Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 341

“Don’t be afraid.”

His lips pressed against hers, swallowing her trembling sobs with undeniable force.

In the empty music room, the broken, discordant notes of the piano echoed for what felt like forever. If you listened closely, you could still hear the girl’s shattered cries woven through the chaos.

Her pale, delicate skin was pressed against the black and white keys, the music dissolving into a wild tangle of sound. She was gasping, eyes glazed, as if something vital had been torn from her chest and cast into darkness, leaving her nothing but a blurry shadow of herself. She didn’t love the piano anymore.

After that day,

For a long time, Mila was afraid whenever she saw a piano. Even when the fear faded, she never touched the keys again. Her aversion was etched into her very bones.

...

And after that,

She stopped going to that dark room as often.

But in its place came something stranger—Lysander’s obsession. He’d press her up against familiar and unfamiliar places alike, chasing fleeting moments of pleasure.

On the balcony, in the kitchen… sometimes even in a private theater or an empty amusement park—places she and Forrest had once visited together.

Those pure, happy memories were overwritten, replaced by desire, until even recalling them left her feeling unspeakably ashamed.

She found herself recoiling from the memories they’d shared.

How humiliating.

Gradually, those days faded into the past.

Time slipped by in a blur of chaos, until New Year’s Eve arrived. Mila sat curled up on the window seat, staring blankly at the world outside.

Fireworks burst across the sky. Families gathered together, the world welcoming a new year.

A new beginning.

A new life.

And yet she had no family—only herself.

The room was warm, the heating turned high. She wore nothing but a sheer white dress, and without thinking pressed her hand to the cold glass, her breath fogging up a circle. She traced a smiley face in the haze, her eyes filled with something like longing—yet mostly just confusion.

Just then, a weight settled suddenly on her shoulders. Short, dark hair brushed her cheek, prickly and unexpected.

She froze.

Shouldn’t he be home for the holidays? Why was Lysander here, with her?

She started to turn, but his hand held her still. His voice was low, almost pleading. “Don’t move. Just… let me stay like this, for a minute.”

So she didn’t move.

Time passed. Then, all at once, Mila stiffened. She felt something hot and wet on her neck—tears. Was he crying?

...

Lysander was crying?

This man who always seemed in control, unshakable, relentless—was he really crying?

Time seemed to hold its breath.

After a while, she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, then his nose—barely a whisper of warmth. Their breath mingled, soft and close, as if she was trying to soothe him.

It wasn’t passion, not like before—just a simple, tender touch that went straight to the heart.

It felt safe.

His lashes trembled, but he didn’t lose control, didn’t reach for her as he usually did. He just let her hold him, let her run her fingers through his hair and stroke his back, let her whisper softly in his ear.

“Happy New Year. I’m here with you.”

Outside, fireworks bloomed, casting rainbows across the room. They clung to each other as if the rest of the world had fallen away.

Lysander let himself be held, comforted by her warmth, her gentle hands. His eyes at peace for once.

He thought,

He hadn’t been wrong after all.

Even if it was all just a beautiful illusion, as long as he could hold onto it, it was his—and he’d never let go.

He pulled her closer, as if he could fuse her into his very soul.

That night, he did nothing but hold her, sitting together at the window, watching fireworks until sleep finally claimed them.

It was a peace he’d never known before.