Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 397 Her heart clenched, tight with pain.

Instinctively, she wanted to curl up, to shield herself from the ache, but her injured shoulder left her flat on her back, unable to move. After a long moment, she carefully inched her hand along the mattress until her fingers brushed against that half piece of chocolate she'd stashed away. Everything else she'd managed to sneak from the kitchen was gone-confiscated. Only this sliver remained.

She slipped it into her mouth and let it melt slowly.

Sweetness.

The sugar dulled the raw edge of her pain. With her good hand, she pressed her palm over her eyes, but the tears still seeped through her fingers, leaving a dark stain on the pillow beneath her.

It hurt. God, it hurt so badly.

She lay there, whispering into the stillness, voice raw and choked with tears. "But, Mom...the chocolate is sweet." So sweet.

She would have given anything for more. But there was only this one piece left. Just one.

Kingsford Estate, the old manor.

Felicity jolted awake from her afternoon nap in the conservatory, one hand clutching her chest as she gasped for breath, tears streaming down her cheeks before she even understood why.

Conrad, who'd been dozing beside her, immediately pulled her into his arms, stroking her back in gentle reassurance. He murmured softly, "Hey, sweetheart, what's wrong? Don't be scared, I'm right here. I'm here..." Felicity's breathing slowly steadied, but she shook her head, dazed and lost. She couldn't explain it—just a sudden, overwhelming sadness. It happened sometimes, striking out of nowhere. After a long silence, she finally spoke, almost on instinct: "Where's Mila? She hasn't been by in ages. I miss her." Conrad hesitated for a fraction of a second, masking his worry. "She's away on business. Lysander's with her. She'll be back soon." "Lysander's with her?" Felicity nestled against his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she mumbled as she drifted toward sleep, "That's good..." Conrad watched her pale, exhausted features, concern etched deep in his face.

Lately, her illness had relapsed again-maybe the medication was at fault, maybe not. She was sleeping more and more, her energy fading day by day. The doctors had warned them: if things kept going like this, she'd spiral into crisis again.

After so many years of medication, the pills barely helped anymore.

And the one medicine that truly worked had vanished.

With a long, quiet sigh, Conrad pulled out his phone and messaged Lysander overseas, urging him to hurry. Then he cradled Felicity close, holding her in the golden afternoon light as she finally slept in his arms.

Despite her injuries, Mila wasn't allowed a moment's rest.

No matter how much she hurt or how exhausted she felt, she was forced to stay at Cossio's side all day, playing the part of his perfect "doll"-wearing ill-fitting dresses, sampling dishes for him, pretending to be Felicity, all to keep him entertained.

She'd learned her lesson.

After what she'd endured, she didn't dare fight back anymore. She did as she was told, replaying every detail of Felicity's mannerisms at hin her mind. The veil she wore at least hid her expressions, and Cossio's obsession with cleanliness meant he rarely touched her. She told herself she was just an actress on stage, silently inhabiting someone else's life.

There was, at least, one small upside.

When Coswas in a good mood, he let her eat a little more. Sometimes, sitting at the table, Mila found herself fantasizing about flipping the whole thing over, stabbing him with a fork, and running for the door.

He was vile. Despicable.

But she had no choice but to endure.

She already knew what happened if she didn't. She never wanted to go through that again. Another tmight break her for good.

At dinner, Cosdemanded she feed him again. This time, Mila ignored him, refusing to play along. He grabbed her wrist, trying to bring the forkful of chicken to his mouth, but she jerked free and both fork and meat clattered to the floor.

Mila's heart pounded. She was gambling-testing a theory.

For a moment, the garden was silent. Then Cosgave a low, rough laugh. He wasn't angry; in fact, he seemed almost pleased.

He even set a plate of pan-seared veal in front of her-a reward.

Mila took a slow breath.

She'd been right. This was how Felicity must have treated him—always resisting, always pulling away. He'd grown used to chasing, to being refused. It was a pattern, a twisted game, right up until the moment his patience snapped.

He got angry when she tried to please him, but never when she pushed him away.

What a sick man.

Because of him, she'd taken a bullet. No-two.

Bastard.

Still, she had to be careful. Judging by Felicity's fragile state, there'd ca point when his anger boiled over and things got much, much worse.

If Mila wanted to survive here, she had to get the balance just right.

Survival first. Escape could wait.

But the injustice of it all burned in her chest. This whole year had been disaster after disaster nothing but Ver bad luck. The lingering smell of medication never left her. She'd prayed to God-more than once!-but nothing changed.

Through the gauze of her veil, she shot a glare at the man beside her, roa@beside fury twisting in her gut. Wretched man.

Suppressing her hunger, Mila shoved the plate of fragrant veal away and turned her body, making it clear she wanted nothing to do with the food.

She needed to push him further, to see just how far she could go.

A reckless thought crossed her mind-

Maybe, inside this fortress of a castle, her only real chance of escape lay in the madness of the man holding her captive.