The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 166

Chapter 166

Ethan’s POV

The words echoed in my ears.

It appears that your blood type is indeed type A..

They didn’t land all at once. They reverberated—bouncing around the sterile white walls, lodging themselves behind my eyes, sinking into my chest like shrapnel. For a split second, I thought I’d misheard her.

I frowned deeply, my brows pulling together so hard it felt like my skull might crack. “That doesn’t make sense.”

My voice sounded steady, even reasonable, which surprised me. Inside, something was already starting to slip, like a foundation quietly crumbling before the walls noticed.

“We’ve double-checked,” the nurse replied, calm in that infuriatingly professional way medical staff perfected. “Sometimes there are rare incompatibilities, but in this case, it’s quite clear. You are not a match. Your mother is type O. You are type A.”

The room shrank.

That was the only way I could describe it—like the air had been sucked out, like the walls had edged closer without asking permission. I became acutely aware of everything at once: the faint antiseptic smell, the buzz of fluorescent lights, the tightness in my chest that made breathing feel optional.

I laughed once.

It came out wrong, like a sound scraped from the back of my throat rather than something born of humor. “Run it again.”

I needed them to run it again. I needed numbers to reshuffle, letters to rearrange themselves into something familiar, something that fit the life I’d lived for thirty-five years.

“We already did,” the nurse said gently. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry.

That word did more damage than the rest.

Something shifted behind my eyes. A fracture spreading quietly, methodically. Confusion crept in first, followed closely by doubt — thick, heavy doubt that pressed down on memories I’d never questioned before.

Bryan stood a few feet away, silent now. I could feel his gaze on me without looking at him, could sense him trying to read my expression the way he always did when things went wrong. Devian, too, had gone unnervingly quiet. No jokes. No scoffs. No commentary. Whatever bravado he’d walked in with had evaporated completely.

“That’s impossible,” I said, more quietly this time. The words felt fragile, like glass. “She’s my mother.”

I’d said it my whole life without thinking. My mother. Grace Walker. The woman who’d raised me, disciplined me, loved me in her own complicated way. The woman whose blood supposedly ran in my veins.

The nurse shifted, clearly uncomfortable now. “Biology can be… complicated.”

Complicated.

The word lodged itself in my skull and refused to leave.

“Conduct a DNA test.”

The nurse blinked, clearly taken aback. “Sir?”

“I want a DNA test,” I repeated, each word deliberate, precise, like I was laying bricks instead of speaking. “Immediately.”

No room for negotiation. No room for comfort.

This wasn’t about reassurance anymore. This was about truth.

The room went utterly silent.

“Okay, uhm… I would see to that” The nurse was partially confused as she went back into the lab.

Devian excused himself not long after the nurse left, muttering something about needing air and unanswered calls. He didn’t even look back as he walked away, his shoulders stiff, his usual swagger dulled by whatever conclusions he was drawing in his head. For once, his mouth had finally gone quiet, and the silence he left behind felt heavier than his noise ever did.

Bryan, however, didn’t move.

He remained seated a few chairs away, elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked, staring at the opposite wall like it might suddenly confess something to him if he watched long enough.

Why isn’t he leaving?