Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 296

She’d never fallen for anyone before. Chasing after someone was uncharted territory, so Mila could only rely on what she’d gleaned from the internet.

She did her best to pay attention to everything Lysander liked and tried to treat him well.

But with all the rumors about him being cold and distant with women, Mila worried he would push her away if she came on too strong. So, she kept her feelings carefully hidden, inching closer bit by bit—hoping that, in time, he’d get to know her, and maybe, just maybe, something would blossom.

Spring had already arrived before she realized how long she’d been trying.

——

After another game had wrapped up, Mila stayed behind to help with the usual post-match chaos. Only then did she notice a black duffel bag left sitting on a chair in the corner. It was Lysander’s.

Did he forget his bag?

She hesitated, glanced around, and, seeing no sign of him, grabbed the bag and hurried out, hoping to catch up and return it—an excuse for a little more time together.

As she reached the exit, a cool, clear male voice called down from above, stopping her in her tracks. “Why do you have my bag?”

Mila froze, then looked up.

There he was—Lysander, dressed in clean athletic gear, standing in a shaft of sunlight. He looked so striking and untouchable that it almost hurt to look at him. Even though she’d seen his face plenty of times these past few weeks, her cheeks still went hot every time.

She drew a shaky breath, willing herself to sound calm. “I—I thought you’d already left and forgotten your things, so I…”

Before she could finish, Lysander cut her off, his impatience clear.

“Do you like me?”

The question hit her like a punch to the gut. Mila’s voice caught in her throat. Her secret was laid bare in an instant—her mind buzzing so loudly she could barely move.

The silence stretched between them.

Then, Lysander walked down the stairs, each step deliberate and unhurried. His hair was still damp from a quick rinse, dark strands shining in the sun. His sharp, fox-like eyes locked onto her—cool, enigmatic, and a little dangerous—as he looked down at the girl standing there, visibly rattled.

“You like me? How much do you like me?”

His voice was low, almost unsure, but there was a smoldering intensity behind the question that set her heart racing.

Mila didn’t know what possessed her, but she heard herself say, voice trembling, “A lot. I really like you.”

The words tumbled out before she could stop them. Her heart thundered in her chest; she was dizzy, barely able to stand, one hand gripping the railing for support. She braced for rejection, cursing her own recklessness, ready to apologize—when suddenly the world went dark.

On the stairs above, Lysander leaned down and kissed her.