Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 505

She had no idea who the man was.

But one thing was certain—he wasn’t Forrest.

Mila’s first thought was that he was probably another one of the young men her great-aunt had invited, hoping to set her up. Whoever he was, his presence was unsettling. Without hesitation, she shook her head in refusal.

But as soon as she did, a hand closed tightly around hers.

In the next instant, the stranger yanked her into his arms and swept her straight onto the dance floor, sending a flurry of rose petals skittering across the polished wood.

Mila’s eyes went wide in shock.

She could hardly believe someone could be so brazen at a formal ball. Hadn’t he seen her refuse? How could her great-aunt possibly think this man was suitable?

Her body responded out of habit, following the first few steps of the waltz so she wouldn’t embarrass herself in front of the crowd, but as soon as her mind caught up, she began to struggle. It was useless—the man’s grip was unyielding, his strength almost frightening. Gritting her teeth, she hissed in a voice only the two of them could hear:

“Let me go!”

Couldn’t he tell she didn’t want to dance?

But the man said nothing. His gloved hand settled firmly at her waist, guiding her through the music as if her resistance meant nothing.

Enough was enough. Mila stopped caring whether she made a scene. She slammed her heel down onto his foot and ground it in, her voice icy and low: “Let me go!”

But before she could react, his hand tightened around her waist, and in a sudden, dizzying motion, he lifted her effortlessly off the ground, spinning her through the rest of the dance. Her black chiffon dress fluttered as though she weighed nothing at all—he didn’t even need her cooperation.

A chill shot through her.

She didn’t know why, but a wave of panic crashed over her, a sharp sense of déjà vu that left her breathless. As her body pressed against his, she caught the overwhelming scent of roses in the air—but beneath it, so faint she almost doubted herself, was a trace of cold sandalwood.

Mila froze. Her heart hammered in her throat, her blood running cold.

Impossible.

There was no way he could be here.

No way.

Terror clawed at her chest, squeezing so tightly she could barely breathe. Her body was rigid against his, ice creeping into her veins. All the half-formed suspicions she’d forced herself to ignore suddenly crashed into reality, shattering every defense she’d built.

Fear won out.

The music seemed to spin farther and farther away, leaving only the ghastly white mask before her—a mask streaked with blood-red tears. The empty, hollow eyes gaped at her like a bottomless pit, swallowing her whole.

She couldn’t move.

By the time the music faded, Mila was slick with cold sweat, her back damp and sticky.

She barely registered the masked man leading her off the dance floor before panic jolted her awake. Her hand, clammy with sweat, wrenched back in resistance.

Whoever he was, she couldn’t let him take her anywhere.