Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 395

Chapter 388

Mila was so hungry her head was starting to spin.

Across from her, the man picked up his cane and, with the silver-engraved handle, tapped lightly on the pair of silk gloves resting on the table-the ones she'd just taken off and set down.

She sucked in a deep breath, exasperated.

Seriously?

What was with this obsessive compulsion? The urge to laugh bubbled up, but she fought it down and obediently slipped the gloves back on. Just as she finished, the plate of pastries was handed over again.

She took a bite. The dessert was so sweet it nearly brought her to tears.

Finally, something to eat.

At this point, anything tasted delicious to her. She did her best to eat with a semblance of grace, but she didn't bother to slow down; soon, the pastries were gone.

A small cup of coffee appeared.

She drank it in one gulp, wincing at the bitterness.

Honestly, she was still hungry. The pastries had only been a few tiny pieces, nowhere near enough. But the man ignored her, sitting off to the side, eyes fixed on his book.

The garden was utterly silent.

With the veil draped over her head, Mila couldn't see a thing-appreciating the garden was out of the question. Everything in her view was just a blur of color.

Still, she could make out one thing:

Black and crimson roses dominated the garden-the same variety as the one the man had placed in her palm earlier.

She didn't get it.

He'd brought her here by force, hadn't killed her, hadn't made any demands, barely even said a word. He refused any attempt at communication. What was the point of all this?

live or die? Couldn't he at least let her

the man put down his book. Gloved in black leather, his

then slipped beneath

butterfly perched delicately on

wanted. Was she supposed to take it? She hesitantly reached out, and the butterfly fluttered down to her

returned to

crawled toward noon. Mila was almost dozing off in the

several figures moved

by their uniforms—set up a sunshade overhead and arranged a long table nearby, laying out platters of

Her stomach growled.

she didn't

a glance at the man. He closed his book, handed it to

one paid her

supposed

...

her gold gown, Mila shuffled over to the table and sat down, pulling out a chair

one

knife and fork and stabbed a piece of roast chicken from the nearest platter, lifting a corner

No one intervened.

to eat?

kind of kidnapper starves their hostage,

wasn't like she was about to let herself starve to death. Mila didn't bother with pretense-she quickly polished off two pieces of chicken, then, emboldened, reached for another dish. That's when

silently

from the table with surprising

wrought-iron chair before she could

eaten

still dining unhurriedly at the

Lunch ended soon after.

watched, stomach aching, as the servants cleared away the untouched food. It would've been easier if she'd never gotten a taste

liked to walk

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