Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 398

In the garden-

A woman sat to the side, her figure draped in a veil of white lace. Beside her lounged a dangerously handsome man, his lips curling into a sly smile. With practiced elegance, he sliced the steak on his plate into bite-sized pieces.

"Eat properly," he murmured, his tone light but unyielding. "You'll heal faster that way."

Beneath the layers of her dress and veil, Mila clenched her fists, struggling not to lash out at him. After all, wasn't it his fault she was hurt in the first place?

What a fraud.

"Is it your shoulder that aches? Here, let me help you."

The man speared a tender piece of meat, lifted her veil with teasing fingers, and brought the fork toward her lips. Mila turned her face away.

"Don't make me angry," he said softly, laughter rumbling in his chest.

Apparently, his patience had its limits. Sensing he was about to lose it, Mila decided not to push him further. She reached out and gripped the fork, indicating she'd eat on her own.

He released it with a chuckle, letting her have her way.

Finally, she tasted hot, savory meat—a small portion, but enough to quiet the emptiness gnawing at her stomach.

For the first time in days, Mila felt a flicker of life return.

After breakfast-

casual sip of red wine, caught her wrist in his hand, and

pressure on her injured left shoulder. She reclined at an angle, letting her veil shield her face, and watched as Cossio set up

brushwork echoed through the quiet garden. Dressed in her gauzy white gown, Mila lay motionless on the chair, lost in sleep until the afternoon sun blazed overhead. She

she dozed off

In a gentle

back to him, lifted the edge of her

She stared, surprised.

chair, her slender form draped in a sheer white dress. The veil obscured her features, lending her an enigmatic beauty. But Mila couldn't shake the

slightly hoarse whisper, his breath tinged with the scent of wine and roses as he leaned close

He really was drunk.

even if she could, she wouldn't have. Instead, she let her silence

didn't get angry. Instead, he took her by the wrist and led her toward the old manor, the staff

Mila followed obediently.

up the winding staircase, past the floor where her own room was, to an

The largest canvas stood in the center, over a meter tall. He brought her before it, his voice

always refused to sit for me. You said you never painted portraits, but in the end, you gave me one

he whisked away the

her from seeing the picture clearly, but she could make out bold, dramatic

A portrait?

painted portraits. At least, Mila had never seen

servant quietly set down a bench. The man helped Mila sit, and together they gazed in silence at

Time stretched on, wordless.

down and rested his head against her shoulder, unmoving. Pain shot through her he was pressing right