Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 391

She had never tasted soup quite like this anywhere else—not even in the finest restaurants abroad.

Yet the bowl in front of her now was almost identical to the one Felicity used to make.

A sudden chill crawled up her spine.

Mila’s back stiffened, and she slowly turned her head. Through the thin veil covering her face, she peered at the blurred outline of the man sitting across the table. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably.

Why?

How could this man have made the same soup she’d once tasted at the Montgomery estate?

She had always assumed—

That he’d kidnapped her because he’d learned about her connection to Jade through Giselle, or that he held some grudge against her great-aunt, seeking revenge or ransom.

But now—

She realized she’d been terribly, dangerously wrong.

Had she overlooked the Montgomerys entirely? Was she taken because of them?

Her spoon slipped from her grasp and fell into the bowl with a soft splash. As she tried to stand, a servant behind her shoved her forcefully back into her seat, the grip on her shoulders painfully tight.

“Who are you?” she demanded, voice shaking. “Why are you holding me? Is this to threaten the Montgomery family—or to extort them?”

If this truly had something to do with the Montgomerys, everything changed. Her situation could be even more dire.

Lysander would never come for her.

…

The garden outside was silent and still.

The man lifted a delicate porcelain coffee cup, took a slow, thoughtful sip, then finally spoke. It was the first time Mila had heard his voice.

“Did you like it?”

The words were in English—flawless, unaccented American English.

His voice was refined, almost musical.

But Mila was in no mood to notice, nor to wonder how a foreigner could speak so perfectly. She was too unsettled. “What?”

“The taste,” he said quietly, “Was it like hers?”

Mila’s face went white. A wave of dread swept through her. “What are you saying? What do you mean?”

Some awful realization was rising in her chest.

But the man fell silent. The cold muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of her head. Mila clenched her lips, forced herself to answer, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s… very similar.”

“Similar—or not quite the same?” he murmured.

He turned as if to leave. Panic surged in Mila. Ignoring the gun at her head, she struggled to her feet.

“Wait! What do you want from me? If you’re trying to threaten the Montgomery family, you—”

She wanted to say they had the wrong person, but her fingers accidentally snagged the edge of her veil, nearly pulling it from her face. A searing pain shot through her palm.

Bang!

A scream tore from her throat before she could finish. She collapsed to the floor, clutching her left hand as blood poured from the bullet wound in her palm. Writhing in agony, tears soaked the white veil that now shrouded her face.

“My hand! Oh God, my hand!”