Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 413

"Can you tell me why?"

She turned her head, meeting his gaze with a small, practiced smile. But her eyes were as empty and deep as a dark lake-waiting for his answer.

Waiting for the answer they both already knew.

"I'll find the best doctors. Aunt Eleanor will be alright, I promise." Lysander reached out, wanting to take her hand.

Mila pulled away.

"Lysander, your family is too powerful. People like me—we just can't survive in your world. This time, it was my aunt who got hurt, the only family I have left. What about next time? Who will it be then?"

"I don't even want to imagine it. I couldn't bear it. Do you understand?"

There were so few people in her life who had ever truly cared for her. Every one of them was precious, irreplaceable. She couldn't forgive herself if her presence dragged those rare, kind souls into danger just because of her.

Those days in the manor-

Forced to live under the same roof as a madman for so long. She'd taken two bullets. Even her aunt had been drawn into the nightmare because of her, left gravely ill and unconscious ever since. The doctors still couldn't say if she was out of danger. Giselle was one of those who had hurt her. But who had truly caused all of this?

In the long, sleepless nights at the old manor, Mila had gone over it all, again and again.

She finally saw things clearly.

"Lysander, you know as well as I do our marriage was a mistake. It was wrong from the very beginning. We were over long ago."

of marriage-just

play that should have

is almost over. Let's go home, sign

"Mistake, huh?"

a long, heavy silence, Lysander finally looked up, a cold, mirthless laugh escaping his lips as he fixed her with an icy stare. “Seven years of marriage, and in your eyes, it

met his gaze,

a

you left the country and broke our agreement, I withdrew the

Smack!

the side, a faint red mark already forming on

"You bastard!"

was shaking with anger,

laughed. "Darling, you're the

"A price?"

had had enough. Her eyes were red with fury, her voice raw and desperate. "Don't pretend you don't

table was a mess, silverware

head. Her blouse was half torn, his hands hot and rough against her skin. His

shoulder wound tore open again, blood blooming across her white

let go of her in a rush,

"Get out!"

cheeks. She was breathless from pain and rage. "Get out! I

"Your wound-"

"GET OUT!"