The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 133

Chapter 133

Ethan’s POV

I followed her anyway.

I knew I shouldn’t have. I knew every instinct in my body was screaming that if I took another step after her, I would only make things worse. But my legs moved on their own, carrying me after Cynthia as she stormed away from the beach house, her shoulders rigid, her back straight in that way she always did when she was holding herself together by sheer will.

“Don’t follow me,” she’d said, her voice sharp, trembling with something dangerously close to tears.

I hadn’t listened.

Then she turned around, finally, and said the words that cut deeper than anything Anna or the media could ever throw at me.

“I’m no longer your wife, Ethan. We are separated, and I really need you to sign the divorce papers. I’ll forward them to you again.” She paused, her eyes cold, distant. “Try not to be a bad father to Hayden. I hope we would be able to properly co-parent Amber.”

That sentence.

That one sentence shattered something inside my chest.

Try not to be a bad father to Hayden.

I felt like the air had been punched out of my lungs. My heart actually hurt — physically hurt in a way I hadn’t felt in years. I opened my mouth to speak, to stop her, to grab her hand and force her to listen, but she didn’t give me the chance.

She flounced away, her footsteps uneven in the sand, and I stood there like a fool, watching the woman I loved walk out of my life all over again.

God, it hurt.

It hurt so much I had to bend slightly at the waist, my hands braced on my thighs, trying to breathe through it. The irony was brutal. She was saying all this because she didn’t know the truth.

She didn’t know that I had never touched Anna and that Hayden wasn’t my daughter.

She didn’t know that every sacrifice I made, every stupid decision I took, had been rooted in guilt and manipulation and fear, not love.

If only she had allowed me to explain.

If only she had stayed one more minute.

If only my phone hadn’t rung.

If only Anna hadn’t chosen today—of all days—to destroy what little chance I had left.

I straightened slowly and followed Cynthia out of the beach house compound, my heart still pounding painfully in my chest. I didn’t call out again.

She needed space.

But watching her walk away felt like tearing open a wound that had never truly healed.

By the time I reached the driveway, she was already standing there, looking lost, hugging herself like she was bracing against more than just the morning breeze.

Then I saw the car pull up.

My blood went cold instantly.

I recognized the car even before I saw the man behind the wheel.

Nikolai Cross.

What the fuck was he doing here?

My hands curled into fists at my sides as I watched him roll down the window, say something to Cynthia that I couldn’t hear. Her body language shifted immediately—surprise, then relief.

That was what hurt the most.

I dragged a hand through my hair, pacing once, twice, my mind racing. Anger warred with panic, jealousy tangled with guilt. I couldn’t even blame Cynthia. Not really. From her perspective, I was the villain. The husband who cheated. The man who abandoned her for another woman and a child.

And Nikolai?

Nikolai was the attentive one. The present one. The one who showed up when she was vulnerable.

But I wasn’t going to lose her to him.

I turned sharply and jogged back toward the beach house, my bare feet slapping against the wooden deck as I entered. The house still smelled like her—like sex, like warmth, like the life we almost reclaimed.

I didn’t let myself linger.

I grabbed my car keys from the counter, my movements frantic, fueled by adrenaline and fury and desperation all at once. My phone buzzed again, screen lighting up with more notifications, more headlines, more damage.

I ignored it.

There would be time for that later.

Right now, I had a reputation to defend. A company on the brink of chaos. Lies to dismantle. Fires to put out.

And after that?

After that, I would get Cynthia back.

No matter what it took.

I stormed out of the beach house, got into my car, and slammed the door shut harder than necessary. The engine roared to life as I floored the accelerator, pulling out onto the road with one singular, burning resolve.

Nikolai Cross wasn’t going to stand a chance.