Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 407

Chapter 400

The paintbrush danced across the canvas.

Crows scattered through the sky, gnarled branches clawed at the darkness, and the moon was devoured by thick clouds-on the canvas, a landscape shrouded in the gloom of night.

It was a landscape born from Felicity's brush.

All Mila could do was imagine Felicity's inner world, slipping into her state of mind, mimicking every stroke and style. She poured out the despair and terror buried deep in Felicity's soul, capturing it again, line by line, for Cossio to see.

Sometimes-

Art speaks to the soul more deeply than words ever could.

In the dimly lit studio, a woman veiled in gold released the man's hand from the brush. She stood as motionless as a marionette, her gaze fixed silently on the man beside her.

His breathing grew heavier.

He reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers hovering above the crows struggling to take flight on the canvas. For a long time, he was silent. Then, his voice broke the stillness, low and hoarse with pain.

"Darling, does it hurt that much?"

He understood the painting.

Mila said nothing.

She knew he wasn't speaking to her, and he didn't expect an answer. Still, just as he'd said... it did hurt.

From the day she married into the Montgomery family,

From the very first moment she saw Felicity-

She sensed immediately that beneath that gentle woman's exterior was a soul battered and bruised by pain.

didn't understand. She couldn't

only a few days here, she realized where Felicity's suffering

thing she did

her was undoubtedly

up the

wrist. Mila ignored the ache,

-Severed.

as if the bones might snap. The brush fell to the floor with

the

her bruised skin, even lowering his head to kiss it softly, blowing a cool

so sad when you're with

voice was full of

hand around hers, he guided her to the wound on the crow's neck, quickly painting a few bright green leaves over the gash—startling and out of place on the somber

Now,

mark of the crow's beheading, looked almost like a few wayward leaves had fallen on its neck-no trace of violence,

Behind the veil,

were

wound is still a wound.

try to cover it up, the more obvious it

have the courage to face the pain

threw down the brush, stood up abruptly, and walked straight out. Suddenly, she felt suffocated her chest

stay in the studio

tore off her veil and hurried downstairs to her room. She made straight for the bathroom, clutching her chest as she retched over

couldn't keep up the act much

about emotion-and stepping

when those feelings weren't as foreign as she tried to

emotional replay, was like carving a fresh wound

It was suffocating.

to reality. She had to keep up the

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