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-

garden while the man read his book. But instead, he took a casual sip of red wine, caught her wrist in his hand, and gestured for the staff to bring out an easel. He announced he would paint her

letting her veil shield her face, and watched as Cossio set up his canvas a short distance away. The sound of his brush on canvas soon faded into the background

gentle rustle of his brushwork echoed through the quiet garden. Dressed in her gauzy white gown, Mila lay motionless on the chair, lost in sleep until the

dozed off too

the man didn't scold her. In a gentle voice, he called, "Come here. Take

her limbs, Mila stepped closer and, with her back to him, lifted the edge of her veil

She stared, surprised.

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

tinged with

He really was drunk.

could, she wouldn't

else someone who often rejected him. He didn't get angry. Instead, he took her by the wrist and led

Mila followed obediently.

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

white cloth. 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

that, he whisked away

picture clearly, but she could make out bold, dramatic strokes and dark,

A portrait?

painted portraits. At

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

Time stretched on, wordless.

on her left shoulder. The man, who had been quietly studying the painting, leaned down and rested his head against her shoulder, unmoving.