Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

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

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

thing she did

man standing before her was undoubtedly at

up the

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

-Severed.

so fiercely it felt as if the bones might snap. The brush fell to the floor with

long while, the pressure on her

skin, even lowering his head

why are you always so sad when you're with me?

voice was full

to pick up the brush, dipped it in paint, and placed it back in Mila's hand. Wrapping his hand around hers, he guided her to the wound on the crow's neck, quickly

Now,

few wayward leaves had fallen on its neck-no trace of violence,

Behind the veil,

eyes were sharp

wound. Hiding it doesn't make it

try to cover it up, the

didn't even have the courage to face the

and walked

stay in the studio any

she tore off her veil and hurried downstairs to her 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

couldn't keep up the act

was always about emotion-and stepping into someone else's pain only

when those feelings weren't as

like carving a fresh wound in her own

It was suffocating.

hands finally snapping her back to reality. She had to keep up the