Chapter 284: Julian Cross Detested These Lingering Attachments

Julian Cross detested these lingering attachments.

Mason Reed finally relaxed. "At least you have some boundaries..."

"Let go. I'm getting in the car."

"Fine." Mason released his grip on Julian's sleeve.

Grant Holloway suddenly spoke up.

"You helped her... because of me?"

Julian's hand paused on the car door handle. He turned with a cold smirk. "You're overthinking."

"You two..." Grant's gaze lingered on Mason with suspicion. "You've kept in touch with her after our breakup?"

Mason admitted freely. "Yeah, Clara and I stayed in contact. Got a problem?"

Julian narrowed his sharp eyes. "I know what you're implying."

"Whether Mason kept seeing her or I stepped in to help, you think it's about you."

He paused deliberately. "Let me make this clear—it's about Clara Whitmore herself. Nothing to do with you. Same for Mason."

Grant frowned deeply.

"Reason?"

Julian scoffed. "Isn't that how relationships work? She helped us, so we remember the favor."

"You thought she was just arm candy those six years? We hung out two or three times a month. Plenty of chances to know her."

"Take Mason here. Clara fixed his computer, even wrote code for him. Right?"

"Damn right!" Mason nodded eagerly. "Her programming skills are top-notch. That investment scam last year? She wrote a financial audit program that exposed it."

"And that time—"

As Mason recounted examples, Grant grew increasingly unsettled.

This "Clara Whitmore" they described bore no resemblance to the woman he remembered—the one who simply waited at home, managing his domestic life.

Mason added, "Don't just talk about me. Clara helped you too—"

Ahem! Julian cut him off. "Enough. I'm leaving. You two head back."

He swiftly entered the taxi.

"Drive."

* * *

Clara received Julian's message with an editor's contact. She sent a friend request.

Instant approval. An auto-reply appeared:

Hello, please attach your manuscript and contact info for submissions. For business inquiries, call 1372324...

After consideration, Clara sent one of Helen Whitmore's suspense novels from last year, attaching her phone number.

Night deepened. No reply came.

She remained patient, trusting a response would come.

Meanwhile, Grant returned to the villa.

Paige Lawson stood at the entrance as usual, smiling sweetly like a hotel greeter. He had to admire her persistence.

When Paige reached to steady him, the strong alcohol scent made her recoil slightly.

Grant summoned Mrs. Palmer instead. "Help me upstairs."

In truth, he'd only had two drinks—completely sober. But feigning drunkenness avoided complications.

Mrs. Palmer hurried him upstairs before rushing down to prepare hangover soup.

"Mrs. Palmer, I hear you've cared for Grant for years?" Paige leaned against the kitchen doorway in silk pajamas.

"The kitchen's smoky, Miss Lawson. Perhaps wait in the living room?"

Better yet, stay far away. That voice grates.

Paige ignored the hint. "You must make this often for him?"

Mrs. Palmer didn't look up. "Miss Whitmore always prepared it. The young master preferred her version."

"..."

When Mrs. Palmer turned for a bowl, Paige quickly sprinkled hidden powder into the pot.