Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 295

Dusk, and the last rays of the sun stretched over the empty highway.

After pushing through the rush hour, the black SUV now cruised along an increasingly deserted road. All around, lush green wheat fields rippled with life, but there wasn’t another car in sight.

That’s when Mila stirred awake.

Her eyes were unfocused, her mind still tangled in dreams. Ever since they’d left Kingsford, she found herself trapped in memories—moments from her past she’d tried so hard to forget. Now, each page of those old files seemed to dredge them up, forcing her to relive everything again and again, as if fate itself was prodding her to reckon with it all.

It was as if she couldn’t move forward—couldn’t begin anew—until she faced her past and put it to rest.

“You’re awake?”

Archie, who’d been driving, glanced at her. He was the kind of guy who couldn’t stay quiet for long, and after holding his tongue half the trip, now that he had an audience, he couldn’t help but chatter.

“So, tell me, are you really Daphne or not?”

“Are you still working on your comic?”

“Did that little robot survive after its wings broke and fell from the sky? Is it still chasing the moon or what?”

“I’m begging you, don’t let the little robot die, okay?”

“If you do, I swear I’ll out you. Your fans on social media have been patiently waiting for years. If they start sending hate mail, that’s on you, not me...”

On and on he went.

Mila’s head throbbed from the nonstop barrage. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping if she ignored him, he’d take the hint.

“Hey, wait, don’t fall asleep again!”

Archie groaned the second Mila closed her eyes, exasperated.

What was this? Every time he brought up Daphne or the little robot, she just tuned him out!

But then, he remembered that day he’d seen Mila from the window—she’d hurled the little robot at Lysander in a fit of anger. He’d winced at the sight.

Of course, it made her the target of jealous stares. Even now, she could feel the heat of envy prickling her back, as if daggers were aimed at her.

Feeling the pressure, she barely dared to look up, keeping her gaze low as she handed Lysander the bottle.

The bottle was barely out of her hand when his voice, low and a little rough, rumbled above her head.

“Where’s my towel?”

She jolted, cheeks burning, and quickly grabbed the towel to offer it to him, head bowed so low she nearly buried her face in her knees.

And so, she missed the look in Lysander’s eyes as he gazed down at her—a tall, striking figure, his fox-like eyes flashing with something unreadable. He looked at her as if she were an innocent butterfly, fluttering straight into his web.

The towel was gone from her hand. For a second—maybe by accident—his warm fingers brushed her icy palm, sending a jolt up her arm, leaving her dazed and tingling.

She sat frozen in her seat, barely noticing the burning glares from the girls behind her. All she could do was stare at Lysander’s retreating back, heart hammering harder than ever.

After that day, Mila threw herself into her work as court assistant, never missing a game—so long as it didn’t interfere with her classes—always hoping for another fleeting moment with him.