The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 152

Chapter 152

Cynthia's POV

The moment I stepped fully inside the Walker mansion, something felt wrong.

Not just uncomfortable or unwelcome — though those feelings were certainly there, familiar ghosts that clung to these walls like smoke.

No, this was different.

The house felt… dead.

Quiet in a way that went beyond peaceful. Eeriness that settled into my bones like cold water, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

This had been my home three years ago. I'd walked these halls every day, arranged flowers in that vase by the window, sat at that dining table for countless dinners that felt more like performances than meals.

But now?

Now it felt like a dungeon.

Like all the life had been sucked out of it, leaving behind only empty space and shadows that seemed darker than they should be.

I hated it.

Hated the oppressive weight of it. The way the air felt thick and stagnant, like the house itself was holding its breath.

How has Amber managed to live here this long?

The question hit me with sudden, painful clarity.

My poor boy. Growing up in this cold, lifeless place. No wonder he'd been struggling. No wonder he always seemed so much lighter, so much more himself when he was away from here.

This house is cursed, I thought darkly.

"Amber?" I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the cavernous foyer. "Honey, it's Mom!"

No response.

Just silence pressing back at me.

I moved further inside, heading toward the stairs, my footsteps too loud against the floor.

"Amber?" I called again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

Then…

"Well, well, well."

The voice came from behind me, smooth and cold as ice.

I turned slowly.

Grace Walker stood in the doorway of the sitting room, one hand resting elegantly on the doorframe, her posture perfect as always. She was dressed impeccably—cream-colored blouse, tailored trousers, every hair in place.

But her smile was all wrong.

Almost… amused.

"Cynthia," she said, her tone dripping with false warmth. "You are the least person I expected to see here today. What a pleasant surprise."

Everything Nathaniel had told me came rushing back.

Pascal Walker. Grace's son. The illegitimate son she'd hidden away.

The one orchestrating everything.

I looked at her now—this woman who'd made my life hell during my marriage, who'd criticized everything I did, who'd made me feel small and inadequate at every turn—and saw her in an entirely new light.

Not just a difficult mother-in-law.

A witch.

A manipulator who'd been pulling strings behind the scenes for God knows how long.

I was halfway up the stairs when I nearly collided with someone coming down the hall.

Mrs. Daniels, Amber had told me about her.

Her face lit up the moment she saw me, genuine warmth and relief flooding her features.

"Oh, Misus!" she exclaimed, pressing one hand to her chest. "I’ve heard so much about you. You're really here! Mr. Lan at the gate told me you'd arrived, and I could hardly believe it. I'm so relieved."

Her words were rushed, tumbling over each other like she'd been holding them in for too long.

"It's good to see you too, Mrs. Daniels, Amber told me about you too" I said softly, meaning it.

"Master Amber is in his bedroom," she said, lowering her voice slightly. "Poor dear has been in there since… well, since it happened. He won't come out. Won't eat. Just keeps crying."

My heart clenched painfully.

"I'll go to him now," I said.

Mrs. Daniels nodded, stepping aside to let me pass, but she caught my hand briefly.

"I'm glad you're here," she said quietly. "This house… it hasn't been right…"

She trailed off, like she'd said too much.

I squeezed her hand gently. "Thank you."

Then I continued down the hallway toward Amber's room, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Behind me, I could feel Grace's eyes following my movements.

But I didn't look back.

I had more important things to focus on.

Like my son.

And figuring out how the hell I was going to protect him from the wolves circling around him — including the one who'd given birth to his father.