His Belated Love for the Abandoned Ex-Wife Chapter 191: No Way Back

Iris held her breath so tightly it hurt, forcing the tears to stay where they were before answering, her voice steady in a way that felt almost cruel. "Yeah."

Julian didn't look at her right away. His head tilted slightly to the side, jaw tightening as he stared off past her, the tension in his neck visible as he fought to keep control. It looked like something inside him was building too fast, too heavy, pressing down on his chest until even breathing seemed like work.

"Iris," he said at last, his voice rough, barely holding together, "what did I do that was so unforgivable?" He let out a breath that didn't quite steady him. "Why are you shutting me out like this? You won't even give me one shot."

The weight in his voice landed hard, sharper than anger, heavier than blame.

Iris pressed her lips together, biting down just enough to ground herself. "I don't want a marriage," she said, each word deliberate, controlled. "And I don't need a man."

Julian stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking before she could move away. There was no anger in his expression now, only something raw and stubborn. "Then don't call it marriage," he said quietly. "I'm not asking for anything that complicated. Just let me stay around you. I won't get in your way, I won't touch your work, I won't mess with your life. If you don't want to remarry, we won't. It doesn't have to be that."

His voice dropped, softer, almost breaking. "I just want to be with you. Stay near you. That's it. Tell me why that's wrong."

Iris felt it then, that sharp pull in her chest that made it harder to breathe the longer he stood there looking at her like that.

"It is wrong," she said, and this time her voice wavered despite her effort to hold it steady. "Because you're holding on to someone who doesn't love you."

Julian didn't hesitate, not even for a second. "I don't need you to love me," he said, the answer coming too fast, too certain. "We can go back to how it used to be. Same place, different rooms. You don't have to talk to me, you don't have to acknowledge me, you don't even have to look at me. Just let me stay. Let it be like before. Isn't that enough?"

For a moment, Iris couldn't respond. The words caught somewhere in her throat, thick and dry, and she knew if she forced anything out, it wouldn't come out clean.

If I keep talking, I'm going to break.

She turned instead, choosing movement over words, stepping past him with the single intention of ending this before it dragged her under.

She barely made it a step.

Julian caught her arm, his grip firm, instinctive, like letting go wasn't even an option.

"Iris..." His voice dropped, hoarse now, threaded with something dangerously close to pleading. "Please."

Her body went still.

The contact alone was enough to send a jolt through her, something sharp and immediate that made her chest tighten.

She shut her eyes, and this time the tears slipped free, quiet but unstoppable. "Julian... just let go," she said, her voice uneven, barely holding together.

He didn't.

Instead, he softened his tone, shifting without loosening his hold. "I'm not feeling great," he said, almost casually, like it wasn't a big deal. "My hair's still wet. Let me come upstairs, dry it, then I'll leave."

Iris hesitated, her gaze lifting despite herself to his hair. It was damp, but not enough to matter.

Still, the thought lingered.

What if he actually is sick...

Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached up and pressed her hand lightly to his forehead.

Julian froze at the contact, completely still.

His eyes dropped to her, something shifting there, softer, deeper, impossible to ignore.

She pulled her hand back after a second, frowning slightly. "You're not running a fever."

"Took something before I came," he said, exhaling slowly, his posture easing just enough to sell it.

She studied him for a moment, unsure whether to believe it.

But the hesitation didn't last.

"...Fine," she said quietly. "Come up."

The faint curve at the corner of Julian's mouth was almost impossible to miss.

Iris led him upstairs and into her apartment, pushing the door open and stepping aside to let him in first.

The space was small, lived-in, and undeniably hers. Books were everywhere, stacked, spread, half-organized in a way that made sense only to her, giving the place a kind of quiet warmth despite the clutter.

Julian stepped inside, slipping off his coat and hanging it neatly by the door without being told.

"There's no heat in here," Iris said, setting her bag down and switching into slippers before pulling out a new pair for him. "If you're sick, don't take your jacket off."

"I'm fine," he said, already moving further into the apartment, his eyes scanning the room before settling into a slight frown. "Do you ever clean?"

Iris followed his gaze, then sighed under her breath. "I do clean. It's not dirty, it's just... a lot of books."

Julian didn't argue. He simply rolled up his sleeves.

By the time she came back out of her room with a hair dryer, he was already reorganizing stacks, wiping down surfaces with disinfecting wipes he'd somehow found, moving through her space like it naturally belonged to him.

"You don't have to do that," she said, stepping in and catching his arm, pressing the dryer into his hand. "Go dry your hair."

He took it without protest and moved aside.

Iris retreated to her room, changed into something more comfortable, and gave herself a moment to breathe before stepping back out.

She stopped as soon as she saw the living room.

Everything had been reset. Not just cleaned, but aligned, precise in that unmistakable way that used to define their shared space.

For a second, it didn't feel like her apartment anymore.

It felt like something they used to have.

She stood there longer than she meant to.

Julian walked out of the kitchen then, wearing her apron like it was nothing, carrying two bowls of noodles.

"Didn't see any rice," he said, completely at ease. "So I made pasta. Come eat."

The normalcy of it caught her off guard.

She stepped forward quickly, stopping him before he could pass. "I thought you were leaving after drying your hair. Why are you cooking here?"

Julian glanced toward the window, where the sky had already gone dark and rain streaked steadily down the glass. "I'll leave after I eat."

Before she could argue, he took her hand and guided her into the chair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Iris let herself sit, but the tension in her chest didn't ease.

She didn't want to be pulled back into this.

Not again.