Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 476

Mila Sutherland had always harbored suspicions about Eugene Montgomery’s parentage. Though she had no proof, there were enough hints to make her wonder. Still, there was never any confirmation, and Eugene didn’t show even a trace of mixed heritage. So she kept her doubts to herself, locked away where no one else could see.

Regardless of whether his lineage was truly in question, one thing was certain: Felicity Fontaine, in her current condition, couldn’t possibly be told she had two more children. The shock would be far too much—there was no way she could let them meet.

A heavy silence fell between them.

“Is Mom really that sick?” Eugene’s voice was calm as he lifted his head from Mila’s shoulder, but the tear-streaks on his cheeks betrayed how close he’d come to falling apart.

There was no use pretending. Mila could only nod, forcing out the words, “She… doesn’t really recognize people anymore.”

Even if he saw her, it wouldn’t change anything. It would only deepen the hurt.

“I just want to see her, Mila. It’s been so long since I’ve seen Mom.” Eugene’s resolve remained unshaken. If anything, knowing how bad things were only made him more desperate.

In years past—every Christmas, every holiday—he’d been allowed to visit the old manor, to see his mother. They’d barely exchanged a few words, but those brief meetings had been something he looked forward to. But this year—no, for nearly two years now—he hadn’t set foot in the old house. Every holiday, the family patriarch or the butler would call, telling him not to come.

He wasn’t even allowed a glimpse of his mother.

As long as the Montgomerys refused, as long as they didn’t want him there, he couldn’t get anywhere near her. He just didn’t understand—what had he done wrong? Was it because he wasn’t truly a Montgomery? But even if that were the case, wasn’t he still Felicity’s son?

It wasn’t until Johnnie arrived that he understood.

So that’s how it was.

Now, more than ever, he needed to see his mother—see Felicity with his own eyes. He didn’t want to hear what others thought; he needed to know what she felt, to ask her himself—did she really hate him? Did she wish he’d never been born? Was she truly that heartless?

Yes or no, he needed to hear it from her lips. Only then would he accept it—only then could he move on.

Mila’s concerns made sense—given Felicity’s fragile state, there might not be any answers to be found. But Eugene couldn’t let it go.

An idea formed in his mind.

Seeing Mila’s hesitation, he lowered his gaze and spoke softly, “Mila, I know the Montgomerys don’t want me around. Maybe Mom doesn’t want to see me, either. But I miss her. I just want to see her—just one look, even if it’s from a distance.”

Mila hesitated, struggling to find words. After a long pause, she sighed, her voice hoarse from the earlier conversation. Instead of speaking, she grabbed her phone and typed out a message for Eugene to read.

She put away the medicine bottles and headed upstairs to her studio, where she got back to work on her sketches. She also messaged Johnnie to set up a meeting—she needed to hand over the new fragrance anyway.

Once she got a reply, she was finally able to focus on her wedding dress designs. By the time dusk fell outside her window, the main silhouette was already taking shape on her drafting tablet. The overall style was distinctly Western, but she’d woven intricate embroidery into the details—her own signature touch.

The finished gown would feature even more embroidery, just as the client had requested. The bride was a member of the British royal family, but she adored embroidery—one of the main reasons Mila had taken the commission.

She loved embroidery most of all.

With the first draft done, she sent the sketches to her client, along with detailed notes explaining her design choices.

Only then did she realize how exhausted she was. She glanced at the time—already past ten. In England, it must be nearly three or four in the morning. She doubted she’d get a reply right away, so she set her phone aside—only for it to buzz almost instantly.

A reply at this hour?

She picked up her phone, surprised to see a single, concise message: “Perfect. Do it exactly as you envision.”

Funny, she thought. She’d never met her client in person—just knew he was a prince from the British royal family. But every interaction had been easy, comfortable. He never interfered, never second-guessed her. He just let her create, following her inspiration wherever it led.