Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 566

Late at night, at Bamboo Grove.

A warm desk lamp cast a golden glow over the study. On the desk, a crimson scroll edged in gold lay unfurled. Forrest Whitmore, silver-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, held a calligraphy brush dipped in shimmering gold ink, carefully inscribing elegant characters.

One golden letter after another appeared on the red paper.

Yet after only a dozen words, Forrest’s brow furrowed. With a frustrated sigh, he tore the paper in half and threw it into the trash. Howard, waiting by his side, quickly rolled out a fresh sheet of red paper.

Forrest began again.

This ritual had played out dozens of times in the quiet hours of the night. The wastebasket was nearly overflowing with discarded scrolls. Howard’s gaze lingered on the bold, graceful golden script, and at last he spoke up, “Sir, it’s already excellent. The letters are perfect—you could finish it all in one go.”

“It’s not good enough,” Forrest replied, not even glancing up. “This is my engagement document with Mimi.”

It had to be perfect.

Not a single flaw was allowed.

“But your hand...” Howard’s eyes drifted to Forrest’s grip on the brush, noticing the faint tremor. He frowned with concern. Forrest’s hand still hadn’t fully healed, and he’d been hunched over writing for hours...

“What is it?” Forrest didn’t catch the words.

“It’s very late,” Howard urged gently. “You should rest. After a good night’s sleep, you might write even better.”

Forrest shook his head, still writing as he replied, “The engagement party is tomorrow. I have to finish tonight. Besides—” He paused, glancing up with a boyish grin. “I couldn’t sleep if I tried.”

The closer the engagement party drew, the more exhilarated he felt.

When Howard realized he couldn’t persuade him, he could only step back. After all, it was rare to see Forrest so giddy—this was a once-in-a-lifetime event, after all.

The clock ticked on, hours slipping by.

Red paper littered the floor.

At last, as the faintest blush of dawn crept through the window, Forrest set down his brush, his hand trembling. He gazed at the vertical columns of golden script and let out a deep, satisfied laugh. “It’s done.”

The gold letters danced across the crimson paper, elegant and alive.

A perfect work, finished in a single breath.

Once the ink dried, Forrest carefully rolled up the scroll, nestled it inside a wooden box, and sealed it. He accepted the handkerchief Howard offered, removed his glasses, and dabbed the sweat from his brow.

He looked out the window.

Dawn’s first light reflected in his eyes.

The dream he’d carried since boyhood was finally within reach.

...

The Dressing Room.

Mila Sutherland had been up before dawn, rushing to the venue for the engagement party. She sat in front of the mirror, letting the makeup artist work her magic, a trace of sleepiness still lingering on Mila’s face.

It was far too early.