Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 392 She made up her mind.

For the next few days, Mila kept her head down and behaved.

Even though she knew the servants here would never answer her, she still occasionally tried to strike up a conversation with whoever entered her room. No one ever responded, but she didn't mind talking to herself. Even the wolf that slept in her room every night-she'd finally worked up the nerve to stroke its thick fur.

Maybe it was the failed "revolutionary camaraderie" they'd forged during their attempted midnight kitchen raid, but now, whenever she saw the wolf, her fear had faded a little. She was still wary, but at least she no longer shrank away every tit padded over to nudge or nip at her.

She needed to adapt to this place as quickly as possible.

Only by adjusting could she start to notice the patterns, learn how things worked here, and find her chance to escape.

Each day, she dressed in ill-fitting gowns and veiled her face, then sat in the garden eating whatever Western- style food the man occasionally prepared- simple dishes she'd grown up with, the kind the Montgomery family often ate, and every single one was something Felicity used to make.

After finishing her meal, she dutifully gave her verdict: Did it taste the same, or not? Whenever this happened, she'd eat a little more than usual. After all, when the man cooked, no one stopped her from having seconds.

With any other meal, though, she was always interrupted and told to stop after just a few bites. That's why she'd been half-starved these past few days, growing weaker with every passing day.

The constant hunger worried her.

One morning, the maid cas usual to help her wash and change her bandages. Today, she dressed her in a rare splash of color-a red chiffon dress. It was still ill-fitting.

Now, Mila finally understood why. After all, she was a seasoned fashion designer; she could spot the wrong size at a glance, no measuring tape needed, especially once she tried the clothes on.

Every single dress was made for Felicity.

Felicity had always been a bit shorter and smaller than her. The fit was perfect for Felicity... which made it all the more baffling. What exactly was this man's intention? If he hated the Montgomery family, then why stock the house with so many clothes in Felicity's size? Just what was his connection to the Montgomerys? Or, more specifically, what was the real relationship between him and Lysander's mother, Felicity? Mila couldn't help but recall Felicity's long-standing, unstable mental state-none of this could mean anything good.

Lost in thought, Mila barely noticed as the maid finished dressing her. This time, her gloves were black lace, with a delicate black rose embroidered on the back of the hand.

Her veil was different, too.

Instead of the usual, it was a wide-brimmed hat crowned with black roses, with a long black veil cascading down to her waist, obscuring her vision far more than before.

Everything about her outfit was different today.

Led by the hand, she followed the maid down the corridor. The wolf didn't trail behind her this time. As they passed the painting of the faceless woman at the end of the hall, Mila glanced at it out of the corner of her eye.

-Could it be you? Downstairs, they didn't head to the garden as usual, but stopped at the front doors instead.

A long, black limousine was waiting outside.

Were they going out? A jolt of excitement shot through her. Finally, she'd see the world beyond these walls. She still had no idea where she'd been taken-only that it was sisland, and escape would be nearly imposs le.

Someone gently took her wrist.

She knew it was the man. Mila didn't resist. Over the past days, she'd learned a little about him: he was obsessively clean, and avoided physical contact unless absolutely necessary.

And if he did touch her, it was always with gloves-both of them wore them.

As long as she played the part-the silent mannequin, or the taste tester-and never lifted her veil in front of him, there'd be no repeat of the shooting, and she'd stay safe.

She climbed into the car.

The interior matched the castle's opulent, old-world style. The man sat across from her, saying nothing about their destination.

Mila didn't ask.

She knew she wouldn't get an answer. Instead, she turned and gazed through the thick black veil and the window at the landscape whirring past—a blur of color and light.

She couldn't make out anything.

She could just discern the car winding down a long drive, passing through dense woods. The vehicle was soundproofed; she heard nothing from outside as they drove deeper into the forest, eventually stopping near a cluster of low wooden cabins. Shadows of people moved about outside.

There were a lot of people here.

Stepping out, she heard strains of music drifting through the trees, mingling with birdsong and the laughter of guests.

Voices in all sorts of languages filled the air.

She caught snatches of Italian, English, French, and others she didn't recognize.

One thing was clear: They'd arrived at skind of woodland party.

The man kept a gentle grip on her wrist as they walked into the crowd.

For a second, the noise died away, replaced by a stunned hush—then the „ке chatter and laughter started up again, louder than before, tinged with surprise. She could tell at once: This man was someone important here.

But strangely, after the initial surprise, no one approached them. In fact, a few people even edged away, as if afraid.

What did that mean?

Confused, Mila obediently followed the man into one of the cabins.

in were Inside, several men were roaring with laughter around a card table, slapping the table and shouting over each other. When they noticed the new arrivals, one glanced over and called out: "Cossio's here!" Cossio? Was that the man's name?

Still puzzling this out, Mila saw one of the men at the card table suddenly rise and approach hidden behin her. With her face the thick black veil, she couldn't see his features, but he greeted her in perfect Italian. He took her hand, bowed, and pressed a gallant kiss to her gloved knuckles. His tone was charming. "You're stunning. May I see your face?" Mila blinked in surprise.

She gently withdrew her hand and took a small step behind Cossio, her actions making her answer clear.

The men around the table burst out laughing, jeering at their friend for getting shot down.

The man just scratched his head, unfazed. He plucked a red rose from a vase on the side table and offered it to Mila, his voice still warm and friendly.

"No worries. You're even cuter like this."