Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 419

Chapter 412

On the night boat,

Music drifted through the air-soft, haunting, full of hidden longing and desire. In the dim, shadowy cabin, a man and a woman faced each other: she stood, cool and aloof; he sat, silent, head bowed.

They stayed locked in that uneasy stillness for a long moment.

Then Lysander suddenly gave a low laugh. He slowly lifted his head, and the lamplight caught the raw redness in his eyes. His gaze burned with a desperate restraint. Mila's icy detachment seemed unbearable to him, tearing open something deep inside, exposing the raw, fragile flesh beneath his hardened shell.

The sensation of being so vulnerable, so exposed, filled him with shame-a darkness washed over his face.

He stood up and took a hesitant step toward Mila.

Then he stopped.

Her voice broke the silence, low and hard to read, as if stating a fact: "Lysander, you love me." A few seconds passed before she repeated herself, this time with a hint of confusion-almost a question: "You love me?"

He looked down, his expression unreadable.

"You actually love me?"

It was almost a joke—a stray, curious provocation that, against all odds, seemed

to have landed on the truth. A complex surge of emotion left her wanting to laugh, but the sound refused to come. All she felt was bitter irony.

He loved her?

What a joke.

An absolutely ridiculous joke.

all that came out was silence. Her lips moved, parted, closed again, and finally she managed a single sentence. "So,

his hand

burning into hers. He was smiling, but his voice was dark and low, trembling

grip,

neck, feeling the way his fingers shook. For a moment, she tried to pry

she said,

in his eyes deepened he stared at her, jaw clenched, voice barely above a whisper, wild and broken: "I don't love

could numb the pain squeezing his heart, could protect him from

the more

voice cracked,

always this

wouldn't love

drowned out all

flushed. Her grip on his hand

Madman.

panic crashed in. He let go, catching her as she crumpled to the floor, frantically pressing his

violent

caught her breath. Still clutching his hand, she met his

"I believe you."

hoarse. "I believe you now. You don't love

you really

his, her words as heavy as blows, "If you truly loved me, Lysander, I think I'd be sick to my stomach. That kind of love... it's

this kind of

"This is better."

there be nothing between us but hatred. Forever. Nothing else, ever again." Her words struck like

in his arms. Their bodies were close, but he felt only cold, as if he'd fallen into

slipped from his hand and

...

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