The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 135

Chapter 135

Cynthia’s POV

Kevin followed me all the way down the hall to my room like a personal security detail with opinions, and the moment I stepped inside, he shut the door behind us with a decisive click that told me I wasn’t getting any peace anytime soon.

I barely had time to kick off my heels by the door before he was standing in front of me, arms folded, expression unreadable.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the armchair by the window.

I blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Cynthia,” he said, using that tone… the one that meant big brother, not business partner, not family strategist, not joking Kevin. “You look like someone who hasn’t slept, eaten, or processed anything that happened in the last twenty-four hours. And yet,” his eyes swept over me slowly, suspiciously, “you have this glow. I have questions. So sit, my dearest Cici.”

I sighed, already exhausted, and sank into the chair, rubbing my temples.

Kevin disappeared briefly into my walk-in closet. I heard drawers opening, hangers shifting. When he returned, he was holding my purse.

“This,” he said, tossing it gently onto the bed, “was retrieved from the event. Your security team found it under one of the banquet tables. Phone was inside.”

My head snapped up. “Oh my phone! Thank God—thank you.”

He reached into the purse and held it up between his fingers. “This phone. Which you conveniently did not have while everyone was losing their minds thinking you’d been kidnapped, murdered, or both.”

“I didn’t…”

“I know,” he cut in, his voice softening just a little. “I’m just… checking.”

He crossed the room and crouched in front of me, resting his forearms on his knees so we were eye level.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

That question hit harder than.

“I think so,” I said honestly. “Confused. Exhausted. Emotionally hungover. But… okay.”

Kevin studied my face like he was looking for fractures beneath my skin. “And Ethan?”

There it was.

I leaned back in the chair. “What about him?”

“Did you feel pressured?” he asked carefully. “Or was it your free will? Are you still not over him, or was it nostalgia? One last emotional relapse?”

I opened my mouth and closed it, not knowing what to say.

Kevin exhaled slowly. “Cici.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted finally. The words felt like a confession carved out of me. “I genuinely don’t know.”

He nodded, like he’d expected that answer.

“My emotions are all over the place,” I continued, staring at my hands. “Last night was… intense. It started terrifying. The banquet, the chaos…” I swallowed, my throat tightening. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that the bullet had been meant for me. That I’d been seconds away from dying.

“Hmm,” Kevin murmured. “Chaotic.”

“We talked,” I said softly. “Things I didn’t expect to hear. Things I didn’t expect to feel. Old wounds. Old memories.”

I looked up at him. “But that doesn’t erase years of pain. Or neglect. Or how small I felt in that marriage. Or the fact that he still keeps Anna in his orbit. He had a child with her.”

“Good,” Kevin said bluntly. “Because it shouldn’t erase any of that.”

“Good,” Kevin replied. “Because I definitely don’t.”

I smiled faintly.

“And for the record,” Kevin added, his mouth twitching, “Devian called me a jigolo.”

I burst out laughing before I could stop myself. “Oh Kevin!”

“I can’t forgive either of them,” he said solemnly. “It was deeply disrespectful. To jigolos everywhere.”

I wiped tears from my eyes. “I needed that laugh. Thank you.”

The room settled into a comfortable silence after that.

Then my phone rang.

Kevin glanced at the screen and froze.

“Uh,” he said.

“What?” I asked, suddenly alert.

He turned the phone slightly so I could see.

Matilda.

We stared at the name like it might start explaining itself if we waited long enough.

“…Why is Matilda calling you?” Kevin asked slowly.