Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 402

Once she sorted out her thoughts, Mila found herself less resistant to the idea of the wedding. The endless sleepless nights finally faded, replaced by a strange calm.

Still, she knew one thing for certain:

If she wanted to use this wedding as her escape, she needed to make sure of one detail—the ceremony couldn’t be held in the old manor. It had to be somewhere else, preferably outside.

The next morning, after breakfast, Mila reached out and gently caught hold of Cossio's sleeve just as he was about to leave—a silent plea for him to stay. Lately, maybe because of all the wedding preparations, Cossio had taken to disappearing right after breakfast and returning late at night. Mila didn’t mind, but today was different. She needed something from him.

He turned, wrapping his hand softly around hers, his tone teasing and affectionate. “Darling, are you going to miss me if I go?”

She said nothing, just tugged gently at his sleeve.

He sighed in mock exasperation, his voice full of indulgence. “You’re still as shy as ever, aren’t you? Never willing to say you want me to stay. But that’s all right—I love you too much to mind.”

So, he stayed.

Mila immediately let go of his hand. Ever since she’d seen those disturbing paintings in the art studio, she found it impossible to look at Cossio the same way. He appeared so polite and restrained, but she knew now just how twisted his mind really was. Even the slightest touch left her uneasy.

Cossio, oblivious, assumed she was simply being bashful and chuckled to himself.

***

Daytime, the garden.

As usual, the housekeeper had set up an easel outside. This time, though, Cossio wasn’t the one painting. Draped in a shimmering golden scarf, Mila stood at the easel.

She lifted the edge of her veil, brush poised in her hand. Today, her colors were nothing like her usual somber palette. Instead, she painted with vivid, lively strokes, quickly capturing a grand, sunlit church rising from a lush green lawn. In one corner of the canvas, a crimson sun glowed bright and pure.

With a few deft lines, she added a bride in a white gown, bouquet in hand, arm-in-arm with a groom in a sharp suit, walking together down a red carpet that led straight to the church doors. The scene was unmistakable—a wedding in full swing.

Suddenly, Mila froze, her gaze fixed on the painted couple. She stared at them, lost in thought.

It hit her:

Seven years of marriage, yet she’d never had a wedding of her own. She’d never walked down the aisle in a white dress. All she’d ever had was a flimsy marriage certificate—nothing more. Her whole marriage, from start to finish, had been little more than a careless afterthought.

She forced a brittle smile, dipped her brush in paint, and added a new detail—several ominous black crows swept across the green lawn, circling the bride and groom on the red carpet. In an instant, the bright, sacred wedding scene was shrouded in a thick, heavy gloom.

Black and crimson roses—symbols of corruption—crept along the white church.

Holiness and darkness, perfectly entwined.

Setting down her brush, Mila studied her creation—a wedding scene tainted by misfortune and bad omens. She lowered her veil and looked over her shoulder at the silent man standing behind her, her eyes asking a wordless question.

—Well? What do you think?