Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 177

In the upscale neighborhood of Willow Creek Estates, a taxi rolled to a stop at the side entrance. A woman, wrapped in a white down coat and wearing a mask, stepped out and briskly made her way into the community, pushing open the door of a villa adorned with beautiful candles that bore the image of a cat.

Inside, Miranda, who had been anxiously waiting, immediately approached her.

"Mila!"

"How did it go?"

Mila shut the villa door behind her, removing her mask with one hand while carrying a large bag with the other, heading straight for the basement.

"He was quite cooperative," she replied.

Miranda walked alongside her, shaking a translucent bag in her hand, which contained a handgun that glimmered under the light.

Roland had been in a rough situation, and Mila was concerned about him, but she didn't want things to escalate to violence. They had reached a compromise.

Roland had tossed the gun behind the basement door and backed away while Miranda retrieved the gun and tossed in the medication he needed. Fortunately, Roland was compliant.

At the foot of the stairs, standing by the basement door, Mila exchanged a glance with Miranda.

gun from the bag with her gloved hands, expertly loading it. Though she hadn't used this particular model before,

the basement,

wall, head bowed and motionless. Scattered around him

"Roland?"

moved closer, calling softly. When he didn't

hand remained trained on his chest, ready to fire if he made any sudden moves. Despite her experience with firearms, this was her first time aiming at a person, and her

on the

lifted his shirt to reveal a blood-soaked bandage wrapped

deep breath and pulled out scissors from the large bag she had brought. After disinfecting them with iodine, she carefully cut away the makeshift bandage and poured hydrogen peroxide over the wound, repeatedly cleansing

quiet that

professional, and her clumsy technique caused Roland, still unconscious, to occasionally groan, his brows furrowing

nothing more she

was equally impossible. She had to rely on the rudimentary medical knowledge she had

would have

was lucky, though. The bullet had grazed his side, exiting cleanly without lodging inside, making

the time Mila finished,

a brief rest, they cleared away the medical waste from the basement, hauling blankets back and forth to make a makeshift bed on the floor, and then together,

finally allowed herself a breath of relief and even managed a joke,