Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 385 Was she hallucinating from fear, or had the master of this castle gone mad? Did he have skind of death wish? Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point; all she could hear was the frantic pounding of her heart. Sweat trickled down her temple, yet Mila didn't dare move a muscle.

She was terrified of provoking the wolf's aggression.

Her only hope was that this beast was domesticated, its wild instincts dulled enough that it wouldn't bite without reason. She certainly wasn't confident she could outrun a wolf-one wrong move and she'd probably be pinned and torn apart.

She just didn't understand.

It wasn't like she never went to church. How could her luck still be this terrible? Was she really going to die here, devoured by a wolf before even seeing her great-aunt awaken? To die like this- unseen, unfought—was just too much to accept.

Her eyes burned with tears, frustration and fear and anger all tangled together.

The wolf edged closer, so near she could feel the coarse, plush fur brushing her calf-rough yet soft, the bristles tingling against her skin. Its hot breath washed over her leg, and she becaware of something damp and sticky brushing her skin. Mila wanted to cry.

The wolf was drooling.

Of course it was drooling-its mouth was watering at the sight of her! How could there be no one in this massive castle to cand drag the beast away? Surely her unknown captor hadn't gone to all this trouble just to feed her to a wolf, had they? That seemed like an awfully elaborate plan for such a grisly end.

Mila was starting to lose hope, her mind drifting to nonsense.

What else could she do? She could feel something sharp and hard nudging her calf now-the wolf was clearly testing her flesh with its teeth, gauging whether it was worth a bite.

She was already the main course.

Just when despair was sinking its claws in, she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her gaze and saw a young woman at the far end of the corridor, dressed in a crisp black-and-white maid's uniform, golden hair tied up in a neat bun. Clear blue eyes studied her from across the hallway.

Mila's heart leapt with hope.

She didn't dare raise her voice, but her eyes pleaded for help: Please, do something! Get this wolf away from me! But the maid only glanced at her, then turned and walked away.

Mila stared in disbelief.

Seriously? Whether this was a kidnapping or sbizarre prank, how could they be so negligent after dragging her here? What if she died? Wait a minute...

She'd been frozen in this standoff with the wolf for a while now, but it still hadn't bitten her.

Maybe... it didn't eat people? Honestly, the odds didn't look good either way. Mila decided to risk it and edged her leg forward, trying to step past the wolf. The moment she moved, its jaws clamped around her calf-not biting down, but making it clear that one more step would tear her skin open.

No blood yet, but the wolf was already this eager.

If it tasted blood, she'd be finished.

Mila froze.

She stood in the corridor, forcing herself to ignore the primal urge to flee, feeling the wolf's hot breath and sharp teeth pressing against her leg. They remained locked in that tense tableau.

The corridor was lined with oil paintings—a pale woman in a white dress stood motionless as a full-grown wolf, pelt a mix of tawny, gray, and black, prowled around her. Its golden eyes glinted coldly, creating a wild and surreal picture—a beauty and the beast scene cto life... at least, if you ignored the way the wolf kept mouthing her calf, teeth grazing but never biting, until her leg was slick with its drool.

Mila's legs were numb.

She had no idea how long she'd been standing there. The light in the corridor was gradually fading, and more than one person had walked past-maids in black-and-white uniforms, footmen in dark suits-each gliding by in silence, not one stopping to help her.

She didn't understand.

The wolf ignored everyone else, never taking its eyes off her.

Was she just more appetizing? She was exhausted.

"Are you going to eator not?" The corridor was shrouded in dusk, candles flickering on the walls. Mila, utterly drained, finally spoke: "If you're not, I'm leaving." She couldn't take it anymore.

She'd been standing here since daylight, and the castle's master still hadn't shown himself—just left her to play this gof chicken with a wolf. If the wolf wasn't going to eat her, this was just skind of sick joke.

Was she supposed to stand here until morning? Forever? Mila gingerly flexed her numb foot, waited for the tingling ache to subside, then- unable to endure another moment-bolted forward like an arrow let loose.

Whatever.

Eator don't! Her sudden movement startled the wolf, which hesitated, then let out a howl and chased after her.

Girl and wolf, racing down the corridor.

A frantic gof cat and mouse.

Mila quickly realized: the castle's master was toying with her. Every tshe darted for a doorway, the wolf-always hanging back exactly one yard-would lunge and snap at her, forcing her to retreat and keep running. Then it would fall back again, howling and pursuing, keeping her trapped in this endless chase. Round and round they went, looping through the corridor again and again.

She was gasping for breath, stomach empty, vision swimming from the exertion- but she couldn't stop.

Desperate, she veered toward the stairs.

Down, down, down, several flights-at last, she saw the bright lights of the main hall below, caught the scent of food wafting up, and glimpsed servants moving quietly about.

Whoever had orchestrated this whole ordeal had to be down there!

Wolf at her heels, unknown dangers ahead-but at least there were people in the hall, people she could appeal to Mila gathered her strength and dashed down the last few steps. Bang! A gunshot rang out.

Mila froze on the staircase, staring at the small smoking crater just inches from her toes. Slowly, she lifted her gaze.

A blond man in a sharp tailcoat stood at the foot of the stairs, a pistol in his gloved hand, his blue-green eyes cold and impassive. He spoke a single, clipped sentence-she caught only fragments, but recognized the language: Italian. She couldn't make out every word, but the message was clear enough: Go back.