Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 431

“What a beautiful sight.”

Cossio’s voice was cool and measured. “Sellers, have you ever heard the tale of the petal murder?”

Standing quietly behind him was a blond, blue-eyed man. Had Mila been there, she would have recognized him instantly—the very man who had cornered her with a gun on her first, harrowing day at the castle, forcing the wolves back and driving her down to the ground floor.

Sellers replied, “I’m not familiar with it, sir. Would you enlighten me?”

“Do you remember the painting I bought once—*The Roses of Heliogabalus*? It depicts a massacre, a madman’s act of cruelty.”

Cossio’s green eyes grew darker, haunted by some inner shadow.

“History tells of a tyrant who, for sport, threw a lavish banquet and rigged the ceiling with a deadly surprise—nearly four hundred thousand roses poured down upon his guests, suffocating them beneath a sea of petals. Thus was born the legend of the deadly rose.”

“Sellers, do you think petals can really kill?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir.”

Cossio’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Well, I’m curious to find out. Go on, let’s send our guests a little present.”

Sellers nodded and slipped away.

Downstairs, as the music swelled to its fevered peak, a sudden explosion erupted overhead. A torrent of crimson roses rained down from the domed ceiling, drenching the crowd in a downpour of petals.

Guests screamed at first—then broke into delighted cheers, spinning and laughing as they danced in the floral storm.

Mila looked up, stunned. The endless cascade of roses bursting from the spire above made her eyes widen in shock. But as she gazed at the scarlet rain, she noticed black roses spinning among the red, arcing toward her like dark omens.

Cossio.

He’s here.

Suddenly, someone seized her wrist and yanked her aside. She saw Lysander throw himself in front of her, his tall frame shuddering violently before he crashed to the floor amid the swirling petals.

What just happened?

—

At the top of the tower, Cossio drew a small silver pistol from his cane, his gaze calm and unwavering as he looked down through the storm of flowers at the fallen man below. A smile flickered across his lips.

“Sellers,” he murmured, “I never bought into that story.”

“Soft, beautiful flowers can’t kill. They only intoxicate and distract… You young people are too arrogant.”

He slid the pistol back into his cane.

Looking down at the man below, at the blood soaking his shirt and the life draining from his eyes, Cossio felt a rare thrill of satisfaction as he spoke, savoring every word:

“Lysander, you’ve lost.”

Mila had never been his target.

The moment Lysander set foot on this island—no, the moment he decided to risk everything to save her—he had already lost.

He’d been defeated by a beautiful flower.

Now, at last, the greatest obstacle between himself and Felicity—Lysander—was gone.

At last,

he could be reunited with his angel.

—

Are you kidding me?

Screams echoed through the chaos. Guests rushed for the exits, trampling rose petals underfoot. Mila knelt on the floor, clutching Lysander’s bleeding body, her mind frozen, unable to comprehend what had just occurred.

What happened?

She stared at the spreading blood on his chest, her hands trembling as she tried to stem the flow. Her voice shook so badly it was barely recognizable. “What’s going on? Lysander, are you joking? Wasn’t I supposed to be the target? Why did you take the bullet for me?”

Why?

Wasn’t she supposed to be the mark?

“Aren’t you going to deal with Cossio? Didn’t you say you were ready for everything? Why are you the one lying here?”