Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 492

That night, Mila found herself wide awake once again.

She realized this had become a pattern lately—insomnia creeping in more and more often. After so long at peace, her mind was once again a whirlpool of emotions, memories and worries spinning through her head in the quiet hours, leaving her restless and exhausted.

The next morning, she rolled out of bed with dark circles shadowing her eyes.

After dragging herself through breakfast, she finally picked up her phone. The screen lit up with several unread messages and a missed call—all from Forrest.

She ignored the missed call and tapped open their chat. The earliest message was from last night, asking if she’d made it home safely… She hadn’t replied.

Honestly, she hadn’t known what to say.

The moment she got home last night, she’d gone straight into ostrich mode, silencing her phone and burying herself in busywork for hours. In the end, it didn’t help—she’d still spent most of the night staring at the ceiling.

But now she couldn’t keep ignoring him.

Sooner or later, she’d have to respond.

Still, calling was out of the question. Lately, even the sound of Forrest’s voice made her anxious. Texting felt safer behind the cold buffer of a screen. Scrolling down past a string of messages she didn’t know how to answer, Mila agonized for ages before finally sending a single reply.

“Sorry, I was swamped when I got home yesterday and totally forgot. My apologies.”

A flimsy excuse, and she knew it.

At Bamboo Grove, Forrest had just finished breakfast and was sipping his coffee when her message popped up. He couldn’t help but laugh quietly—she might be replying a day late, but at least she replied. What more could he really ask for?

Still, it wasn’t a habit he wanted to encourage.

He smiled as he typed, long fingers tapping out a gentle tease: “As long as you’re not avoiding me.”

Staring at his almost instant response, Mila fell silent. How was she supposed to answer that? What could she possibly say?

She wanted to hide again.

But Forrest seemed to sense her retreat, because another message quickly followed: “Did you have breakfast? Any plans today? How about I take you out for a walk?”

No way.

Every fiber in her body resisted. Lately, it wasn’t just his voice she couldn’t face—she couldn’t even bear to see him. She was still reeling from the shock of yesterday; there was no way she was ready for a meeting so soon.

But how to turn him down?

She racked her brain for an excuse and finally blurted one out: “I’m working on a design right now—super busy. Maybe next time?”

“Alright.”

To her surprise, he didn’t press. She’d barely begun to relax when another message came through: “Designs are important, but don’t forget to eat. I’ll pick you up for dinner tonight, okay? Mimi.”

No, definitely not okay.

Even though she’d managed to dodge a meeting for now, Mila really was busy. The final sketches for the wedding gown were done.

The silk for the dress needed to be handwoven—only the best would do. Fortunately, Splendid’s supply network could deliver any material she needed, saving her a lot of time. The real challenge was the veil.

The gown itself featured intricate embroidery, but for a royal wedding in the West, an all-embroidered veil wouldn’t be quite right. The veil had to be lace—and not just any lace, but hand-crafted.

Machine-made lace was too coarse, too ordinary. Nothing less than exquisite would do for such a grand occasion.

After researching countless samples, Mila settled on Alençon lace, famously known as the “Queen of Lace.” It was an official French heritage craft, with techniques so rare they’d been enshrined in museums—universally recognized as the most refined and elegant lace in the world.

Perfect for a prince and princess.

She’d finished the pattern for the veil first, and decided she’d crochet the veil herself. The Alençon technique was notoriously complex, but her great-aunt had taught her years ago. It would be laborious and time-consuming—but worth every second.

Once she’d finalized her list of materials, Mila sent it to Splendid’s London headquarters. As part of her great-aunt’s company, she had the authority and the connections to get everything she needed.

Now all she had to do was wait for the materials to arrive.

As she sent off the order, she finally noticed the ache in her back and shoulders.

She glanced at the clock. It was already two in the morning.

Dragging herself from her studio, she was just about to call it a night when her phone vibrated again. It was her great-aunt Jade. Only then did she remember—it was evening in London.