Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 396

Mila fell silent.

Why was this man so impossibly difficult? He was just as infuriating as Lysander -no, even worse than Lysander!

Not that she dared voice any of this; she kept the complaints locked away inside.

Taking a slow breath, she obediently scooped up a small bite of cake with a spoon and, fighting down a wave of discomfort, offered it to the man. He leaned forward slightly and accepted it from her lips.

The kitchen was unnaturally quiet.

Mila's nerves were strung tight. She worried that if she'd gotten the flavor wrong, he'd lose his temper-and then she'd really be in trouble.

A long, tense moment passed.

Then, suddenly, Cossio reached out and took the plate from her.

He must want to eat by himself now.

Relief washed over her. The taste must have been right.

But before she could relax, the plate slipped from his grasp. It crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. Cake and crumbs scattered everywhere.

Mila's heart plummeted.

A second later, the man's voice broke the silence, calm and detached: "Wrong. She would never feed me cake like that... I can't forgive what happened last night. You need to be punished."

What?!

nearly swore out

mean? The problem wasn't the cake, it was her behavior? And what was that about? Did he seriously mistake her for Lysander's mother? Was he insane? How could

This was madness!

decided there was no point in holding back anymore. Gritting her teeth, she spat out, "Sir, why did you even kidnap me? Are you trying to threaten the Montgomery family? Because I'll tell you right now, Lysander couldn't care less

any mercy

bad enough; who knew what kind of twisted punishment he'd come up with next? At least if she fought back, she'd have some dignity

No more pretending!

waste of your energy!" Her tone softened a little as she stepped closer. "Listen, why don't we talk this out? Money, information-whatever you want, I'll trade for my life. All I want is to survive. I have no interest in your feud with the Montgomerys, and

would never say something like

Mila instinctively backed away until her hips hit the counter, trapping her. His gloved hand reached out, brushing her cheek through the veil she

swat his hand away, but he caught her wrist in an iron grip. His voice was quiet, almost

what ties you have

with her for a long time. You know her well, and she was fond of you. I want

"If

can't, I'll teach

"Take her downstairs."

soon as he stepped back, two blonde maids entered the kitchen, grabbed Mila by the

react. Then panic kicked in, and she clung desperately to the doorframe, refusing to let go—even as the wound on her left hand split open and fresh blood dripped to

mercy; she knew it would do no

accept whatever twisted "punishment” he had in store. She'd overheard enough at that strange woodland party-she'd heard men talk about the sick things they did to women. She had no illusions about

punishment was, it would

to assume the worst, and she couldn't

No matter what.