The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 1

**Preface**

-------------Update Schedule------------

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Chapters are updated daily, though there may be occasions when I post twice or even three times a day. Turn on notifications so you don’t miss a drop!

Love ya!

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-------------Author’s Note -------------

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Thank you so much for choosing to read this story. It is completely fiction but I believe you would be able to relate to the reality of it.

Your time and resources poured into this book mean everything. With countless amazing books out there, the fact that you chose mine is something I sincerely appreciate. It's both an honor and a privilege.

If you're enjoying the journey, I’d truly appreciate hearing your thoughts. Your feedback is a great source of motivation.

Multi-dimensionally Yours,

Grace Grandi

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Chapter 1

**Cynthia’s POV**

"It's just a headache. With modern medicine so advanced, it won't kill you."

Ethan didn't even look up from his phone as he spoke. His coffee sat untouched beside his plate, growing cold while he scrolled through emails, sitting before him was my son, Amber and my Mother- In-law.

I stood at the edge of the dining table, one hand gripping the back of my chair to steady myself. The pounding in my skull had kept me awake all night, and this morning the nausea was so intense I had barely managed to prepare breakfast.

"Ethan, please. It's not just a headache. I've been having these symptoms for weeks now, and they're getting worse. I really think I should see a doctor, and I'd like you to come with me…"

"Don't make a fuss." My mother-in-law cut me off. "Just take some medicine and you'll be fine. You're always complaining about something, jeez!."

"But Mother, I'm really not feeling well. Yesterday I nearly collapsed in …"

"Are you overthinking it again?" She finally glanced at me, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. "Doctors tend to scare people. They'll run a bunch of expensive tests and tell you you're stressed. Is that what you want? To waste money on your anxiety?"

My throat tightened. "I don't think it's anxiety. Something feels really wrong…"

"Mom…, you're so dramatic." Amber didn't even pause between bites of his eggs. "Can I have more juice?"

I moved automatically to get the pitcher, but the room tilted. I grabbed the edge of the table for stamina.

"Cynthia." Ethan's voice held a note of irritation. "I have three important meetings today. I have to finalize the Bennett proposal. I don't have time to sit in a hospital waiting room because you have a headache."

"I'm not asking you to miss work. Maybe you could just come with me after…"

"We'll talk about this later." He stood abruptly, chair scraping against the hardwood floor. "Right now, you need to stop being so dramatic. Take an aspirin and rest. You'll be fine."

He grabbed his briefcase and keys in one smooth motion, then turned to Amber. "Come on, buddy. I'll drop you at school."

“Finally!” Amber jumped up. “Can Aunt Anna pick me up today? She promised to take me for ice cream!”

“We’ll see. Grab your backpack,” Ethan said, already rising.

I opened my mouth – to remind him that Amber had already had ice cream yesterday and shouldn’t have another and to beg him to come with me to the hospital, but Ethan was already striding to the door, our son trotting happily after him.

“Wait… Ethan…” My voice broke, swallowed by the slam of the closing door. My Mother In-Law had already found her way out of the dining area.

The silence that followed felt suffocating. I stood there surrounded by dirty dishes and cooling food, my hands trembling against the table edge.

The nausea hit me like a wave.

I stumbled toward the kitchen sink, but my legs wouldn't cooperate. The floor seemed to rise up too fast. I fell to my knees on the carpet.

I couldn't hold back the gagging sensation in my throat, my stomach heaved, and I retched onto the intricate blue and gold pattern.

"Oh my God!"

I looked up through watering eyes. My mother-in-law’s face twisted in disgust, I thought she had returned to her room.

"You're so disgusting!" she shrieked. "How could you vomit on the carpet? Anna brought this back from France last year! Do you know what this costs?"

"I'm sorry," I gasped, wiping my mouth with shaking hands. "I couldn't make it to the…"

"Oh my God, why would my damn husband – bless his soul – ask Ethan to marry you!" She pressed her hand dramatically to her forehead. "If you don't clean it up, you're doomed! Do you hear me? I want every trace of this gone!” She stormed out.

I knelt there on the soiled carpet, with a well of tears escaping from my lids and mixing with the mess on the floor. I reached for the cleaning supplies, scrubbing until my knuckles were raw and my arms ached.

I must not be sick, I told myself with each scrub. I can't be sick. They need me. I just need to be stronger.

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