Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 396 Mila fell silent.

Why was this man so impossibly difficult? He was just as infuriating as Lysander -no, even worse than Lysander! Not that she dared voice any of this; she kept the complaints locked away inside.

Taking a slow breath, she obediently scooped up a small bite of cake with a spoon and, fighting down a wave of discomfort, offered it to the man. He leaned forward slightly and accepted it from her lips.

The kitchen was unnaturally quiet.

Mila's nerves were strung tight. She worried that if she'd gotten the flavor wrong, he'd lose his temper-and then she'd really be in trouble.

A long, tense moment passed.

Then, suddenly, Cosreached out and took the plate from her.

He must want to eat by himself now.

Relief washed over her. The taste must have been right.

But before she could relax, the plate slipped from his grasp. It crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. Cake and crumbs scattered everywhere.

Mila's heart plummeted.

A second later, the man's voice broke the silence, calm and detached: "Wrong. She would never feedcake like that... I can't forgive what happened last night. You need to be punished." What?! Mila nearly swore out loud.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? The problem wasn't the cake, it was her behavior? And what was that about? Did he seriously mistake her for Lysander's mother? Was he insane? How could anyone confuse the two of them? This was madness! But since her cover was blown and punishment seemed inevitable, Mila decided there was no point in holding back anymore. Gritting her teeth, she spat out, "Sir, why did you even kidnap me? Are you trying to threaten the Montgomery family? Because I'll tell you right now, Lysander couldn't care less about me. He only cares about Giselle-Giselle! Takinghostage is useless. I have nothing to do with the Montgomerys anymore!" She didn't expect any mercy from this man.

From what she'd seen these past days, he was the kind who delighted in tormenting people-cold, cruel, and sadistic. The usual threats were bad enough; who knew what kind of twisted punishment he'd cup with next? At least if she fought back, she'd have sdignity left.

No more pretending! "Whatever you do to me, it won't hurt the Montgomerys. You'll get nothing out of it -it's all a waste of your energy!" Her tone softened a little as she stepped closer. "Listen, why don't we talk this out? Money, information- whatever you want, I'll trade for my life. All I want is to survive. I have no interest in your feud with the Montgomerys, and I'll never get involved. You-" "She would never say something like that." The man interrupted, suddenly closing the distance between them. Mila instinctively backed away until her hips hit the counter, trapping her. His gloved hand reached out, brushing her cheek through the veil she wore. Her scalp tingled with fright.

She tried to swat his hand away, but he caught her wrist in an iron grip. His voice was quiet, almost gentle: "I don't care what ties you have or don't have to the Montgomerys.

"But you lived with her for a long time. You know her well, and she was fond of you. I want you to be like her.

"If you can't, I'll teach you." "Take her downstairs." As soon as he stepped back, two blonde maids entered the kitchen, grabbed Mila by the arms, and started dragging her out.

For a moment, Mila was too stunned to react. Then panic kicked in, and she clung desperately to the doorframe, refusing to let go-even as the wound on her left hand split open and fresh blood dripped to the floor. She screamed back at the man, "You're a lunatic! A monster!" She didn't bother begging for mercy; she knew it would do no good.

But she refused to accept whatever twisted "punishment” he had in store. She'd overheard enough at that strange woodland party-she'd heard men talk about the sick things they did to women. She had no illusions about the man in front of her. He had no moral boundaries at all.

Whatever his idea of punishment was, it would be nothing good.

Felicity was already shattered-Mila had to assthe worst, and she couldn't let herself fall into that trap.

No matter what.

Her mind raced. Without thinking about consequences, she shouted, "No wonder she left you! You're a monster-a pathetic freak! She'll never cback to you, not in a thousand years!" Bang! A gunshot rang out. Mila crumpled to the floor, blood pooling beneath her shoulder.

She screamed, clutching her wound, unable to stifle the pain-but somewhere deep inside, she was almost relieved. She'd rather be hurt than broken.

The man strode over, placing his boot on her wounded shoulder. Her cries filled the room. Though his face ided was hidden behind a veil, his tone had lost its usual detachment; still, there was no hint of emotion. "You're clever.

"I'll let it go this time. But there won't be a next time." Under the crimson canopy of her bed, Mila lay motionless, her face pale as death. The wolf, driven mad by the scent of blood, had to be dragged away.

Now the room was empty. Silent. Oppressively still.

Only now, in the aftermath, did Mila fully grasp the meaning of the things Cossio's so-called friends had said at that forest gathering-he was savage, brutal, terrifying. Staying near him meant getting hurt. Hurt barely even covered it.

He was a purebred monster.

Her thoughts spun wildly. If that foreign beauty from twenty years ago really was Felicity, what horrors had she endured at Cossio's side to becwhat she was now?

She'd seen it herself-rarely, but om enough to know. Felicity's outbursts, when her illness took hold, were frightening. That gentlewoman would becwild, unrecognizing, lashing out at any man who cnear. Only Mila could approach her and soothe her, drawing Felicity into her arms to rest, trusting, desperate for comfort. That total, childlike trust-Mila knew what it cost.