The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 123

Ethan’s POV

After the intense moment with Bryan, I got home with my mind still racing, unable to shake the image of that strange man from the university who had been stalking Cynthia.

The more I thought about it, the more alarmed I became. That man had been watching her with too much focus, too much intent. And the fact that I’d seen him before exiting Anna’s apartment building weeks ago made the whole thing feel coordinated.

Could it be one of the men who’d been following Cynthia?

Her security detail had been professional, visible, clearly hired protection. But this man had been lurking in the shadows, hiding behind trees, watching from a distance like he didn’t want to be seen.

Could be anybody, I reasoned, my mind cycling through possibilities. Perhaps Kevin Laurent was obsessed with her and had hired additional men to follow her around without her knowledge. That would explain the seemingly excessive security.

I needed to know who that man was.

Find out who he is. Check the university’s CCTV footage.

I should call someone to help me with that, but I had already skipped too much work while stalking Cynthia like some obsessed teenager instead of a grown man running a multi-billion-dollar company.

And I had too much to do before the year came to an end.

The quarterly reports were due. The board meeting was scheduled for next week. The annual holiday gala still needed final approval on everything from the guest list to the catering menu. Walker Industries didn’t run itself, no matter how much I wanted to spend every waking moment focused on winning back my wife.

I sighed and headed to my study, loosening my tie as I walked through the quiet house.

I pushed open the study door and stopped short.

Mother was standing in front of my desk, her back to me, desperately rifling through the drawers with shaking hands. Papers were scattered across the desktop, file folders pulled out and left open, the normally organized space in complete disarray.

“Mother?” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “What are you doing?”

She actually jumped, spinning around with her hand pressed to her chest. Her eyes were wide with fear, her face pale in the dim light of the desk lamp.

She clearly hadn’t expected me home yet.

Hadn’t expected to be caught.

“Ethan!” She let out a forced laugh that sounded nothing like genuine amusement. “You startled me. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“What are you looking for?” I asked again, stepping further into the room and surveying the mess she’d made.

Grace’s hands fluttered nervously as she straightened papers that didn’t need straightening and closed drawers that were already closed. Her tells were obvious. She was hiding something.

“I wanted to get the invitations,” she said, her words coming out too fast, too eager. “I knew Walker Industries was having the end-of-year party, and I wanted to give some invitation cards to my friends. You know how much they love attending. It’s always such a lovely event.”

I raised an eyebrow.

The explanation sounded plausible on the surface, but something about it felt wrong.

“If you wanted invitations, why didn’t you just ask?” I said, moving to my desk and gathering the scattered papers. “I would have had them delivered to you. We have boxes of them at the office. You didn’t need to go through my desk.”

“Oh, Ethan, I know.” Grace waved her hand dismissively, though that strained smile remained fixed on her face. “I just didn’t want to disturb you. You’ve been so busy lately, so distracted with everything. And I happened to be passing your study and thought the invitations were probably in here, so I could just grab a few without bothering you.”

It was a weak excuse.

My mother had never been the type to avoid “bothering” me about anything. She had no problem calling at all hours, demanding my attention, expecting me to drop everything for her needs.

So why the secrecy now?

What was she really looking for?

I watched her carefully, noting the way her eyes wouldn’t quite meet mine, the way she kept inching toward the door like she wanted to escape.

“Mother…” I started.

I opened the message.

Dear Mr. Walker,

I hope this message finds you well.

I’m writing to formally invite you and Mrs. Walker to our annual end-of-year celebration on December 28th. The evening will include dinner, dancing, and an opportunity to discuss the business proposal we spoke about previously.

Your presence would be greatly appreciated, and I very much hope that both you and your lovely wife will be able to attend.

I reread the email a third time, a slow smile spreading across my face.

This was perfect.

An invitation that specifically included Cynthia. One that referred to her as “Mrs. Walker” and “your lovely wife.” One that presented a business opportunity I could use as leverage.

This was exactly the kind of opportunity I needed—a legitimate, professional reason to spend time with Cynthia. A public event where we’d be expected to appear together. A chance to show her we could still function as a unit, still present a unified front.

I quickly replied to confirm our attendance, satisfied with the subtle implication that Cynthia’s presence wasn’t optional—that it was expected, even necessary, for the business discussion to proceed.

Then I forwarded the entire email chain to Cynthia with a brief message:

I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then leaned back in my chair, feeling a small surge of satisfaction.

A perfectly reasonable, professionally worded request she couldn’t easily refuse without seeming petty or unprofessional.

And if she did agree to attend with me, it would be our first public appearance together since her return.

A chance to show Missford that we were still connected.

A chance to make things right.