The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 250

Chapter 250

Cynthia's POV

Pain.

That was the first thing I registered when consciousness slowly dragged me back to the surface.

Sharp, throbbing pain radiating from the side of my head where I'd been hit.

My skull felt like it was splitting open, each pulse of my heartbeat sending fresh waves of agony through my temple.

I tried to raise my hand to touch the spot, to assess the damage.

But I couldn't move.

My arms were stuck.

Panic flooded through me instantly, cold and sharp, cutting through the fog of pain.

I forced my eyes open, blinking against the dim light, trying to focus.

Where was I?

The room—no, not a room, a warehouse—was massive, dark, and cold. The kind of cold that seeped into your bones and settled there. High ceilings with exposed beams. Concrete floors. The faint smell of dust and rust and something else I couldn't quite identify.

And I was tied to a chair.

My wrists were bound tightly behind me, the rope cutting into my skin. My ankles were similarly secured to the chair legs.

I couldn't move or stand or run.

"No," I whispered, my voice hoarse and panicked. "No, no, no…"

I thrashed against the restraints, pulling hard, trying desperately to free myself.

But it was useless.

The ropes were too tight.

Too secure.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, spilling over before I could stop them.

This couldn't be happening.

This couldn't be real.

Then I heard breathing.

Slow. Labored.

Coming from beside me.

I turned my head sharply—wincing at the fresh spike of pain the movement caused—and my heart nearly stopped.

Ethan.

He was tied to a chair beside me, his head slumped forward, his body limp and unresponsive.

"Ethan!" I cried out, my voice cracking. "Ethan, wake up! Please, please wake up!"

He didn't move.

"ETHAN!" I screamed louder, desperation clawing at my throat.

Still nothing.

I started crying harder now, sobs tearing out of me, my entire body shaking.

What had they done to him?

What had they done to us?

"Please," I whispered brokenly. "Please wake up. I need you to wake up."

And then—finally, he stirred.

His head lifted slightly, a low groan escaping his lips.

"Ethan," I said urgently, relief flooding through me despite the terror. "Ethan, can you hear me?"

Another groan.

Then his eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy.

"Cyn…thia?" he mumbled, his voice rough and slurred.

"I'm here," I said quickly. "I'm right here. Are you okay?"

Ethan blinked slowly, his gaze drifting around the room, clearly trying to process where we were.

Then he seemed to notice the ropes.

Grace Walker and a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark eyes and a cruel smile.

Pascal.

Grace's real son.

And beside them, walking slowly, her expression unreadable…

Anna.

"No," I whispered, the word barely audible.

Grace's face lit up with a smile.

Not a warm smile.

Not a kind smile.

A victorious smile.

The smile of someone who'd won.

"Hello, Ethan," Grace said, her voice echoing through the warehouse. "Did you sleep well?"

Ethan didn't respond.

He just stared at her, his expression a mixture of rage and disbelief.

Grace's smile widened.

Then her gaze shifted to me.

"And Cynthia," she said, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. "How lovely to see you again. I do hope you're comfortable."

I could only stare at the woman who'd tormented me for years.

The woman who'd just kidnapped us.

Pascal stepped forward, his hands in his pockets, his expression cold and detached.

"Merry Christmas," he said mockingly.

And Anna…

Anna stood there, silent, her eyes locked on me.