Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 387

Alright, fine.

A prisoner should know their place.

Just like that, Mila fell in line.

Her nightgown was gently slipped off, and she was led-firmly, without any room for argument—toward a steaming bath. The maid fussed over her, scrubbing her clean with painstaking thoroughness. Mila was uncomfortable with the attention but knew better than to resist.

The bath didn't last long.

Afterward, the maid removed a brocade cloth from a silver tray, revealing an ornate golden gown-something straight out of a European fairy tale. She dressed Mila piece by piece, fastening layers of intricate fabric until Mila began to fidget, uneasy.

"This dress is too small," she finally blurted, frowning. The bodice pinched her ribs, squeezing her breath thin—it was at least a size too tight.

The maid ignored her, silently slipping golden silk gloves onto Mila's hands.

Seriously, was everyone here mute?

Aside from the blond man who'd fired at her yesterday, Mila hadn't heard a single word from anyone. The place was swarming with people, yet the silence was uncanny, almost eerie.

When the gown was finally in place, Mila thought she might be done. But then the maid produced a white veil from the tray and moved to drape it over Mila's head. Mila tried to stop her, but her hands were pinned-surprisingly strong for a woman; clearly, she'd been trained.

her? Every servant in this

thick and heavy, plunging her world into a blurred

couldn't see the path ahead. Swaddled in silk gloves, her hand was taken, and the silent maid led her forward. Mila had no idea

didn't have to stick around

...

in gold, led by a blond maid in stark black and white, drifted through the

left the building. The air changed-fragrant, floral. She caught glimpses of bright

the distant call of birds and

on.

called out, "Hello?

no reply. After a moment's hesitation, she reached for the veil, only for her wrist to be

gloved hand-black leather, not

glimpsed a pair of polished black Oxfords and crisp, tailored black trousers. A man. His right

for walking, but for power, privilege, and old money. In early

the master of the castle? Her

stared through the veil, seeing only a vague

to pluck a flower from a nearby bed, then

rose-deep crimson, nearly black at the core. Sinister, strange-yet strikingly

was the ringleader, Mila held the

He sat beside her.