Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 335

“Remember this—if you ever dare touch that damn piano again to lure my people, it won’t just be your hand that gets ruined. Stay the hell away from what’s mine!”

“You… it was you who—ah!”

His hand was crushed mercilessly, cutting off his protest with a strangled cry.

Lysander looked down at the man writhing in pain at his feet, a cold smirk tugging at his lips. His fox-like eyes, however, remained utterly emotionless. Without another glance, he turned and walked away.

Leonard followed in silence.

Once they were in the car, Lysander dialed a video call. The screen flickered to life, revealing a gaunt, pale-faced man in a white coat.

It was Professor Mason, the renowned psychiatrist.

Professor Mason studied Lysander’s face for a moment, then suddenly grinned. “Mr. Montgomery, don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

Lysander shot him a frosty glance.

When he didn’t reply, Professor Mason went on, “First, you have to break her spirit completely. Drive her to the brink—let her hit rock bottom. Only then can you rebuild her, reshape who she is. If you do it right, you can keep most of her memories intact. It’s the most effective approach there is. Endure this phase, and you’ll get exactly what you want.”

Lysander stared out the window, his face inscrutable, voice flat. “She broke down last night.”

“Not enough.”

“Have you ever actually succeeded?” Lysander asked abruptly.

A smile flickered across Professor Mason’s lips. “I have.”

But after a moment, his expression shifted—just a fleeting trace of sorrow, making him seem even paler. Then it vanished, replaced by his usual mild smile.

“But in the end, I lost everything because I couldn’t stay cold enough.”

He added quietly, “Mr. Montgomery, let me remind you—this method is hardest not on the patient, but on the doctor. The moment you go soft, you lose it all.”

“So—are you sure this is what you want?”

Lysander was silent for a long moment. At last, he stared coldly at the man’s mocking smile on the screen and said, expressionless, “I’m not you. Continue.”

He hung up.

***

The warehouse was almost pitch-black.

Forrest lay huddled on the filthy floor, his body limp and trembling, unable to hold back the agonized screams. His hand throbbed with excruciating pain, every breath a battle. Still, he forced himself to fumble for his phone.