Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 357

So what if you can?

A trace of a smirk tugged at Lysander’s lips.

“My dear, it seems I was far too gentle with you seven years ago. But that’s alright—we have all the time in the world.” He gestured toward the path behind them. “It’s cold up here on the mountain. Let’s go home.”

He reached out, but in a flash of silver, the air split with violence.

He didn’t flinch. Blood welled from the deep gash across his palm, dripping from his fingertips to the floor. Leonard, who had been waiting anxiously by the door, made to rush in, but Lysander shot him a warning look and raised his uninjured hand to stop him.

“I told you—stay out of this!”

Mila stood poised, both hands gripping the knife, her face pale but her gaze unyielding, fixed on the man before her.

“Not bad. You’ve got a real mean streak.”

If he felt the pain, Lysander didn’t show it. His lips twisted in a smile as he kept moving forward, step by deliberate step, until he stood before her. With a violent motion, his wounded hand clamped down around the blade, ignoring the blood as it streamed down his wrist. Under Mila’s horrified stare, he turned the tip of the knife so it pointed straight at his own heart.

“You hate me? Good. Then kill me.”

“Go on. Do it.”

He leaned in, lowering his head until the cold steel pressed against his chest, and let out a low, taunting laugh. “What’s wrong, darling? Are you scared?”

“Mila, I know you too well.”

“You’re always so rational, so collected. Every choice, every person gets weighed on those invisible scales of yours, and if the answer isn’t in your favor, you don’t hesitate to walk away. You can be so merciless.”

“You won’t kill me—you’re terrified of paying the price, of wasting your life in prison. Even now, at the edge, you’re still weighing your options.”

“All these years, I’ve wondered—do you even have a heart?”

Mila’s eyes widened, tears of fury brimming as her vision blurred. Her voice shook with disbelief. “You think I don’t have a heart? You think I’m the one without a heart?”

He bent lower, letting the knife pierce through his shirt, pressing toward his heart. He felt the sting, but instead of faltering, he brushed his lips gently against her brow.

The cold tip of the blade sent a shiver through Mila. Her reflexes kicked in. She jerked back, tearing the knife from his grasp. Blood arced through the air, scarlet droplets splattering her face and trembling hands.

She was shaking.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the statue of Christ gazing down from the altar, serene and merciful, yet somehow the sight felt like a lance through her soul. She averted her eyes in panic, the blood-stained knife quivering in her grasp.

“Heh...”

Lysander’s laughter was low, nearly feral. “You’re still weighing it, Mila. Even now, you’re still weighing it!”

His own face was smeared with blood, and his voice wavered between restraint and madness. Mila stared at him, white as a sheet, her voice a whisper of horror.

“You’re insane. You’re completely insane!”