Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel 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 with me willingly. 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. Let me hold you for a minute.”

“Get off,” Mila said coldly. “You’re making me nauseous.”

“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.