Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 288

“Lysander, stop lying to yourself!”

“It’s always been you—back then and now—you were the one who abandoned her first! Time and again, you threw her away, pushed her to the edge, until she finally broke!”

“You’re nothing but a coward!”

“Face it: if you hadn’t schemed every step of the way back then, Mimi and I would’ve been married long ago! You destroyed us!”

Lysander’s eyes blazed red at the words.

His last thread of self-control snapped. Like a man possessed, he tackled Forrest to the floor, raining down blows, blood spattering across the hardwood.

The older generation of the Montgomerys had all served in the military, and Lysander had grown up training with the best of them. Once he lost control, he was a force of nature. Forrest, a scholar through and through, never stood a chance—he was utterly overpowered.

Harper hovered anxiously nearby, terrified things would go too far, but too afraid to intervene.

Thankfully, Leonard came bursting in just in time. With the help of a few others, they managed to pull Lysander off Forrest and restrain him against the wall, keeping the two men apart.

Forrest, quick to recover, lashed out with a kick the instant he was freed.

He then stepped back, dabbing at the blood on his face, fixing Lysander with a cold, furious glare.

“If anything happens to Mimi, Lysander—I swear, it’s you and me to the bitter end!”

With that, Forrest stormed out.

Mila wasn’t with Lysander. She’d vanished without a trace, and Forrest had no time or patience to waste on empty threats. He had to find her—fast.

...

Soon after Forrest left, a black Mercedes rolled to a stop outside Crimson Gardens.

Inside, Lysander sat on the couch, sullen and brooding, while Harper tended to the cuts on his face. Harper’s worry was obvious, but he didn’t dare say a word.

Just then, Leonard stepped into the room, expression unreadable. “Ms. Harvey is here.”

Giselle?

Lysander froze, eyes locking onto hers. After a tense moment, his expression finally softened a shade.

“Let’s talk in the study.”

...

While chaos reigned in Kingsford and everything spiraled out of control, on the outskirts of town, in a quiet village, a mud-splattered black SUV screeched to a halt outside a lonely cottage.

A tall, striking young man—no more than nineteen—jumped out, sleeves rolled up against the early spring chill. He yanked open the back door and carefully lifted out a woman, bundled in a denim jacket.

Her pale arms hung limp, unmoving.

Clutching her tightly, he pounded on the cottage door, voice desperate. “Please—I have money, I can pay whatever you want! We just need a room and some hot water, please!”

A middle-aged woman opened the door, eyes widening at the urgent scene. She reached out, touched the woman’s exposed skin, and recoiled at how icy it was. Without hesitation, she waved them inside.

“Hurry, come in!”