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.

Mila didn't understand. She couldn't

realized where Felicity's suffering came

she did

man standing before her was undoubtedly

picked up

a crow. Sensing her intention, the man's hand closed painfully around her wrist. Mila ignored the

-Severed.

felt as if the bones might snap. The brush fell to the floor with a faint clatter. She said nothing, bracing herself for

the pressure on her wrist

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

why are you always so sad when you're with me? What can I do

voice was

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 painting a few bright green leaves over the gash—startling and out of place

Now,

almost like a few wayward leaves had fallen on its neck-no trace of

Behind the veil,

were

wound.

try to cover it up, the more obvious

courage to face the pain he'd caused.

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

stay in the studio

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

up the

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

when those feelings weren't as foreign as she

brushstroke, every emotional replay, was like carving a fresh

It was suffocating.

her shoulders and hands finally snapping her back to reality. She had to keep up the pretense, no matter how much it hurt. Pushing down the roiling feelings, she dragged herself to bed and

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