บททั้งหมดของ The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

Chapter 51 Cynthia's POV Nikolai and I parted ways at the airport terminal, both of us heading toward separate crises. "I'll visit you at the restaurant," he said, squeezing my hand briefly. "As soon as I'm sure my father is stable. We'll figure this out together." "Go," I said, managing a small smile despite everything. "Your father needs you. I'll be fine." He nodded, his expression torn between worry for his father and concern for me. I stood there for a moment, alone in the bustling terminal, before shaking myself into action. I had a restaurant to save. --- The taxi ride to Maison Cynclair felt surreal. Paris was waking up around me, cafés opening their shutters, early morning joggers along the Seine, the city I'd grown to love carrying on as if my entire world wasn't crumbling. But as we turned onto Rue de Rivoli, my stomach dropped. I could see the crowd from two blocks away. Protesters. At least thirty of them, clustered outside my restaurant with signs and megapho

Chapter 53 Ethan's POV The moment I stepped into Euphoria club, I wanted to turn around and leave. Strippers everywhere. Women in barely-there outfits gyrating on poles, in cages, on the laps of men who looked far too comfortable with the whole scene. The bass from the music vibrated through my chest, and the air was thick with perfume and alcohol. This wasn't my scene, it had never been my scene. I didn’t enjoy this kind of scenario. I was about to walk out when my phone buzzed. A message from Cynthia. My heart lurched despite myself. I opened it with trembling fingers. [I'm so sorry. There was an emergency. Could we reschedule?] That was it. No explanation on what the emergency is, how is it so important, more important than her son. No acknowledgment that she'd left our son waiting for three and a half hours. Just "an emergency" and "could we reschedule." The height of disregard. I shoved my phone back into my pocket and walked deeper into the club. I needed a drink.

Chapter 55 Cynthia's POVI waited until the last staff member had left before making my move. I grabbed my coat and slipped out the back entrance, pulling up Felicia's address on my phone. She lived in a modest apartment building about twenty minutes away by taxi. The whole ride there, I rehearsed what I was going to say, how I was going to approach this. Confrontation wasn't my strong suit. The old Cynthia would have avoided this entirely, would have let someone else handle it, would have shrunk away from conflict. But I wasn't the old Cynthia anymore. When I knocked on Felicia's door, it took a long moment before it opened. She stood there in sweatpants and an oversized sweater, her face pale, dark circles under her eyes. "Madame Cynclair," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I... how did you..." "Can I come in?" She stepped aside, her whole body shaking as I walked into her small apartment. It was neat and modestly furnished. "I saw the footage," I said, turning to face

Chapter 57 Cynthia's POV It took the police less than an hour to track down Pierre's twin brother. Michel Beaumont was found hiding in a cheap hotel on the outskirts of Paris, trying to book a train ticket to Brussels. When they brought him in, he didn't even try to run. Just sat there with a resigned expression, like a man who'd known his luck would run out eventually. I watched the interrogation through a one-way mirror, my arms crossed, my jaw tight. Michel looked exactly like Pierre — same build, same features, same mannerisms. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn it was my manager sitting in that chair. "I needed money," Michel said flatly when the detective began questioning him. "I owed people. Dangerous people. Pierre wouldn't help me — said he was done bailing me out, that I needed to face the consequences of my own choices." "So you decided to destroy his livelihood?" the detective asked. Michel shrugged. "I saw a job posting. Anonymous. Someone was looking f

Chapter 59 Ethan's POV The hangover hit me like a freight train the moment I opened my eyes. Sunlight streamed through the curtains with aggressive brightness, and my head throbbed with each pulse of my heartbeat. My mouth tasted very awkward, and when I tried to sit up, the room spun sickeningly. It was Saturday morning. I forced myself out of bed, every movement sending fresh waves of nausea through me. A shower helped marginally, at least I no longer smelled like a distillery. I dressed in casual clothes, just jeans and a button-down, because the thought of putting on a suit made me want to die. I needed to work. Bury myself in contracts and reports and anything that would keep my mind off Cynthia and why she'd stood us up. I couldn't afford to spend the entire weekend wallowing in misery, replaying Amber's disappointed face over and over again. I had deliberately avoided him since that time. I really didn’t know how to face him after raising his hopes up and his mother dis