The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 246

Chapter 246

Kevin's POV

Cynthia was taking way too long.

I leaned against the car, checking my watch for the third time in as many minutes, my patience wearing thinner with each passing second. The cold Christmas air bit at the back of my neck, and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, more out of restlessness than the chill. The hospital parking lot was unusually quiet — just a handful of cars scattered across the asphalt, a lone nurse cutting across the lot with her head ducked against the wind. Everything looked normal. Everything felt wrong.

It had been almost fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes to grab a phone.

From a hospital room she'd just been in.

Something felt off.

In the backseat, Amber was practically bouncing with excitement, his small face pressed against the window, breath fogging the glass in little clouds.

"Uncle Kevin, can we go now?" he asked for what felt like the hundredth time. "I really, really want to have my Christmas sauce."

"Soon, buddy," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. "Your mom just needs to grab her phone."

"But she's taking forever," Amber whined. "The earlier we go, the faster I can come back to see Daddy. I don't want him to be alone on Christmas."

Despite my growing irritation, I felt my chest warm slightly at that.

Amber was a good kid.

A thoughtful kid.

The kind of kid who worried about his father spending Christmas alone in a hospital despite everything Ethan had put his mother through. Most children his age would've been consumed by the promise of food and gifts and the general chaos of the holiday. Not Amber. He carried a quiet awareness in those wide eyes of his — an emotional intelligence that seemed too heavy for someone so small.

"You're a good son, Amber," I said quietly.

Amber smiled. "Daddy needs me. He's all alone."

I nodded, but my mind was elsewhere.

Fifteen minutes.

That was too long.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Cynthia's number.

It rang once.

Then went straight to voicemail.

"Hi, you've reached Cynthia Laurent. I can't come to the phone right now, but—"

I hung up.

That was odd.

Very odd.

Cynthia never turned her phone off, did her battery run down?

She was meticulous about that — always reachable, always a text away. It was one of the things I'd quietly admired about her. The way she made herself available, even when she was exhausted, even when the world was falling apart around her.

An unsettling feeling crept up my spine.

Something was wrong.

I should go in there.

Check on her.

Make sure she was okay.

But…

What if she was fine?

What if she'd just gotten caught up talking to Ethan?

What if they were finally having the conversation they'd needed to have for months?

And what if I barged in and ruined it?

Ethan already hated me.

The last thing I needed was to give him another reason to think I was trying to interfere in his relationship with Cynthia.

I glanced at my watch again.

Fine.

I'd give her another fifteen minutes.

If she wasn't back by then, I'd go in.

Screw Ethan's feelings.

…

Another fifteen minutes crawled by.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Just… silence.

I quickened my pace.

And when I reached Ethan's room, I didn't bother knocking.

I pushed the door open.

"What in God's name?"

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

Because the room was a disaster.

The rolling table had been knocked over, the flask Cynthia had brought lying on its side, sauce spilled across the floor. The IV stand was tipped at an odd angle, the line hanging loose and empty. The monitors were silent, screens dark. And the bed —

The bed was empty.

Ethan was gone.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

"Cynthia?" I called out, my voice sharp with panic now.

No answer.

I stepped further into the room, my eyes scanning every corner. The window blinds were half-twisted, like someone had grabbed them on the way down — or on the way out. A chair had been shoved against the wall at an unnatural angle. The whole room had the breathless, frozen quality of a place where something had happened very recently and very badly.

That's when I saw a splash of something dark on the floor near the window.

Blood.

Not a lot.

But enough.

"Cynthia!" I shouted, louder this time, already pulling out my phone.

Still no answer.

I moved toward the bathroom, shoving the door open.

Empty.

No Cynthia.

No Ethan.

Just an empty, trashed hospital room that looked like a crime scene.