The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 164

Chapter 164

Ethan’s POV

I didn’t realize how tightly I’d been holding myself together until Cynthia walked out of that room looking like she might collapse.

She didn’t owe my mother anything. Grace had been cruel to her. Manipulative. Dangerous. And yet Cynthia had still laid herself on that sterile chair and let her blood drain out for a woman who had tried to destroy her.

That was who Cynthia was.

That was who she had always been.

A large heart. Too large for this world. Too large for a man like me to have taken for granted.

And God help me, that was one of the many reasons I wanted her back in my life.

Not because she was convenient. Not because I was lonely. But because she was good. Fundamentally, devastatingly good.

The thought twisted sharply into guilt.

Because even now, with my mother hovering between life and death, my mind kept circling back to the same thing.

Cynthia.

It is just a wonder that both my parents’ blood types didn’t match mine.

The nurse’s casual statement had detonated something inside my head, and it wouldn’t stop echoing.

My mother is type O.

My father was type B.

You’re type A.

It didn’t make sense.

I wasn’t a scientist, but I wasn’t stupid either. I’d sat through enough corporate health briefings, enough company-mandated genetic screenings, enough medical clearances to know basic biology.

That combination didn’t add up.

And now it was lodged in my brain like a splinter, digging deeper the more I tried to ignore it.

I paced the waiting area like a caged animal, my thoughts spiraling faster with every step.

Had there been a mistake?

A typo in my file?

A lab error?

Or… God, no…

Was this another lie?

Another carefully constructed illusion I’d lived inside my entire life without ever questioning?

Before I could sink any further into that abyss, Bryan showed up.

Of course he did.

He walked toward me holding three cans of soda, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes… his eyes were full of that look.

Pity.

I hated it instantly.

I hated that he was here. Hated the way he looked at me like I was something fragile. Hated that he’d chosen this moment to play concerned childhood friend.

Why was he even here?

No… scratch that. I knew exactly why he was here.

Cynthia.

He’d followed us because of her. Because he was hovering, waiting, circling like a vulture dressed up as a friend. Probably hoping to slide into her emotional space while I was distracted, broken, distracted by blood and hospitals and family secrets.

The thought made my jaw clench.

He stopped in front of me and handed me a can. “You look like hell,” he said quietly.

I snatched it from his hand.

Didn’t even thank him.

I popped it open and gulped it down like my life depended on it, the cold fizz burning down my throat. My hands were shaking. I didn’t care.

I tipped my head back, finished half the can in seconds…

“You heard me.”

“Bryan, this isn’t in your place….”

“And it’s not in yours to decide,” he shot back. “She just gave blood. She’s vulnerable. I’m staying.”

I stepped closer, my voice dropping dangerously. “You don’t get to play hero here.”

The argument was about to explode, every raw nerve exposed…

“Enough.”

The nurse’s voice cut through us like a blade.

She stepped forward sharply, her expression hard. “Both of you… stop it. Right now.”

We froze.

She glanced pointedly between us. “Your patient has just undergone a blood donation. She is extremely frail at the moment and needs silence, not two grown men posturing like this is a playground.”

Shame hit me hard and fast.

I stepped back immediately.

Bryan did too.

The nurse turned to Cynthia, her tone softening instantly. “Take slow breaths. You’re okay.”

Cynthia nodded faintly, her eyes fluttering closed for a second.

I swallowed, guilt washing over me.

In that brief pocket of silence, everything I’d been pushing down surged back up.

The blood types.

The possibility that my entire identity rested on a lie I hadn’t even known to question.

My chest tightened.

I looked up at the nurse, the question escaping before I could stop myself.

“Can you help confirm my blood type again?”