Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 420

The projection of the starry sky spun above them, glittering and unreal.

But the moment Lysander spoke, the dazed look on Mila’s face vanished, replaced by her usual calm indifference.

“It’s not my birthday today,” she said coolly.

“I know,” Lysander replied, smiling. “But it’s coming up soon, isn’t it? And when it finally does, we’ll have gone our separate ways. I wanted to celebrate with you while we still could.”

Just as they’d agreed:

In a little over ten days, they would be nothing to each other.

That was the truth.

But Mila barely managed to stifle a yawn. “There’s no need. I don’t want to spend my birthday with you.”

She didn’t want to celebrate with Lysander.

For them, birthdays were anything but pleasant—if anything, the subject bordered on repulsive.

She didn’t care that, throughout their seven-year marriage, Lysander always flew abroad for Giselle’s birthday, without fail. But what she did care about—what stung—was that every single time he rushed off to throw that woman a party, Mila would invariably end up locked away by Lysander’s so-called childhood friends in some deserted manor, as if she might crash the festivities and ruin their fun.

Her pleas for help echoed unanswered in the empty halls. No one came. Only darkness, humiliation, and the bitter taste of abandonment.

So to hear Lysander bring up birthdays now only made her sick with disgust.

How ironic.

This man always knew just how to humiliate her.

Mila tore her gaze from the swirling starry lights overhead and fixed her eyes coldly on him. “I’m tired. I want to go back and get some rest.”

“I’d like that,” Lysander answered quietly.

He avoided her gaze, but in one smooth motion, he lifted her by the waist and carried her to the table. With his free hand, he flicked a lighter and set the candles atop the cake aglow.

“Make a wish, darling,” he said, his voice annoyingly gentle.

She could barely stand it.

Irritation flared; she didn’t bother hiding it. She made her wish out loud, voice clipped and sharp: “I wish you’d settle things with Cossio soon, and that Lysander would finally get out of my life for good. May I never have to see his face again.”

With a single breath, she blew out the candles. Silence fell.

The faint crackle of dying flames filled the air.

Around them, the projection of the starry sky continued its slow, mesmerizing spin. It was beautiful and mysterious, but whatever warmth or romance it might have held was gone—replaced by the thick tension hanging between them.

“Ha.”

Lysander’s low chuckle broke the suffocating silence. Mila flinched as she felt his lips nip hard at her ear, leaving her skin burning. “Darling, you really do have a knack for getting under my skin. Say one more word like that, and I might not be able to hold back.”

He slipped his hand beneath her, pulling her tight against him, his gaze predatory and unashamed as their eyes met.

His intentions were as clear as daylight.

Mila gritted her teeth. “I hate birthdays.”

“Then we won’t celebrate.”

After a long pause, he finally spoke, voice gentle and calm.

“Will you dance with me? I set all this up—the lights, the view. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”

A perfect night, was it?

The view was lovely, that much was true.

Mila lifted her hand, letting her fingers pass through the projection of a spinning star. “But fake is fake. No matter how pretty it looks.”

A refusal, clear as day.

That night, they didn’t return to the hotel. Instead, they stayed in the wooden cabin. Mila was worn out and drifted off almost immediately, but Lysander lay awake beside her, unable to sleep.

Under the faint star-shaped lamp, his fox-like eyes remained open as he silently watched Mila’s back, the delicate curve of her shoulder blades visible under her thin nightgown—like wings about to unfurl. He watched for a long moment before gently rolling her into his arms, sliding his hand under her clothes to caress the smooth skin at her back.

Her skin was soft as porcelain, and his breath hitched as his hand wandered lower.

“Mm…”

Mila stirred at the sensation of his touch, her breathing turning ragged as she woke. The overwhelming heat jolted her fully awake.

Realizing what was happening, anger surged through her.

“Lysander, you—!” Her protest was cut off by a muffled sound as she found herself pressed against his sweat-damp chest, suddenly aware that her nightgown was a tangled mess.

That bastard!

Furious, she struggled to break free, only to feel the rapid thud of his heart against her back. Over her head, Lysander’s voice came out rough and low, strained with effort. “Darling, you have no idea how hard it is to hold back right now. If you move again, I might really lose control… Please, just help me out here.”