Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 281

Certainly! Here is your culturally localized English adaptation, following your guidelines:

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“What is it that I want to know?”

Giselle hesitated for a moment before clicking into the message. The file was extensive, packed with written details—and photos.

By the time she’d scrolled through everything, her face had gone ghostly pale. Her grip on her phone was so tight it looked as though she might shatter the screen.

This was exactly what she’d wanted to know.

Every detail from seven years ago, all the secrets and tangled history between Lysander, Mila, and Forrest during her time abroad—it was all laid out, stark and undeniable.

She didn’t know who sent the information, but it matched her own research, only with even more excruciating detail.

Almost all of it was true.

So...

“You lied to me.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Lysander, you actually lied to me.”

The words had barely left her lips before she snapped. The phone flew from her hand and smashed into the wall, the screen exploding in a spray of glass.

But even that didn’t come close to quelling the rage inside her.

Like a woman possessed, Giselle tore through the room, ripping and smashing everything within reach. Her eyes were bloodshot, burning with venom and hysteria.

“Lysander! How dare you lie to me!”

When her fury finally burned itself out, Giselle collapsed onto the floor amidst the wreckage, gasping for breath. One trembling hand covered her face as she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. When she finally looked up, there was nothing left in her eyes but manic madness.

If you all want to make my life hell, then don’t think you’ll get away unscathed.

No one will have it easy.

With hands still shaking in anger, she rummaged through the mess and found her backup phone. She took a screenshot of one of the photos from her inbox, sent it to Mila, and typed a message.

“Want to know who the person in this photo is?”

“Come to this address tomorrow and meet me. Come alone—Harvey.”

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The next day—Bamboo Grove, art studio.

Mila was teaching Julian how to paint when her phone buzzed unexpectedly.

She glanced at it, her expression shifting. On the screen was a photo of a pair of hands—bruised, battered, the bones clearly broken. Along with it, a message.

The sender’s last name was Harvey?

Giselle Harvey?

The only Harveys Mila knew were the Harvey family, and she doubted the parents would contact her this way. That left only Giselle.

But why would Giselle send her something like this?

Staring at the photo, Mila felt a knot twist in her stomach. Whoever owned those ruined hands, Giselle had sent it for a reason—it had to be someone connected to her.