Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 351 Longing crashed over him, relentless as a tidal wave.

How long had it been? How long since he'd last seen Mila Sutherland? He ached to hold her. To kiss her.

Once, he could kneel for hours with his back straight and his face expressionless. Now, his features were drawn and weary, his fox-like eyes flickering with confusion, candlelight dancing in his pupils-unsteady, wild, in twith his racing heart.

Seven days and seven nights.

He'd been on his knees in the family chapel, facing the memorials of generations past. Grief and yearning howled through him, deafening and all-consuming, shaking him to the core.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Each strike thundered through the quiet, and at last, he understood what he wanted.

All those moments of instinctive attraction, unconscious closeness, the ever-growing hunger, the calm that cfrom her touch... In this moment, it all made sense, all of it real and undeniable.

His eyes grew red, rimmed with the sting of unshed tears.

He bowed his head, staring at his open palm, his vision blurring. Why had it taken him this long? Maybe ignorance would have been kinder.

What had he done? He pressed his hand over his face, doubling over with his forehead against the polished floor, the silent memorials before him heavy with judgment.

For a long time, he stayed that way.

At last, a low, broken laugh slipped from his lips.

It was laughter laced with pain, edged with madness.

But it didn't matter. She was his now-his, for as long as the chain held, for as long as his will stayed strong. He'd never let her go.

Even if it was all built on a lie, he'd carry that lie for a lifetime.

He had no regrets.

On the seventh morning, the chapel doors creaked open. Sunlight spilled in, stretching Lysander's shadow long and thin across the floor. At the threshold stood his grandfather, cane in hand.

"Have you made up your mind?" the old man asked.

Lysander kept his gaze on the row of memorial plaques. He looked exhausted, lips dry and trembling, but a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His words cout hoarse, but unwavering.

"I only want her." Dreams? Ambitions? None of it mattered. Once he held the reins of the family, he could do anything he pleased. But Mila... This was his one chance. That woman's heart was locked away, and if he let this slip by, he'd never get another opportunity-never one so perfect.

The timing was right. He couldn't let it go.

Crack! His grandfather's face twisted in anger. He brought the cane down hard on Lysander's back, making him flinch. "Tell me, what is it about her that's bewitched you?" What was it? Lysander's gaze drifted, hollow, still smiling despite his pale, gaunt face. He couldn't put it into words.

He only knew this: Even if Mila cfrom nothing, even if she was as lowly as the dust beneath his feet, to him, she was different. Let her be dust or mud-he would keep her in the most precious box in the world, place her where he could see her every day. That would make her a treasure.

"I only want her." He spoke again, each word ringing with conviction.

His grandfather knew too well how stubborn his grandson could be. There were other ways he could intervene, but he didn't want to break the bond between them -and after all, this was the first tLysander Montgomery had ever truly defied him.

In the battle of wills, it was always the elder who yielded first.

With a heavy sigh, the old man listened as Lysander's voice softened, almost pleading.

"Grandpa, she's carrying my child. I want to build a hwith her. I want it more than anything." His tone was low, nearly a whisper.

The old man's eyes went red. He stood there for a long moment, then turned away. In the sunlight, his bent back seemed to shrink, suddenly much older than before.

Inside the chapel, Lysander bowed low, pressing his forehead to the floor three times until blood seeped from his skin.

"Bless me, ancestors! Help me!" In the study- Lysander's mind drifted as he faced his grandfather, who looked even older than he had seven years ago. Lysander's eyes were red, but he spoke the swords as before.

"Grandpa, I can't live without her." His grandfather drew a shaky breath, trembling with anger.

From the side, Butler Marshall quickly n steady b handed over a cup of tea, helping the old man steady himself. Just then, Leonard knocked and entered, not sparing a glance for the standoff, simply bowing his head. "She's been found." Lysander turned to go, but his grandfather called out, stopping him.

"Lysander, I know what you're planning. But if this road, if you keep going down the wrong means-no matter how determined you are, you'll tear this family apart." Lysander hesitated, not looking back. After a long pause, he murmured, "Take care of yourself, Grandpa. I know what I'm doing." He strode out, Leonard following close behind.

"Are we ready?" Lysander asked.

"Yes. I've already notified the airport. The helicopter's waiting, flight plan approved. As soon as we arrive, we can leave." "Good." The sky was already lightening, streaked with the red of dawn.

Suddenly, a black Mercedes sped up the drive. Giselle Harvey hurried out, face drawn with worry, blocking Lysander's path.

"Lysander, why haven't you answered your phone? Thank God you're still here-I just got/news from overseas, and I had to tell you right away."