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!

repeated, jarring noise made her heart pound

this hour? And

this old mansion have

have

mix of curiosity and nerves she couldn't explain, Mila crept silently to the kitchen door and peered through

kitchen was spacious and

A man in a red robe, his back to her, wielded a cleaver, hacking at a rack of raw lamb ribs with swift, practiced

reason, Mila's

making stew-lamb stew,

the middle of the

place was strange. Not just the silent servants, but

she been brought? What kind of den of wolves

someone still in the kitchen, her plan

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

as she reached the staircase, she collided headlong

a glance. It moved with a surprising lightness, bounding up the stairs as if running from something that terrified it. Mila could have sworn she saw... fear in

Impossible, she told herself.

wolf-what could it possibly be

chill crept into her chest. She glanced nervously back toward the kitchen, an uneasy thought surfacing-if even the wolf was afraid of

up the stairs without

the corridor, she passed a series of portraits. Her gaze was drawn, as always, to the first painting—a faceless woman with long, dark hair. That disturbing sense

she saw that painting,

certain she'd seen it somewhere before, but no matter how

cast a final, uneasy glance at the faceless woman in

for the rest of the

fear gnawed at

at which point the maid arrived as usual to feed the wolf and lead Mila