Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 388 Mila was so hungry her head was starting to spin.

Across from her, the man picked up his cane and, with the silver-engraved handle, tapped lightly on the pair of silk gloves resting on the table-the ones she'd just taken off and set down.

She sucked in a deep breath, exasperated.

Seriously? What was with this obsessive compulsion? The urge to laugh bubbled up, but she fought it down and obediently slipped the gloves back on. Just as she finished, the plate of pastries was handed over again.

She took a bite. The dessert was so sweet it nearly brought her to tears.

Finally, something to eat.

At this point, anything tasted delicious to her. She did her best to eat with a semblance of grace, but she didn't bother to slow down; soon, the pastries were gone.

A small cup of coffee appeared.

She drank it in one gulp, wincing at the bitterness.

Honestly, she was still hungry. The pastries had only been a few tiny pieces, nowhere near enough. But the man ignored her, sitting off to the side, eyes fixed on his book.

The garden was utterly silent.

With the veil draped over her head, Mila couldn't see a thing-appreciating the garden was out of the question. Everything in her view was just a blur of color.

Still, she could make out one thing: Black and crimson roses dominated the garden-the svariety as the one the man had placed in her palm earlier.

She didn't get it.

He'd brought her here by force, hadn't killed her, hadn't made any demands, barely even said a word. He refused any attempt at communication. What was the point of all this? Was she supposed to live or die? Couldn't he at least let her know? Just then, the man put down his book. Gloved in black leather, his hand hovered in the air, then slipped beneath the edge of her veil.

A butterfly perched delicately on his fingertips.

Mila blinked in surprise, unsure what he wanted. Was she supposed to take it? She hesitantly reached out, and the butterfly fluttered down to her finger, trembling for a moment before taking off again.

The man returned to his book.

So they sat there: one reading, the other simply enduring the silence. Tcrawled toward noon. Mila was almost dozing off in the heat when, suddenly, a shadow fell over her, snapping her awake.

Outside the veil, several figures moved quietly past.

The manor's servants—she could tell by their uniforms—set up a sunshade overhead and arranged a long table nearby, laying out platters of fragrant food.

Her stomach growled.

But she didn't dare move.

With the veil hiding her face, she stole a glance at the man. He closed his book, handed it to a waiting servant, and took a seat at the table, composed and unhurried as he began his lunch.

No one paid her any mind.

So... was she supposed to eat or not? She waited a while, but hunger eventually won out. Lifting the heavy folds of her gold gown, Mila shuffled over to the table and sat down, pulling out a chair herself.

Still, no one stopped her.

Carefully, she picked up a knife and fork and stabbed a piece of roast chicken from the nearest platter, lifting a corner of her veil just enough to eat.

No one intervened.

So, she was allowed to eat? Was that it? Whatever. What kind of kidnapper starves their hostage, anyway? No one tried to stop her, and it wasn't like she was about to let herself starve to death. Mila didn't bother with pretense-she quickly polished off two pieces of chicken, then, emboldened, reached for another dish. That's when a firm hand grabbed her wrist.

A servant, who had been standing silently nearby, pried the utensils from her grip and pulled her away from the table with surprising strength.

She was back in her wrought-iron chair before she could react.

She'd barely eaten a thing! Fuming beneath her veil, Mila glared at the man still dining unhurriedly at the table. What a tyrant of a kidnapper! Lunch ended soon after.

She watched, stomach aching, as the servants cleared away the untouched food. It would've been easier if she'd never gotten a taste in the first place-now her hunger was worse, her stomach cramping in protest.

Apparently, the man liked to walk after lunch.

Mila, already exhausted from hunger, was all but dragged along at his side. The heavy gold gown was much too tight and cumbersfor her frame, each step a small torture. By the tthey finally sat down again, she was thoroughly drained. The man went back to his book. Mila couldn't stand it any longer. If this went on, she'd be too weak to even think about escape, much less attempt it.

She spoke up, her voice soft and subdued.

"Sir, could you at least tellwhat you want? If it's money, I can pay. If Ο it's something else, just nit-I'll help however I can, as long as you letgo. And look, I'm not trying to fight you. If you kill me, I'm no use to you, so there's really no point in tormentinglike this. Whatever you need, I'll do my best to cooperate." She didn't even know where she'd been taken.

No idea if someone might find her, or if anyone was even looking, or when help might come-if it ever did. She understood exactly how dire her situation was, and the last thing she wanted was to provoke her captor.

If he didn't plan to get rid of her, she'd play along.

She wanted to live.

When he didn't react, Mila wondered if he even understood English. Judging by his looks, maybe he was Italian? She racked her brain for the right words and, in halting Italian, promised the sthing: She wouldn't fight, wouldn't seek revenge-anything, really, as long as he let her leave alive.

At least she had one small advantage:

Maybe by design, maybe by accident, she hadn't seen his face once since her capture. The veil The veil had stayed on the entire time. That had to mean something-he didn't want her to recognize him, which probably meant he wasn't ready to kill her. There was hope for negotiation.

She'd considered, too, whether he was connected to sfamily feud, or maybe a business rivalry gone wrong, or something else entirely.

She carefully asked.

At last, the man stirred, glancing her way. After a long pause, he closed his book and left in silence.

What did that mean? Mila started to rise, but a servant behind her pressed down on her shoulders, forcing her back into the chair.

She watched as the man's figure disappeared into the garden.