The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 203

Chapter 203

Ethan's POV

The Walker mansion had never felt this empty.

I pushed through the front doors with more force than necessary, the heavy wood slamming against the wall as I stumbled inside. My chest was heaving, my legs trembling from exhaustion and adrenaline that had nowhere left to go.

"Amber?" I called out, my voice echoing through the cavernous entryway. "AMBER!"

Silence.

The kind of silence that pressed down on you, suffocating and absolute.

Mrs. Daniels appeared from the hallway, her face creased with concern. She took one look at me—disheveled, wild-eyed, barely holding myself together—and her expression shifted to alarm.

"Mr. Walker, what's wrong? Where's Amber?"

"Is he here?" I demanded, grabbing her shoulders perhaps too tightly. "Did he come home? Did anyone bring him here?"

She shook her head slowly, confusion and worry battling across her features. "No, sir. I just arrived and no one was home. What happened?"

My hands dropped.

The last thread of hope I'd been clinging to—the desperate, irrational belief that somehow Amber had found his way home, that he'd be upstairs in his room playing his games like nothing had happened—snapped.

He wasn't here.

He was still out there.

Alone.

Scared.

Lost.

"Mr. Walker?" Mrs. Daniels said again, her voice gentler now, frightened. "Please, tell me what's going on."

I couldn't answer her.

My throat had closed up completely, words trapped behind a wall of emotion I'd been fighting to contain all night. I turned away from her, my vision blurring as I stumbled toward the staircase.

"Sir…"

"Leave me alone," I managed to choke out.

I didn't wait for her response.

I climbed the stairs mechanically, one foot after the other, my hand gripping the banister so tightly my fingers ached. Each step felt heavier than the last, like I was dragging the weight of the entire world behind me.

When I reached the second floor, I didn't go to my room.

I went to Amber's.

The door was already open.

I stepped inside and the sight of it broke me completely.

His bed was neatly made — or as neat as an eleven-year-old could manage, the superhero comforter pulled up haphazardly, one pillow crooked. His toys were scattered across the floor in organized chaos: action figures mid-battle, building blocks stacked into unfinished towers, race cars lined up like they were waiting for a race that would never start.

His favorite stuffed bear—the one he'd had since he was a baby, the one with the missing eye and the torn ear that he refused to let anyone throw away—sat propped against his pillow.

Waiting for him.

My knees buckled.

I collapsed onto the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping under my weight, and the dam I'd been holding back all night finally shattered.

I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.

My shoulders shook violently. My breath came in ragged, uneven gasps that burned my lungs.

I couldn't stop.

All of it came crashing down at once.

Anna.

The woman I'd trusted, the woman I'd defended, the woman I'd allowed into my life and my company—she'd betrayed me. Used me. Lied to me. Manipulated me for years while pretending to care.

Grace.

The woman who'd raised me, who I'd called mother for thirty-five years, who'd shaped every aspect of who I'd become—she wasn't even my mother. Everything I thought I knew about myself, about my family, about my identity, was built on a lie.

Pascal.

Now my son was missing.

The one pure, perfect thing left in my life—the one person who still looked at me like I mattered, like I was worth something—was out there somewhere, alone and terrified, because I'd been too obsessed with Cynthia to protect him.

I'd brought him to that event.

I'd dragged him into my mess.

I'd let myself get distracted.

And now he was gone.

"I'm sorry," I whispered brokenly into the empty room, my voice cracking. "Amber, I'm so sorry."

The stuffed bear stared back at me with its one remaining button eye, silent and accusing.

I reached for it with trembling hands and pulled it against my chest, clutching it like it was Amber himself, like holding it could somehow bring him back.

It smelled like him.

I pressed my face into the worn fur and sobbed harder.

Everything was falling apart.

I didn't know how long I sat there, clutching that bear, crying like a child myself.

Minutes. Hours. Time had stopped meaning anything.

Eventually, the sobs subsided into shaky breaths. My throat was raw. My eyes burned. My entire body felt hollowed out, like I'd cried out everything inside me and was left with nothing but emptiness.

I lifted my head slowly, staring around Amber's room through blurred vision.

And for the first time in my life, I didn't know what to do.

I'd always had a plan. Always had control. Always known the next move, the next strategy, the next way forward.

But now?

Now I was lost.

Just as lost as my son.