The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 149

Chapter 149

Ethan's POV

My voice came out low, dangerous, stripped of any remaining patience. “What the fuck is going on?”

I was glaring at my mother now, my entire body vibrating with barely contained rage.

Mrs. Daniels, who had been quietly arranging flowers in the corner, must have sensed the shift in atmosphere. She glanced between us once, her eyes widening slightly, then quickly excused herself.

"I'll just… check on dinner," she mumbled, practically fleeing the room.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Silence.

"Who were you on the phone with?" I asked again, my voice low and dangerous.

My mother opened her mouth, then closed it. Her eyes darted to the side, like she was calculating her next move.

"Ethan, you're overreacting," she started, her tone shifting into that familiar condescending lilt she used when she wanted to make me feel like a child throwing a tantrum. "I was simply…"

"Don't," I cut her off sharply. "Don't patronize me. Don't deflect. Just answer the goddamn question."

Her face hardened.

For a moment, we just stared at each other—two people who'd spent years performing the role of mother and son without ever truly understanding each other.

Then something shifted in her expression.

She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and smiled.

"You know what?" she said softly. "Let's let the cat out of the bag, shall we?"

My stomach dropped.

The air in the room seemed to thicken, pressing down on my chest. Whatever she was about to say, I knew instinctively that it would change everything. That there would be no going back from this moment.

Before she could continue, a small voice interrupted from the hallway.

"Dad?"

Both our heads snapped toward the doorway.

Amber stood there, his face blotchy and wet with tears, his small frame trembling. In his arms, he cradled something wrapped in a soft blanket—something I recognized immediately by the shape, by the way Amber held it so carefully, like it was made of glass.

My heart sank instantly.

Rex.

My old German Shepherd. The dog Anna had given me during my college graduation, a gift I'd initially dismissed as sentimental but had grown to love more than I'd ever admitted. Rex had been around for years, a constant presence in the house, loyal and gentle despite his age.

He'd been sick for months. Declining slowly. His hips had gone bad first, then his appetite started failing. The vet had warned me it wouldn't be much longer, that we should prepare ourselves.

I'd known this day was coming.

But not today.

"Dad," Amber whispered, his voice breaking into pieces. "He… he won't wake up."

"We'll give him a proper goodbye," I said, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "We'll bury him in the garden, under that big oak tree he loved to sleep under. We'll do it right. I promise."

Amber nodded miserably, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. The gesture was so childlike, so vulnerable, that it made my chest ache all over again.

He cast one last look at Rex, then turned and trudged up the stairs, his small shoulders shaking with silent sobs that seemed to echo in the suddenly too-quiet house.

I watched him go, counting his steps, listening as he reached the landing and continued down the hall.

The sound of his bedroom door closing was soft but final.

Only then did I turn back to my mother.

She was still standing exactly where she'd been before, her posture perfect, her expression unreadable. She watched me with the kind of detached curiosity you might give to a particularly interesting specimen under glass.

I laid Rex's body gently on the couch, smoothing the blanket over him one last time, then I straightened.

"Now," I said quietly, my voice deadly calm in a way that made the air feel dangerous. "What were you about to say?"

My mother tilted her head slightly, like she was deciding whether or not I was still worth the truth.

Whether the moment had passed or if she still wanted to deliver whatever blow she'd been preparing.

Her eyes moved over my face, studying me, like she was calculating how much I could take before I broke completely.

Then she smiled again.

That same cold, victorious smile.