The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 262

Chapter 262

Cynthia's POV

My lungs burned with every breath, my legs screaming in protest, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs I thought it might burst right out of my chest.

But I didn't stop running, because stopping meant getting caught and getting caught meant going back to that warehouse.

I'd just left Ethan there alone, hurt and barely able to stand.

The thought made my chest ache worse than the physical pain of running, but I forced myself to keep going.

He told you to run. He told you to get help. So run.

The landscape around me was… strange.

Wrong, somehow.

I'd lived in Missford for years, and I'd never seen anything like this.

Empty fields stretched out on either side of the dirt road I was following. Old wooden fences. Patches of farmland that looked neglected, overgrown. A few ramshackle buildings in the distance that might have been barns or storage sheds.

No houses, cars or even people. Yes, it is a bit late but how late is it? midnight?

It was just endless, empty countryside that looked more like a forgotten village than any part of Missford I recognized.

Where the hell were we?

How far outside the city had Grace taken us?

My pace slowed slightly as exhaustion started to overtake adrenaline.

My throat was dry, so dry it hurt to swallow. My mouth tasted like dust and fear.

I was thirsty and tired.

I'd been running for what felt like forever.

An hour, maybe?

I stumbled slightly, my legs wobbling, and had to catch myself on a fence post to keep from falling.

I looked back over my shoulder, scanning the horizon for any sign of pursuit.

Nothing. No one was following me.

Just empty fields and that same eerie silence.

Maybe I was far enough.

Maybe I'd put enough distance between myself and the warehouse that I could stop.

Just for a minute, just to catch my breath.

I sank down onto the ground beside the fence, my back against the weathered wood, my chest heaving as I tried to pull oxygen into my burning lungs.

Tears came out of my eyes before I could stop them, hot and relentless, streaming down my face, mixing with the sweat and dirt.

Everything is just awful. Why does bad things happen to the good people? What did I or Ethan do so wrong to deserve this? Where are you, God?

What if they hurt him?

What if they killed him?

What if I never saw him again?

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm so sorry, Ethan. I'm coming back. I promise. I'm going to get help and I'm coming back."

But even as I said the words, doubt crept in, because I had no idea where I was and no idea how to find help.

No idea if I'd be able to get back to him in time.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and buried my face in my arms, sobbing.

For Amber, who might lose his father.

For myself, because I was terrified and lost and so, so tired.

The exhaustion pulled at me like a physical weight, dragging me down, making my eyelids feel impossibly heavy.

Just a few minutes, I told myself.

I'd rest for just a few minutes, catch my breath, and then I'd keep going.

I'd find help.

I'd save Ethan.

I'd…

He frowned deeply.

"No sé," Miguel said slowly, shaking his head. "No quiero problemas."

I don't want trouble.

My heart sank.

"Por favor," I said desperately, my voice breaking. "Please. My husband — mi esposo, he's still there. With the people who took us. They're going to kill him. I need help. Please."

Tears were streaming down my face again, and I didn't bother trying to stop them.

The woman looked at her husband with an expression that was equal parts pleading and determined.

"Miguel," she said firmly. "No podemos dejarla así. Mira qué asustada está."

We can't leave her like this. Look how scared she is.

Miguel hesitated, clearly torn between wanting to help and wanting to stay out of whatever trouble I represented.

Then he sighed heavily.

"Está bien," he muttered. "Te llevaré a la estación de policía más cercana."

Fine. I'll take you to the nearest police station.

Relief flooded through me so powerfully I nearly collapsed again.

"Gracias," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Miguel gestured toward a dirt path leading away from the field.

"Ven," he said. "Mi camioneta está allá."

Come. My truck is over there.

I scrambled to my feet, my legs protesting, my entire body aching, but I didn't care.

I was going to get help.

I was going to save Ethan.

I followed Miguel and his wife down the path, my heart pounding with a mixture of hope and fear.