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.

long time, he

last, a low, broken laugh slipped

laughter laced with pain, edged with

it didn't matter. She was his now-his, for as long as the chain held,

strong. He'd

all built on a lie, he'd carry that lie for

He had no regrets.

creaked open. Sunlight spilled in, stretching Lysander's shadow long and thin across the

your mind?" the old

memorial plaques. He looked exhausted, lips dry and trembling, but a faint smile tugged at the corners of his

"I only want her."

None of it mattered. Once he held the

chance. That woman's heart was locked away, and if he let this slip by, he'd never

He couldn't let

Crack!

on Lysander's

What was it?

hollow, still smiling despite his pale, gaunt face. He couldn't put it

beneath his feet, to him, she was different. Let her be dust or mud-he would keep her in the most precious box in the world, place her where he could see

"I only want her."

each word

didn't want to break the bond between them —and after

wills, it was always the

the old man listened

a home with

tone was low, nearly a

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

to the floor three times until blood seeped from his

me, ancestors!

...