Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 285

Thunder rumbled overhead, lightning splitting the sky.

Inside the dimly lit room, a heavy silence hung between two figures. On the floor between them, a toppled toy robot lay motionless, its little red hat askew.

Mila stood frozen, tears brimming in her eyes.

She couldn’t put her feelings into words—she even wondered if she was hearing things. But she knew Lysander’s voice too well, the way he sounded as a young man.

There was no mistaking it.

Her mind whirled with confusion, unable to process what had just happened.

Seven years of marriage—absurd from the start, absurd through the years, and now, as if fate needed a punchline, utterly insane.

If his “I don’t love you” for all those years had been a lie, what did any of it mean? What was real—what had ever been real?

Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as her heart quietly crumbled.

“Mila...”

Lysander’s usually sharp gaze flickered with rare panic. He whispered her name, reaching for her, but Mila instinctively took a step back.

In that moment, a thousand thoughts raced through her head, and yet, somehow, none at all.

She turned on instinct and bolted.

All she knew was that she had to get out—out of this suffocating house, out of this unbearable moment. She needed a place to breathe, somewhere small and safe where she could lock the world away and hide.

She just needed to be alone for a while, to catch her breath.

She ran for the front door, barely registering the hurried footsteps pounding behind her. On the way, she shoved a clothing rack aside, sending a pile of laundry toppling to block the path and slow whoever was following.

She burst out of the house.

Outside, the sky was a churning mass of storm clouds. Rain came down in sheets, but Mila didn’t hesitate—she plunged into the downpour, letting it swallow her whole.

...

By the time Lysander made it outside, the yard was deserted.

The sky hung low and dark, rain lashing the ground, wind howling through the trees and bending them nearly double. There was no sign of her.

Mila was gone.

He stood in the rain for a stunned moment, then quickly pulled out his phone and called Leonard.

Lysander paused at the guest room door. The faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air—a fragrance he knew by heart.

His eyes narrowed. “Clear it out.”

His men moved quickly, gathering up everything that belonged to Mila, then smashing what was left.

Next, he headed for the art studio.

Inside, Julian sat on the floor, clutching a paintbrush, his wide eyes swimming with tears. The boy looked terrified.

Lysander frowned at the sight, but his voice was cold and unyielding.

“Take everything from the studio as well.”

He knew art—he could tell at a glance which pieces were Mila’s. Anything in this room was hers by right.

None of her things were staying behind—not in this house.

The men rushed in to obey, but this time, they were met with resistance. Julian clung desperately to Mila’s sketchpad, terror in his eyes as he sobbed, refusing to let go.

“That’s my mom’s! You can’t take it!”