Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 390

"Phew..."

Mila pressed her back into the couch, keeping her breathing shallow and quiet. Her chest rose and fell ever so slightly, and beads of sweat dotted her forehead.

Had she been discovered?

She didn't dare peek around the corner again, forced to wait in agonizing suspense for the worst to happen.

Every second crawled by like an eternity.

She held her breath for what felt like ages, but still, no footsteps approached. Instead, she heard a soft beep, followed by the creak of a door opening.

Had she managed to avoid being found?

After a few more moments, Mila cautiously poked her head out. The kitchen door down the hall was cracked open, but there was no one in sight-just a sliver of empty space. Whoever it was must have gone inside.

She let out a slow breath, relieved. But then a new wave of unease washed over her. Why would someone come to the kitchen in the dead of night? Surely, she wasn't the only one hungry at this hour?

Just as she was pondering this, a sudden, thunderous noise shattered the silence.

BANG!

Mila jumped, her heart lurching.

The sound came from the kitchen. Once her initial shock faded, her years of culinary experience kicked in-she recognized the unmistakable thud of a heavy knife hitting a chopping board. Someone was... chopping something? Hard?

BANG!

BANG! BANG! BANG!

heart pound even harder. She

at this

this old mansion have a midnight

did it have to be so

But driven by a mix of curiosity and nerves she couldn't explain, Mila crept silently to

kitchen was spacious and dimly

at a rack of raw lamb ribs with swift, practiced force. In no time, he separated

reason, Mila's nerves eased

was just making stew-lamb stew,

of the night? What kind of person does

everyone in this place was strange. Not just the

had she been brought? What kind of den of wolves was

evaporated, and with someone still in the kitchen, her plan to sneak a midnight snack

slinking carefully from behind the table and chairs toward the stairs, hunched low

collided headlong with the wolf and nearly

glance. It moved with a surprising lightness, bounding up the stairs as if running from something that terrified it. Mila

Impossible, she told herself.

wolf-what could it

toward the kitchen, an uneasy thought surfacing-if even the wolf was afraid of that man, what kind of

up the stairs without daring

series of portraits. Her gaze was drawn, as always, to the first painting—a faceless woman with long, dark

painting, it

before, but no matter how she tried, she couldn't recall

cast a final, uneasy glance at the faceless woman in the painting and hurried back to her

barely slept for the

fear gnawed at

to feed the wolf and lead Mila to her bath.