Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 566

Late at night, at Bamboo Grove.

A warm desk lamp cast a golden glow over the study. On the desk, a crimson scroll edged in gold lay unfurled. Forrest Whitmore, silver-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, held a calligraphy brush dipped in shimmering gold ink, carefully inscribing elegant characters.

One golden letter after another appeared on the red paper.

Yet after only a dozen words, Forrest's brow furrowed. With a frustrated sigh, he tore the paper in half and threw it into the trash. Howard, waiting by his side, quickly rolled out a fresh sheet of red paper.

Forrest began again.

This ritual had played out dozens of times in the quiet hours of the night. The wastebasket was nearly overflowing with discarded scrolls. Howard's gaze lingered on the bold, graceful golden script, and at last he spoke up, "Sir, it's already excellent. The letters are perfect-you could finish it all in one go."

"It's not good enough," Forrest replied, not even glancing up. "This is my engagement document with Mimi."

It had to be perfect.

Not a single flaw was allowed.

"But your hand..." Howard's eyes drifted to Forrest's grip on the brush, noticing the faint tremor. He frowned with concern. Forrest's hand still hadn't fully healed, and he'd been hunched over writing for hours...

"What is it?" Forrest didn't catch the words.

"It's very late," Howard urged gently. "You should rest. After a good night's sleep, you might write even better."

Forrest shook his head, still writing as he replied, "The engagement party is tomorrow. I have to finish tonight. Besides—” He paused, glancing up with a boyish grin. "I couldn't sleep if I tried."

The closer the engagement party drew, the more exhilarated he felt.

When Howard realized he couldn't persuade him, he could only step back. After all, it was rare to see Forrest so giddy-this was a once-in-a-lifetime event, after all.

The clock ticked on, hours slipping by.

littered

as the faintest blush of dawn crept through the window, Forrest set down his brush, his hand trembling. He gazed at the vertical columns of golden script and let out a deep, satisfied laugh. "It's

gold letters danced across the crimson paper, elegant

perfect work, finished in a

box, and sealed it. He accepted the handkerchief Howard

looked out

reflected in

since

...

The Dressing Room.

before dawn, rushing to the

of the mirror, letting the makeup artist work her

was far too

barely slept

a bride this beautiful," the makeup artist

Mila's looks

was unlike

they thought they'd seen it all-but walking in that morning,

about

vel

grounds beyond the lawns stretched endless fields and woodlands, with distant mountain

affairs, but something this

was rare.

had clearly cost a

party. Who could imagine what the

the makeup artist hesitate. Too bold, and the makeup would overpower their natural charm; too subtle,

only half-heard the makeup artist's praise and instinctively replied,

didn't pay it much

used to the obligatory compliments,

the crew a