Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 566 Late at night, at Bamboo Grove.

A warm desk lamp cast a golden glow over the study. On the desk, a crimson scroll edged in gold lay unfurled. Forrest Whitmore, silver-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, held a calligraphy brush dipped in shimmering gold ink, carefully inscribing elegant characters.

One golden letter after another appeared on the red paper.

Yet after only a dozen words, Forrest's brow furrowed. With a frustrated sigh, he tore the paper in half and threw it into the trash. Howard, waiting by his side, quickly rolled out a fresh sheet of red paper.

Forrest began again.

This ritual had played out dozens of times in the quiet hours of the night. The wastebasket was nearly overflowing with discarded scrolls. Howard's gaze lingered on the bold, graceful golden script, and at last he spoke up, "Sir, it's already excellent. The letters are perfect-you could finish it all in one go." "It's not good enough," Forrest replied, not even glancing up. "This is my engagement document with Mimi." It had to be perfect.

Not a single flaw was allowed.

"But your hand..." Howard's eyes drifted to Forrest's grip on the brush, noticing the faint tremor. He frowned with concern. Forrest's hand still hadn't fully healed, and he'd been hunched over writing for hours...

"What is it?" Forrest didn't catch the words.

"It's very late," Howard urged gently. "You should rest. After a good night's sleep, you might write even better." Forrest shook his head, still writing as he replied, "The engagement party is tomorrow. I have to finish tonight. Besides—" He paused, glancing up with a boyish grin. "I couldn't sleep if I tried." The closer the engagement party drew, the more exhilarated he felt.

When Howard realized he couldn't persuade him, he could only step back. After all, it was rare to see Forrest so giddy-this was a once-in-a-lifetevent, after all.

The clock ticked on, hours slipping by.

Red paper littered the floor.

At last, as the faintest blush of dawn crept through the window, Forrest set down his brush, his hand trembling. He gazed at the vertical columns of golden script and let out a deep, satisfied laugh. "It's done." The gold letters danced across the crimson paper, elegant and alive.

A perfect work, finished in a single breath.

Once the ink dried, Forrest carefully rolled up the scroll, nestled it inside a wooden box, and sealed it. He accepted the handkerchief Howard offered, removed his glasses, and dabbed the sweat from his brow. He looked out the window.

Dawn's first light reflected in his eyes.

The dream he'd carried since boyhood was finally within reach.

The Dressing Room.

Mila Sutherland had been up before dawn, rushing to the venue for the engagement party. She sat in front of the mirror, letting the makeup artist work her magic, a trace of sleepiness still lingering on Mila's face.

It was far too early.

She'd barely slept at all.

"Your skin is amazing-I don't think I've ever seen a bride this beautiful," the makeup artist murmured, unable to look away from Mila's flawless, porcelain complexion.

It wasn't just Mila's looks that stood out.

The engagement itself was unlike any other.

Their team had worked countless high-society weddings, so they thought they'd seen it all-but walking in that morning, they were still awestruck.

It wasn't about opulence or luxury.

vel The event was set at a countryside resort on the outskirts of town. The couple had reserved the entire grounds beyond the lawns stretched endless fields and woodlands, with distant mountain peaks on the horizon. The venue offered no gaudy extravagance. Instead, guests were greeted by a breathtaking sense of openness, the air fragrant with wild grass and blooming flowers.

They'd seen plenty of lavish affairs, but something this pure and close to nature was rare.

Of course, it had clearly cost fortune.

And this was just the engagement party. Who could imagine what the actual wedding would be like? Still, the style fit the couple perfectly. Especially with their striking looks-it almost made the makeup artist hesitate. Too bold, and the makeup would overpower their natural charm; too subtle, and it wouldn't do them justice.

Drowsy, Mila only half-heard the makeup artist's praise and instinctively replied, "Thank you." She didn't pay it much mind.

She was used to the obligatory compliments, but today was special-truly a day of celebration. She made a mental note to give the crew a generous tip once it was all over.

"Are we done?" she asked, fighting to stay awake.

"Almost."

The artist settled on a soft, natural look and helped Mila into her dress before leaving her alone for a m moment. Mila dosed her eyes, resting briefly, then slowly got to her feet. She stretched, stepped to the mirror, and carefully adjusted the delicate wreath of pale pink and white silk flowers atop her head. Everything was perfect.

She took a few deep breaths, patted her cheeks for a burst of energy, and watched her reflection regain its m usual sparkle. Her se brightened, and she gathered up the tulle skirt, spinning lightly on crystal-blue heels that flashed at her ankles, where silk blossoms trailed in soft fibbons. She moved toward the door, the heels tapping softly on the floor. It was nearly time.

She needed to go.

She smoothed her dress once more and reached for the doorknob, but before she could open it, the door swung inward. Startled, Mila stepped back.

Someone entered from the hallway.

The door closed behind them.

The Resort Grounds.

On the open lawn, an outdoor venue had been set up with archways of fresh flowers. Howard and Cara, both dressed impeccably, stood at either side of the entrance, welcoming guests as they arrived.

Forrest was there too.

This engagement party was unusual; neither of the couple's families were present. Instead, the guest list was filled with accomplished figures from varet ne

fields swith truly impressive reputations, and many from the academic world who had cfor Forrest himself. Since no relatives could stand in for the couple, it was up to them to greet each guest personally—a gesture of sincerity and respect.