Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 384

"Mmm..."

Mila stirred, her eyelids fluttering as she slowly woke. She lay on a round bed draped in deep crimson velvet, a black silk comforter tangled around her. She was wearing a white satin nightgown, and as her eyes finally opened, confusion flickered in their depths.

Her head throbbed with pain. For a moment, she couldn't piece together what had happened.

She lay still, trying to gather her thoughts. Where was she? This definitely wasn't a hospital room. No, wait-someone had attacked her.

She shot upright, panic spiking through her body.

Her gaze darted around, scanning for any sign of danger. All she could see were the curtains of deep red velvet hanging around the bed, blocking her view of the rest of the room. Had one of her great-aunt's old enemies kidnapped her and brought her here?

It made no sense.

How had they managed to act so quickly? She'd just arrived overseas and had already taken every precaution. None of it added up.

And where exactly was "here"?

How was her great-aunt? Had they hurt her, too?

Mila forced herself to push down her anxiety. She had no idea what the situation was, so she didn't dare make any sudden moves. Carefully, she slid to the edge of the bed and crept to the side. She gently pulled back a corner of the heavy curtain, peering out through the narrow gap.

Outside the bed curtains, the room glowed with the warm light of old-fashioned lamps. The decor was lavish, almost decadent, with a distinctly Western gothic flair—ornate, dark, and mysterious. The walls were covered in murals of black roses, their thorny stems twisting together, lending the opulent space an eerie, almost menacing beauty.

Mila circled the bed, making sure she was alone. Only then did she step out, her bare feet sinking into a soft rug embroidered with black roses.

Her mind spun with questions and uncertainty.

If this really was an enemy of her great-aunt's, why hadn't they tied her up? Why put her in a room this extravagant-if a little unsettling? What was going on?

waiting wasn't an option. She crossed to the window and

window and looked

froze, stunned by what

as she could see, the salty wind rushing in, carrying the

Where was she?

the window, craning her neck

with soaring spires-perched atop a hill in the middle of an island. Below, a

on

But where? How far was this from Eldermere? Was she even still

her mind.

to the door. She pressed her ear against it, listening for any

Nothing.

hope, but she tried the handle

surprise, the door

not locked?"

here just to leave her unrestrained, as if the sheer isolation of

her, there was no way Mila was just going to sit around and wait. She'd always been the type to act first and ask questions later. Without hesitation, she

happened, she wasn't going to sit here and do

architecture you'd expect

Mila noticed something peculiar: every single portrait was of someone with golden-brown curls and striking green eyes-men and women, their

be the ancestors of the family who owned this place-a lineage stretching back hundreds, perhaps even a thousand years. Judging

held onto a castle like this through the centuries. She couldn't quite place the country, but judging by the features, they didn't look

Scandinavian? Or Western

end of the

portrait

long, flowing black hair—but