Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 351

Longing crashed over him, relentless as a tidal wave.

How long had it been?

How long since he'd last seen Mila Sutherland?

He ached to hold her. To kiss her.

Once, he could kneel for hours with his back straight and his face expressionless. Now, his features were drawn and weary, his fox-like eyes flickering with confusion, candlelight dancing in his pupils—unsteady, wild, in time with his racing heart.

Seven days and seven nights.

He'd been on his knees in the family chapel, facing the memorials of generations past. Grief and yearning howled through him, deafening and all-consuming, shaking him to the core.

Bang!

Bang! Bang!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Each strike thundered through the quiet, and at last, he understood what he wanted.

All those moments of instinctive attraction, unconscious closeness, the ever- growing hunger, the calm that came from her touch... In this moment, it all made sense, all of it real and undeniable.

His eyes grew red, rimmed with the sting of unshed tears.

He bowed his head, staring at his open palm, his vision blurring. Why had it taken him this long? Maybe ignorance would have been kinder.

What had he done?

He pressed his hand over his face, doubling over with his forehead against the polished floor, the silent memorials before him heavy with judgment.

time,

broken laugh

laced with pain,

it didn't matter. She was his now-his, for

will stayed strong. He'd

built on a lie, he'd carry

He had no regrets.

shadow long and thin

you made up your mind?"

and trembling, but a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His words came

"I only want her."

None of it mattered. Once he held the reins of the family, he

was his one chance. That woman's heart was locked away, and if

right. He couldn't

Crack!

twisted in anger. He brought the cane down hard on Lysander's back, making him flinch. "Tell me, what is it about her that's bewitched

What was it?

pale, gaunt face.

came from nothing, even if she was as lowly as the dust beneath his feet, to him, she was different. Let her be dust or mud-he

"I only want her."

spoke again, each word

too well how stubborn his grandson could be. There were other ways he could intervene, but he didn't want to break the bond

the battle of wills, it was always the elder who yielded

heavy sigh, the old man listened as Lysander's voice

I want to build a home with her. I want it more than

was low,

red. He stood there for a long moment, then turned away. In the sunlight, his bent back seemed to shrink, suddenly much

forehead to the floor three times until blood seeped from his

me, ancestors!

...