His Belated Love for the Abandoned Ex-Wife Chapter 308: Stay a Little Longer

Iris' expression darkened. After quickly calming Harper down and urging her to eat properly, she hurried after Julian toward his study.

Julian walked inside, his mood visibly stormy.

The door had been left open. Iris stepped in and closed it quietly behind her, not wanting Harper to overhear.

The last of the sunset had faded, leaving the office dim and shadowy. Neither of them reached for the light switch.

Julian stood with his back to her, head tilted slightly upward as he drew a slow breath. "Get out," he said, his voice low.

Iris hesitated, then moved closer until she stood just behind him. "You know exactly the kind of people I'm tangled up with," she said quietly. "So why tell me to take Harper and leave? Are you trying to make things harder for me on purpose?"

Julian didn't answer. His broad shoulders looked rigid and distant in the failing light.

She walked around to face him, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze despite the gloom. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it would be for her if she were with me?"

It was too dark to make out his expression clearly, but his voice came out rough and strained, weighed down with something that sounded almost like regret. "Is living under the same roof as me really so difficult that you'd rather risk your life than stay?"

"I..." Iris faltered, a pang tightening in her chest. Her tone softened. "You're the one who told me to go."

Julian let out a dry, humorless laugh. "When did I ever say that?"

"A week ago." Iris looked down, her voice barely above a whisper. "You said to take care of Harper until your injury healed completely."

Julian had honestly forgotten he'd said that.

Maybe somewhere deep down, he'd never really meant for her to leave—so the words hadn't stuck.

"Last night," Iris went on, "I saw you working out. You seemed... pretty much recovered."

Julian stayed silent.

Night had settled in fully now, swallowing the room in darkness.

The quiet between them grew thick and heavy, their breathing the only sound in the stillness.

It felt like the air had frozen over, icy and unmoving.

Iris didn't know what else to say. Harper was still eating alone in the dining room.

Worried about her, Iris turned to leave, brushing past Julian.

Suddenly, his hand shot out and caught her wrist.

His palm was warm—so warm it sent a jolt through her, speeding her heartbeat and tensing her muscles.

"If it's not too much," Julian said, his voice low and gravelly, "then stay. Keep looking after Harper. The police won't be arresting Arden anytime soon."

Iris' eyes warmed. She nodded, a little helplessly. "Thank you. For letting us stay."

It came out sounding more formal than she intended.

Julian didn't release her wrist. After a long moment, he asked quietly, "Should we hire a tutor for Harper? To take some pressure off you."

"No."

The word hung between them, and silence returned.

Iris could feel his grip on her wrist tightening slightly—not enough to hurt, but firm, steady.

Then a small knock sounded at the door.

Harper's voice floated through from the hallway. "Daddy? Mommy? The food's getting cold... Aren't you coming back to eat?"

At that, Julian let go.

Iris released a soft breath. "Let me warm it up," she said gently. "We should eat."

She stepped out, scooped Harper up from where she stood by the door, and carried her toward the kitchen.

As she walked, she discreetly wiped at the corners of her eyes.

Iris reheated the meal, but Julian never came back to the table.

She didn't go to fetch him, either.

She ate with her daughter, cleared up, then took Harper upstairs to wash and get ready for bed.

Any thought of leaving was gone.

In the days that followed, Iris focused completely on caring for Harper. For their safety, she stayed close to the villa, venturing out only when necessary.

Groceries and supplies were either delivered or picked up by the security detail outside.

Julian came and went for work—sometimes all day, sometimes just a few hours.

He spent much of his time in his study, tied to video calls and meetings.

To Iris, it felt like they'd slipped back into those early days of their marriage: polite, careful, keeping to their own spaces except when Harper brought them together—whether for conversation or small games out in the yard.

That quiet, ordinary rhythm carried on for more than a month.

Then, late one night, close to 11 p.m., her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Iris had been drifting toward sleep, but the sound pulled her back. She picked up her phone and glanced at the screen.

A WhatsApp message from Julian.

"You asleep?"

Iris looked over at Harper, sound asleep beside her, then sat up slowly and typed back.

"Almost. What's wrong?"

"Think I'm running a fever. Can you bring up something for it?"

Her stomach dropped. She pushed off the covers, slid her feet into slippers, and left the room.

Downstairs, she hurried through the pantry for fever reducer and a digital thermometer.

At his bedroom door, she knocked lightly.

No answer.

What if he was really sick? Worry spiked, so she turned the knob and stepped inside, closing the door behind her before switching on the light.

"Julian? Are you okay?" She moved to the bedside, set the medicine and thermometer down, then knelt one knee on the edge of the king-size mattress and reached to feel his forehead.

He lay still under the covers, not moving.

But after several seconds, his skin didn't feel unusually warm at all.

Pulling her hand back, she touched her own forehead, then his again, frowning. "You don't have a fever."