Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

"What are you thinking about?" Mila flicked Miranda lightly on the forehead. "You're a lawyer, but half the time your mind is God knows where."

"And honestly, there's nothing to gain from leaking this information. If we can't deal with Cossio, it won't just be the Montgomerys in danger-my side will be in trouble too. That man's as unhinged as Lysander."

She could never forget what happened on the island-the gunshots, pain that cut right to the bone. Her hatred for Cossio and Lysander was perfectly balanced.

Mila sighed.

"So this won't work, that's a dead end too-then what are we supposed to do?" Miranda's nerves were shot.

"Relax." Mila straightened up and gave Miranda's hand a reassuring squeeze. She offered a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I know exactly what he wants, and I've already figured out what to do. You just leave this to me and stop worrying, all right? I'll handle it."

Miranda blinked, caught off guard. "What's your plan?"

"That's a secret." Mila's smile was enigmatic. "You'll find out soon enough." Her patience was running thin; she couldn't-and wouldn't-keep enduring this.

Whatever Lysander was plotting, whatever twisted ideas he had about possessing her, she would break free. She'd shatter his delusions, leave him nothing left to chase.

She would never, ever go back to that hell.

Never again.

Mila rose and walked to the dressing room. She rifled through a pile of clothes she'd upended earlier until she found a mask—the one Jade had brought her before the masquerade, telling her to pick whichever she liked.

"The party's over-what do you need that for?" Miranda trailed after her.

"Does it look good?" Mila picked up a half-face white cat mask and held it over her eyes, glancing up at Miranda.

"It looks great," Miranda replied automatically.

"Then this is the one."

Mila rummaged a bit longer and fished out a matching black cat half-mask. She waved Miranda off, signaling her not to follow, and headed down the hall to the guest room.

"What are you up to?" Miranda called, but got no response. She could only stand at the bedroom door, helplessly watching as Mila crossed the corridor and knocked on the guest room door.

She watched Mila say something to Forrest, who answered.

Then the two of them walked away together.

What the hell is going on? Miranda was completely lost. Could Mila actually be interested in him? That would be a disaster. If Lysander found out, he'd absolutely lose it.

Miranda felt trapped. As Mila's best friend, of course she hoped Mila could find someone better, someone who could help her leave the past behind. But the thought of Lysander going off the rails terrified her.

Why can't anyone keep that madman in check? She groaned internally, wracking her brain for ways to convince Mila to try her own plan-at the very least, she needed to keep Mila and Forrest apart for now.noveldrama

As long as that lunatic is still on the loose, there's no chance this ends well.

She was leaning against the bedroom doorframe, lost in thought, when the phone suddenly rang from the bed. Mila had left it there.

Miranda picked it up.

The caller ID read: Adrian Montgomery.

Mila's son? What's he calling for in the middle of the night? Still, this was the

perfect excuse to get Mila back here.

Gripping the phone, Miranda hurried after her.

A few minutes earlier.

Decision made, Mila slid on the white cat mask and, moving with quiet determination, made her way to the far end of the hallway and knocked softly on the guest room door.

The door swung open almost immediately.

She looked up at the man inside, her

mask hiding half her face and revealing only the smooth line of her jaw-pale, delicate-her lips curled in a soft smile. She pinched the dark tulle skirt between her fingers and gave him a proper ballroom curtsy.

"Sir, the night isn't over yet. Will you grant me this dance?"

Forrest stood in silent surprise, still dressed in his black tuxedo from the party. He stared at Mila—at the woman in the white cat mask-his pupils trembling,

speechless for a long moment.

She'd remembered what he'd said. She'd come to invite him.

"Sir?" Mila prompted gently, when he still didn't answer.

"It would be my honor."

Forrest smiled. He stepped closer, bowing his head to her-but paused, waiting for her next move.

Mila hesitated, nerves fluttering in her chest. After a beat, she raised the black cat mask and placed it gently over his face.

Before her trembling fingers could fall away, Forrest caught her hand. He didn't straighten, just leaned in his voice tow and warm against her ear, nearly a whisper: "Then, my beautiful lady, I'm yours tonight. You can take me anywhere you wish-the ballroom, the moonlit terrace, the garden..."

He leaned in even closer, his voice roughened to a husky undertone. “Or give me

any command you like."

Mila flushed crimson.

This man!

With a mix of embarrassment and exasperation, she squeezed his hand and gave

him a light, playful punch-saying nothing, only leading him downstairs.

By now, the guests had all left.

The ballroom lights were off, only silver moonlight filtering through stained glass, spilling across the floor, where rose petals scattered and danced at their feet.

There in the empty hall, beneath the

moon, a woman in a black tulle

gown and white cat mask, and a

man in a silver-embroidered suit and black cat mask, took each other's hands. His arm circled her waist, and together they began to dance, silent and graceful, their movements fluid and alive.

Petals spun and swirled all around them.