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!

noise made her heart pound even harder.

at this hour?

owner of this old mansion have a midnight

did it have

appetite vanished. But driven by a mix of curiosity and nerves she couldn't explain, Mila

kitchen was spacious

a red robe, his back to her, wielded a cleaver, hacking at a rack of raw lamb ribs

reason, Mila's

was just making stew-lamb stew, by the looks of

middle of the night? What kind

this place was strange. Not just the silent servants, but even the master

she been brought? What kind of den of

fate gnawed at her. Her hunger had evaporated, and with someone still in the kitchen, her plan to sneak a

the table and chairs

reached the staircase, she collided headlong with the wolf and

with a surprising lightness, bounding up the stairs as if running

Impossible, she told herself.

could it possibly be afraid

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

stairs without

down 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 of familiarity returned,

time she saw that painting,

she'd seen it somewhere before, but no matter

woman in the painting and hurried back to her

barely slept for the rest of

and fear gnawed

managed to hold out until dawn, at which point the maid arrived as usual to feed the wolf and lead Mila to her bath. This time, however, her clothes had changed a pure white