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.

first, Mila didn't understand.

Felicity's suffering came from, even if

thing she

before her was undoubtedly

up the

Sensing her intention, the man's hand closed painfully around her wrist. Mila ignored the ache, pushing through the pain as she

-Severed.

might snap. The brush fell to the floor with a faint clatter. She

long while, the pressure on her

rubbing her bruised skin, even lowering his head to

when you're with me? What can I do to make you

voice was full of

hand around hers, he guided her to the wound on the crow's neck, quickly painting a few

Now,

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

Behind the veil,

were

wound is still a wound. Hiding it doesn't make it

try to cover it up,

the courage to face the pain he'd caused. What a

the brush, stood up abruptly, and walked straight

couldn't stay in the studio any

room. She made straight for the bathroom, clutching her chest as she retched over the sink, fighting the wave of nausea and pain, finally sliding

up the act much

emotion-and stepping into someone else's pain

when those feelings weren't as

every emotional replay, was like carving a fresh wound in her

It was suffocating.

the pretense, no matter how much it hurt. Pushing down the roiling feelings, she dragged herself to bed

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