clearly confused, and glanced toward Iris for an explanation.

"I'm fine," Iris said calmly, brushing it off.

Daniel let out a breath of relief. As soon as Mason stepped into the room, he grabbed his arm. "We should head out. Let's do this again another time."

Without waiting for a response, he dragged Mason toward the door, clearly not interested in pushing his luck any further.

The door closed, and the apartment fell into a quiet stillness.

Iris walked over to Julian, her tone steady. "I should go too. Could you grab my bag for me?"

Julian looked at her, then calmly adjusted his sleeves. "No."

Iris took a slow breath, a flicker of irritation crossing her mind. Unbelievable.

She didn't argue. Instead, she turned and walked straight toward his bedroom.

The space was modest but bright and meticulously organized, everything in its place. The bed was neatly made, the sheets smooth and unwrinkled.

She picked up her bag without hesitation, ready to leave, but as she turned, something on the nightstand caught her attention.

She took a few steps, then stopped.

After a brief pause, she turned back and walked closer.

It was a framed photo of her.

She leaned in slightly, studying it more carefully, and a faint crease formed between her brows. She was certain she had never taken this photo. The angle, the moment, it all felt candid, almost like it had been taken without her knowing.

In the picture, she stood at the base of a stretch of rolling hills, surrounded by wild grass and yellow daisies. She wore a long black coat, her hands tucked into her pockets as she tilted her face toward the winter sun, eyes closed, her expression peaceful and unguarded.

Recognition hit her a second later.

That had been their first year of marriage, when they visited his hometown for the holidays.

She hadn't felt like she belonged there, so she had often wandered off alone, heading out into the open fields just to clear her head.

That spot was far from the house.

She had gone there by herself.

At least, she thought she had.

She had never noticed Julian following her.

Never realized he had taken this photo.

The realization sent a chill down her spine. Following her, taking pictures without her knowledge, it was unsettling enough on its own.

But what made it worse was that even now, six months after their divorce, after everything that had happened, he still kept that photo by his bed.

A prickle spread across her skin, goosebumps rising as her heart began to pound.

The sound of the door closing snapped her out of it.

She turned to see Julian standing there, locking the door behind him with a quiet click.

Her pulse quickened. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Julian said, his tone calm as he started walking toward her.

Iris instinctively stepped back until her legs hit the edge of the bed, leaving her nowhere to go. She tightened her grip on her bag, searching for something to steady herself.

"That photo," she said, her voice betraying a slight tremor, "you took it without me knowing?"

Julian slipped off his coat and tossed it into the laundry basket in the corner before walking over to the nightstand. He picked up the frame, his gaze softening as he looked at it.

A faint, clean scent lingered around him, something like pine mixed with warmth, completely free of any trace of the meal they had just shared.

Even after something like grill, he had changed.

That was just who he was.

His fingers brushed lightly along the edge of the frame. "I took it," he said quietly. "You stood there for two hours that day."

Iris felt her breath catch as the memory came rushing back, the cold wind, the dry grass, the long stretch of silence. She had stood there for a long time.

But when she turned around, there had been no one there.

"You followed me?" she asked, her voice rising despite herself.

Julian set the frame down and looked at her, his gaze steady, his voice low. "I was looking out for you."

Before she could react, he reached out, catching her wrist and pulling her toward him in one smooth motion, guiding her arm behind her as he drew her into his chest.

Her bag slipped from her hand as she instinctively pressed her other palm against him, feeling the solid warmth of his chest beneath the fabric of his sweater, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat unmistakable.

He leaned down, closing the distance between them.

Iris turned her face away, avoiding his breath, though it left a flush along the edge of her ear. "We're divorced. You need to respect that."

The air between them grew heavy, charged with something unspoken.

Outside, a light rain began to fall, tapping softly against the window.

Julian lowered his gaze, his eyes dark and intense, fixed on her as if he couldn't look away. His voice dropped, rough and low, carrying a quiet weight that settled deep.

"You saw it," he said. "That picture's been right there by my bed. For the past six months, I've wanted to see you more than anything, but all I could do was hold on to what I had left of you."