His Belated Love for the Abandoned Ex-Wife Chapter 179: Open Water

Julian didn't bother hiding the cold in his eyes as he looked down at Caleb. Without a word, he crouched, cut the rope binding him, and hauled him up before tossing him onto the speedboat like dead weight.

He handed the boat off without hesitation, leaving Caleb to deal with the rest, then turned back to Iris and led her onto the yacht. Within minutes, the engines roared to life and the vessel eased away from the chaos, cutting cleanly across the open water toward home.

By the time the sun began to dip, the sea had settled into a slow, steady rhythm. Golden light stretched across the deck, softening everything it touched. Iris sat beside Julian, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, both of them facing the horizon as the sky shifted from warm amber to deepening blue. The tension that had been coiled tight inside her all day finally started to loosen.

After a while, she broke the silence. "How did you even find me?"

Julian turned slightly, his expression already softer than before. "I called you and you didn't pick up. Something felt off, so I came back. Jenny told me she had you put on a yacht and sent out with Caleb." His jaw tightened just enough to give away how little he'd liked hearing that. "I made them give me the boat's GPS and came after you."

Iris let out a quiet breath, guilt settling in. "I should've seen it coming. I didn't think they'd actually push it that far."

Julian reached over and brushed his fingers lightly through her hair, the gesture instinctive, grounding. "That's not on you. They crossed the line, not you." He paused, then added more quietly, "If anything, I shouldn't have left you alone with them."

Iris looked up at him, something warm and unfamiliar rising in her chest. "Julian... thank you."

A faint smile touched his lips, his voice low and easy, carried by the wind. "For what? Taking care of you isn't exactly optional."

Heat crept into her cheeks before she could stop it. She looked away, fingers absently fidgeting with her sleeve.

Julian noticed. Something in his expression shifted, softer but more intent, as he reached out and gently tilted her chin back toward him.

"Iris," he said, quieter now, like the words mattered more than he wanted them to, "there's something I need to ask you."

Her heartbeat picked up instantly. She eased his hand away, trying to keep her voice steady. "What is it?"

He hesitated just long enough to make it clear this wasn't easy. "What you said earlier... was that real?"

Her expression cooled, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"I don't mean it like that," he added quickly, a hint of tension slipping through. "You're not someone who says things just to make a scene. Saying it in front of everyone... there had to be a reason."

For a moment, Iris didn't respond at all. Then she stood, turning toward the cabin as if the conversation was already over.

Julian got to his feet immediately, ready to follow, but she stopped after only a few steps.

She stood there with her back to him, still and silent, the sound of the ocean filling the space between them.

When she finally spoke, her voice had lost its earlier steadiness. "I wanted them to shut up," she said, then paused. "But that wasn't the only reason."

The words came slower after that, heavier. "I wanted you to let go of the past. I don't want you stuck there anymore." Her voice softened, almost giving out at the edges. "I want you to be happy."

She didn't wait for a response. She walked inside without looking back.

Julian stayed where he was, unmoving, the fading light stretching long shadows across the deck. Her words settled into him slowly, unlocking something he'd kept buried for years. The weight he'd carried, the memories he'd refused to face, didn't disappear all at once, but for the first time, they didn't feel impossible to let go of.

Night came quietly.

The yacht moved through open water beneath a wide, dark sky, moonlight spilling across the deck in a soft, silver wash. Inside, everything felt calmer, quieter, as if the storm had passed and left something gentler in its wake.

Iris eventually gave in to the hunger she'd been ignoring and made her way to the kitchen.

Julian was already there.

He stood at the counter with his sleeves pushed up, focused on the mess in front of him. Under the warm overhead lights, he looked different, less like the man who had stormed through danger without hesitation and more like someone steady, grounded, unexpectedly approachable.

She leaned lightly against the doorway for a second before clearing her throat.

Julian glanced up, and the moment he saw her, his expression softened. "I couldn't find much," he said, nodding toward the bowl in front of him. "Just flour. Thought I'd try making pasta, but... yeah. Not my strongest skill."

Iris stepped closer and looked down.

The dough was a sticky disaster.

She couldn't help it, a quiet laugh slipped out. "This isn't pasta. This is a science experiment."

Julian let out a short, self-conscious breath. "I don't cook. At all. Figured I'd give it a shot."

"I'll fix it," she said, already rolling up her sleeves. "Otherwise we're not eating tonight."

He stepped back just enough to give her space, a small smile forming. "All yours."

Iris washed her hands and started over, adding flour, working the dough with practiced ease. Her movements were steady, confident, like this was something she'd done a hundred times before.

Julian stayed close, watching her without pretending otherwise.

When she reached forward again, their hands brushed.

The contact was brief, but it landed harder than it should have.

She pulled back almost immediately, her movements turning slightly stiff. "You should clean your hands first," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. "I've got it from here."

Julian caught the flush creeping up her neck, the color at the tips of her ears, and something in his expression shifted.

Instead of stepping away, he moved closer, holding his hands out in front of her. "It's stuck," he said lightly. "Help me out."

His tone was casual, but the way he looked at her wasn't.

Iris hesitated, then reached out anyway, carefully brushing the dough from his fingers. His hands were warm, steady, the kind of detail she noticed more than she wanted to.