He Lost Me to His Best Friend novel Chapter 201

Scarlett and Julian stared at each other, utterly dumbfounded.

Scarlett stepped forward and gently peeled back Yardley's eyelids. His pupils were normal. She sighed and gave Julian a helpless look. "He hasn't been sleeping well lately. He probably just passed out from exhaustion."

Julian frowned. "It's pouring out there. We can't exactly take him to the hospital right now."

Scarlett pointed upstairs. "Let's carry him up to the bedroom so he can rest. Julian, could you find him some clean clothes? He's soaked to the bone."

Julian nodded. Without a word, he went to the closet and pulled out a brand-new set of men's pajamas—the matching counterpart to the set Scarlett was currently wearing.

His grandmother, Madeleine, was a highly educated and incredibly thoughtful woman. Ever since Julian had gotten married, she had kept spare pajamas and toiletries stocked at the house, just in case he and his wife ever came to visit.

Ironically, those matching sets had now ended up on Scarlett and Yardley.

Together, they managed to haul Yardley upstairs. Scarlett stepped out into the hallway so Julian could change him, towel-dry his hair, and tuck him in.

Yardley was acting groggy, and his forehead was burning up. He was running a high fever.

Thankfully, Julian's grandmother always kept a well-stocked medicine cabinet. Julian found some fever reducers and painkillers and made Yardley take them.

Throughout the entire process, Yardley was actually somewhat conscious. But he played the part of a deeply comatose patient flawlessly.

He had his own selfish motives. Being sick—having a fever—was perfect. It gave him an ironclad excuse to stay right where he was. Even Julian wouldn't be heartless enough to kick a sick man out into the storm.

By the time they finished settling Yardley, it was nearly two in the morning.

Julian walked out of the room, exhaustion written all over his face. "Scarlett, take the guest room next door. I'll crash in here with Yardley for the night."

Scarlett definitely didn't want to share a room with Yardley anyway.

The last time she'd taken care of him out of sheer humanity, she'd regretted it immensely.

Now that she was committed to the divorce, her personality left no room for hesitation or dragging things out.

If it was over, it had to be completely severed—physically and emotionally. No safety nets, no second chances.

The quiet, rustic charm of the old house, combined with the faint scent of sandalwood, gave Scarlett her best night of sleep in a long time.

The next morning, she woke up early. Seeing that the bedroom door next door was still shut, she headed downstairs.

Finding some oats, fresh fruit, and honey in the kitchen pantry, she decided to whip up a comforting pot of oatmeal. She also found some frozen pastries and eggs in the fridge, so she threw the pastries in the oven and got the eggs boiling.

Just as she was stretching her arms, enjoying the quiet morning, a frantic pounding erupted at the front door.

This early... who could it be?

Frowning in surprise, Scarlett walked across the courtyard and unlatched the heavy wooden door.

The moment she opened it, she was met with Sylvia Stetson—decked out in a leather jacket and oversized sunglasses, standing there with an arrogant sneer.

Behind her stood a menacing group of seven or eight street punks, their hair dyed in loud, obnoxious colors.

Seeing Scarlett at the door, Sylvia narrowed her eyes, her gaze dripping with venomous provocation.