Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 472

The call ended.

Eugene sat on the edge of his bed for a long time, staring at nothing, until his phone buzzed again, snapping him out of his thoughts. He answered instinctively.

It was just the delivery he'd ordered.

He left his room, moving quietly past Mila's door, then headed downstairs. As he opened the front door and crossed the yard to the main gate, he expected to find a courier waiting, but instead, it was Leonard standing there.

The night was silent, save for the gentle hum of the streetlamps lining the road. Leonard stood at the gate, holding the bag of goods, watching Eugene without a word.

Eugene didn't speak either.

The iron gate of the villa was half-open, leaving them separated by just a few feet of cold air, staring each other down. Finally, Leonard broke the silence.

He held out the bag, his tone brooking no argument. "Pack your things and leave tomorrow. Don't come back."

"It's my sister's decision. Stay out of it." Eugene snatched the bag and slammed the gate shut, not wasting a breath on pleasantries.

Leonard wasn't surprised.

If Eugene were the obedient, well-behaved type, Lysander wouldn't have had so many headaches over the years. Back when Leonard was around, he could keep Eugene in check, but he'd only been gone a year and the kid was already pushing boundaries again.

Still-it was nothing more than a nuisance.

and dialed, his voice low and crisp. "Send a few people to keep an eye on Eugene. The moment he steps out

was not the time for

He didn't drive far-just around the corner to another

made a promise, after all.

the bathroom, a bag of toiletries in hand. He peeled off his sweat-soaked T-shirt and shorts, reeking of alcohol, and stood before the mirror, slowly removing his colored contact lenses. His real eyes-a striking shade of green, bloodshot from

features. When he looked up again, his reflection was sharper,

at that moment, she would have seen it clearly: Eugene was the spitting image of

stopped at

in wait, calculating and cold. And yet, at seventeen, there was still a trace of youthful awkwardness in his features, a

away and stepping into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the night's excesses. Afterward, he dried his hair, then straightened it with practiced ease. Next came the hair dye-he worked the black cream through the faded brown, restoring its inky sheen. Then he reapplied his makeup, each step as

own features faded from recognition. He looked

but empty.

did he return to his bedroom and

morning, Mila woke to a

worse-so swollen she could barely swallow,

she accepted a glass of warm water from Eugene and struggled to swallow her

and even if she did, her throat wouldn't allow it. All she

when he caught her glare, both concerned and

I'll just smell

held the screen up for him

and after that bout of starvation at the manor a couple years ago, she valued food even more. Missing one