The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Cynthia’s POV

It’s a brand new day, still recovering from the Marcus Chen incident and Ethan’s conversation with his friends and my brothers‘ annoyance and threat to destroy Walker Industries.

I could feel every eye on me as I walked into the lecture hall, the weight of their judgment pressing down like a physical force.

They weren’t even trying to hide it… some looked curious, some skeptical, and a few wore expressions of outright hostility.

I set my notes on the podium with deliberate calm, though my hands wanted to shake. I wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

“Alright,” I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs. “Let’s clear the air, shall we?”

The room went silent almost instantly. Two hundred pairs of eyes locked onto me, waiting… some with anticipation, others with barely concealed contempt.

“I know what’s been said about me,” I continued, forcing myself to meet their gazes one by one. We all saw what happened, the accusations… it was filmed and I’m trending on the internet” I paused, letting the words settle. “And I’m not here to justify myself to anyone. I’m not asking for your sympathy or your trust.”

A few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“But I will say this.” My voice hardened just slightly. “I am not who Marcus Chen accused me of being. I never was.”

The silence deepened, and it demanded I keep talking even though my throat was tightening.

“I’ve made mistakes in my life…plenty of them, but cruelty has never been one of them.” I took a pause, studying their expression. “I spent years learning that the truth doesn’t always shout the loudest. Sometimes it just waits, until people are ready to hear it.”

I gripped the edge of the podium, anchoring myself.

“So if you choose to believe him, that’s your right. But if you choose to believe me…” I met the eyes of the girl in the front row who’d been the most vocal skeptic. “You’ll see that the only thing I’ve ever been guilty of is surviving.”

My voice cracked on that last word, and I hated myself for it. But the truth had forced its way out, raw and unpolished, and there was no taking it back now.

The room was utterly still. Even the hum of the air conditioning seemed to fade into the background. Then…

Clap.

One sharp sound from the back of the hall.

Clap…Clap… Clap

The rhythm was slow, deliberate and every head turned.

I followed their gaze and felt my breath catch in my throat.

He stood at the back of the lecture hall, leaning against the doorframe with the casual elegance of someone who’d never questioned his right to occupy any space he chose. He wore a perfectly tailored navy blazer, his dark hair looked artfully disheveled in a way that probably took effort and his ocean blue eyes trained on me with an intensity that made my skin flush.

He still had that same fierce, magnetic presence that had left me flustered the first time we’d met at my restaurant back in Paris

I never thought I would see him again, let alone here in Missford, and in my lecture room.

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He had reserved my entire restaurant six months ago for his father’s seventieth birthday, he kept glancing at me and smiling with effortless warmth.

It is shameful that he had to see me again through the scandal, probably saw my video while scrolling social media reels and decided to come pay me a visit

The sound of his clapping rolled through the room, breaking the tension like a spell being shattered. Students glanced between us, confused but beginning to follow his lead. A few tentative hands joined in and suddenly the entire lecture hall was applauding, and I stood there at the podium, completely disarmed.

But all I could focus on was him. He had that knowing smirk curving at the corner of his mouth.

The applause built and built until it became something almost overwhelming, and through it all, he never looked away, his blue eyes piercing through my skin. Where is he from, England?

When the sound finally began to fade, he pushed off from the doorframe and walked down the center aisle with the kind of confidence that turned heads. Students tracked his movement, whispering among themselves, clearly trying to figure out who he was and what he was doing here.

He stopped about halfway down and spoke, his voice carrying effortlessly across the space. “If I may add something.”

The girls were already swooning. Whispers and soft gasps rippled through the room. His voice was maddeningly seductive. It was smooth, calm, almost therapeutic and I was mesmerized, when he had spoken to me back then when we first met, I almost

drooled.

Do men like this exist in reality? I thought it was only in movie scenes.

I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

“My name is Nikolai Cross,” he continued, addressing the room but somehow making it feel like he was speaking only to me.” I’m a guest lecturer in the business school. But I’m here today because I’ve had the privilege of experiencing Ms. Cynclair’s work

firsthand.”

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

guests.

“I’ve dined at her restaurant in Paris,” he said, his tone conversational but with an underlying intensity that made every word Land like a declaration. “I’ve watched her create art on a plate. I’ve seen the way she treats her staff, her suppliers and And I can tell you without reservation that her integrity is unquestionable.”

A few students exchanged glances. While some looked skeptical, others looked intrigued.

“This is not a woman who bullies or manipulates,” Nikolai continued, and now there was steel in his seductive, coarse… fucking sexy voice. “This is a woman who understands that true excellence comes from respect. Respect for ingredients. Respect for craft and most importantly, respect for people.”

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