Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 340 Night had settled over the small-town inn.

"Doctor, are you sure she's alright? Her headaches are getting worse, sometimes she even hears things that aren't there-and when it's bad, she passes out. Is altitude sickness really this severe?" Archie's voice was tight with worry as he hovered at Mila's bedside, watching the doctor check her pulse.

The doctor rose, shaking his head. He rummaged in his battered medical kit, then pulled out a slender stick of incense. Setting it in a small dish beside the bed, he lit it. Wisps of fragrant smoke curled through the air, wrapping the room in a hazy calm.

Only after he'd tended the incense did the doctor turn to Archie. "It's nothing to worry about," he said gently. "This isn't just altitude sickness. She has an old condition, something that's been there for a long time. The altitude only brought it to the surface. But believe it or not, this might be a turning point for her a good one. Once she wakes, she'll be alright." Archie blinked, confused. "She... has another illness?" His cousin-in-law had seemed perfectly normal-well, at least until the altitude started wreaking havoc.

The doctor just sighed and muttered, "Poor soul," before gathering his things and slipping out the door. Archie didn't understand, but all he could do was sit at Mila's side and wait.

Even in sleep, her brow would furrow, as if she were wrestling something deep inside. Only when the scent of incense drifted close did her features finally relax, ever so slightly. The corners of her lips even lifted, just a little.

*** "Do you love me?" The room was cloaked in darkness, just a sliver of light sneaking in. Mila clung to Lysander, heart pounding as the question-his question-echoed for what felt like the hundredth time. Terror prickled inside her.

This time, she didn't dare hesitate. Her answer was rushed and desperate: "I love you. I love you—I do!" She held him tighter, chanting "I love you" again and again as if the words could keep her safe. She knew if she faltered, even for a moment, the fragile warmth in the room would be snuffed out by darkness all over again.

All these days of torment had planted a voice deep in her mind: Love him.

Love Lysander.

He's the only one who can save you from the dark. Your savior.

Savior? Mila pressed her chin to his shoulder, whispering words of devotion as silent tears slid down her cheeks. Her chest ached, tight and suffocating.

She loved this man.

Didn't she? She was supposed to.

But why did it hurt so much? He shifted, and she instinctively tightened her hold, showering his face and lips with frantic kisses.

Her voice was a hushed plea. "Don't go. Please, don't leave me." Lysander looked down at her, his expression gentling. For the first tin days, he leaned in of his own accord and brushed his lips against hers.

"I'm not leaving," he promised quietly. "I'll take you out of here." He lifted her up, one strong arm supporting her, and carried her from the room. The hallway beyond was softly lit-not harsh, just a gentle glow.

The light didn't sting her eyes, but she still squinted, wary and uncertain.

She hadn't expected to leave the darkness. For a heartbeat, fear of the world outside gripped her. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around Lysander's neck, clinging to him as his low, raspy laugh warmed her ear. He soothed her with a gentle murmur.

"Don't be afraid. I'm right here." Confused, Mila managed a dazed reply: "I'm not... afraid..." The house was empty. Under the golden lights, Lysander carried her into the music room, where a grand piano stood gleaming.

It looked familiar.

But her muddled mind couldn't quite place it. She just knew that one glance at the piano made her heart race with inexplicable dread.

She clung to Lysander, refusing to let go.

"Don't be afraid." He sat her down on the piano bench, then took a seat beside her and pressed a key, letting the note ring out as he smiled.

"Do you like the piano?"

At the question, a melody echoed in the back of Mila's mind, soft and Her heart clenched; her haunting. Her head throbbed. She shook her head, almost instinctively. No. She didn't like it. Lysander noticed the flicker of pain in her expression, but just smiled. "I like it. I'm pretty good, too. Letteach you." He pulled her into his lap, covering her trembling hand with his own and guiding her fingers to the keys.

Her hands shook.

She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let go. Key by key, he forced her to play a fracturedhalftremembered tune-one she'd heard before, she was sure of it. Her eyes stung with tears. It hurt. Deep inside, it hurt.

There was a voice screaming in her chest: Stop, please, stop! Why did it hurt so much?

As if he heard her silent cry, the music stopped abruptly. The next instant, he spurther around, pinning her against the keys, the piano's cry a sharp, discordant wail. He gazed down at her tear-streaked face, his own eyes dark and unreadable.

He bent and kissed the tears from her cheeks as she whimpered, voice trembling, "Don't, please... don't. I'm scared."