Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 329

“We’ve been through life and death together—now we’re bound, for better or worse.”

Mila froze.

Teenagers always had a knack for saying the most unexpected things. Yet Mila found herself swept up by his wild, exuberant spirit, unable to resist its infectious energy. Fighting off a pounding headache, she slowly got to her feet, raised her right hand in a fist, and lightly tapped her arm against his. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Partners for life!” he declared.

They were bonded—survivors together.

That strange, electric connection—the collision of two souls—cleared away the heavy fog in Mila’s heart. In its place, a rush of fierce, vivid emotion surged through her, setting her nerves alight.

Adrenaline. Camaraderie. A sense of belonging…

Maybe all of it at once.

But none of that mattered now. They stood together in the middle of nowhere, rain lashing down outside, no rescue in sight, their supplies ruined—utterly alone and desperate.

And yet they were laughing.

Laughing out loud.

For a single, blazing moment, their souls vibrated in unison—the very force of life roaring through them.

Maybe it was that intensity—those wild, crashing emotions—but Mila’s headache finally overwhelmed her. Searing pain split her skull; everything went black, and she collapsed.

As she fell,

she thought she heard something echoing in her mind... was that a woman crying?

…

A remote country house.

Inside a windowless, dimly lit bedroom, a single large bed stood in the center. The covers were bunched tightly around a slender, beautiful girl, her long black hair spread across the soft pillows.

She was restless. Tears glittered at the corners of her eyes, her brows knotted in distress, and before long, a nightmare wrenched her awake.

She gasped for air.

Wearing a white silk dress, she pushed herself upright, and a faint metallic rattle sounded as she moved. Looking down, she saw the delicate gold cuff locked around her pale ankle—a thin chain trailing from it to the base of the bed. Every movement made it chime softly.

Mila’s steps were unsteady as she made her way toward the bathroom.

Her back pressed against the mirror, jostling the faucet; hot water gushed out, and soon steam filled the bathroom, fogging the glass.

Heat swirled around them.

Since that chaotic night, he’d lost all control—utterly relentless, whether he was lucid or not.

No matter how much time passed, he never seemed to tire.

Lysander gazed at Mila’s flushed face, made even more beautiful by the steam, and felt his longing deepen.

Her eyes shimmered, drawing him in without a word.

As she drifted, his voice rasped against her ear—low, almost pleading, as if confessing some desperate need:

“Do you love me?”

Shock snapped Mila out of her trance.

Eyes bright with anger, she gripped his broad shoulder, leaned in, and bit down hard on his ear. Blood welled at the corner of his lips, her fury burning in every drop.

“I hate you!” she spat.