Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 419 "There won't be any major changes." "That's not good enough!" Francis shot down the idea without hesitation. This was their one chance to take down that old monster-there could be no improvising. He frowned, baffled.

"Did something happen?" Lysander nodded, his expression darkening as he explained the results of Mila's checkup at the hospital earlier that day.

"We'll have to make a few adjustments." Francis's face softened a little.

"So that's what's going on. You should've just said so. If it's like that, a few tweaks are fine. Might even work in our favor. But still..." He hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his face.

"Are you sure about this, Lysander? If she ever finds out you used her like this, there'll be no going back. It'll be over-completely. No woman can forgive that kind of betrayal." "She'll never find out." Lysander's voice was low, almost a growl. He raked a hand through his dark hair, frustration written across his face. His tone was cold and final.

"This time, we have to win." He had no other choice.

"In fact, maybe this is the opportunity we need. If it works out, she'll stay withwillingly. She'll never want to leave again." "That's deception." Francis's voice was grave.

Lysander pushed open the glass door, his tone calm as the cool ocean breeze slipped through. The setting sun bled gold across the horizon.

"Sometimes love needs a little lie." Bedroom.

After walking all afternoon, Mila was sweaty and tired. She took care to avoid her injury as she showered quickly, then slipped into a silk nightgown. When she stepped back into the room, she found him sprawled on the sofa, tapping away at his laptop.

She wasn't even surprised anymore that he'd managed to unlock the door she'd locked. He was always like this- so overbearing, never caring what she wanted if he'd already made up his mind. She didn't even have the energy to get angry anymore.

If you lived with a man like this and got mad every time, you'd probably die of frustration.

Ignoring him entirely, she headed for the door, intent on finding another room to sleep in. But as soon as she opened it, he pinned her against the frame, locking the door behind them.

"Let go." She tried to keep her voice calm, unwilling to waste any more energy on anger.

He didn't budge.

Instead, he leaned down, pressing his face into the soft curve of her neck, breathing her in. Their skin touched; his breath tangled with hers. She was about to push him away when his husky voice rumbled beside her ear.

"Don't move. Lethold you for a minute." "Get off," Mila said coldly. "You're makingnauseous." "Always with the sharp tongue. You just love getting under my skin." He chuckled, and only let go when she tried to kick him. Then, grabbing a coat from the rack, he wrapped it around her, buttoned it up despite her protests, and all but dragged her toward the door.

"What are you doing?" Mila clung to the doorframe, resisting. "I want to go to bed." "We'll sleep when we get back," Lysander teased, turning and planting a quick kiss on her lips—just as she tried to smack him. He caught her easily, scooped her up (never mind she wasn't wearing shoes), and carried her straight out of the hotel. Mortified as they passed through the lobby with everyone watching, Mila wanted to sink into the floor.

A car was already waiting at the curb. As soon as they got in, she kicked him hard.

"I want to go back, I'm not even wearing shoes!" "That's fine. I'll be your feet." "Be my―!" There was no point arguing with him; it always went nowhere. Mila just curled up in the back seat, wrapped in his coat, staring out the window at the scenery flashing by, too irritated to even ask where they were headed.

To her surprise, Lysander didn't tease her any further. The ride was quiet.

After a long while, as dusk gave way to full night, the car finally stopped in front of a secluded garden. Lysander got out first, opened her door, and reached for her.

Mila shrank back, eyeing the softly glowing string lights in the garden beyond. "Where are we? You're not going to murder me, are you?" Lysander laughed and simply lifted her out of the car, carrying her down a path lined with golden fairy lights.

"Don't be so tic. I'm taking you on a date." "I don't think we're exactly 'date material."" "Of course we are. Even old married couples need a little romance every now and then," he replied, smiling.

Sometimes she really wanted to wipe that smirk off his face.

And with no shoes, she had no choice but to stay in his arms, watching as the sparkling lights led them deeper into the garden, the air sweet with the scent of lemons. At the heart of the grove stood a wooden cottage, its eaves strung with even more star-shaped lights. A woman in an ornate dress stood waiting at the doorway, holding a lantern. She greeted them with a warm smile.

"Welcome, both of you. I hope you enjoy your evening." She opened the door for them, but did not follow them inside, quietly shutting it behind them.

Within, the air was filled with the scent of sugar and something comforting. Mila pa sed,N momentarily stunned. The lighting was soft, and above them, a projection of the night sky spun and shimmered, galaxies and stars drifting overhead-so close, she felt she could reach out and touch them.

It was as if they were standing in the heart of the Milky Way.

In the center of the room, a table overflowing with flowers was set for two, covered with delicious food-meat, vegetables, and bread, but not a single trace of seafood. In the middle stood a towering three-tiered cake.

Candles flickered, mingling with the glow of the stars.

Lysander set her gently down, but kept her standing on his feet, as if they really were dancing among the stars Bending his head, he looked down at her with eyes full of light, all teasing gone, his voice soft and sincere. "It's a little last-minute, but..." "Happy birthday, Mila."