The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 264

Chapter 264

Cynthia's POV

When we pulled back up to the farm, Miguel's wife was standing near a makeshift tent she'd apparently set up while we were gone — a simple canvas structure held up by wooden poles, probably meant for storing tools or providing shade during harvest season.

She looked up as the truck approached, her expression shifting from curiosity to shock when she saw me climbing out of the passenger seat.

"¿Miguel?" she called out, hurrying toward us, wiping her hands on her apron. "¿Qué pasó? ¿Por qué regresaron?"

What happened? Why did you come back?

Miguel didn't answer immediately. He just got out of the truck, slammed the door harder than necessary, and walked around to stand beside me with his arms crossed.

His wife looked between us with growing concern.

"¿Está todo bien?" she asked.

Is everything okay?

"No," Miguel said flatly. "Nada está bien."

Nothing is okay.

I took a shaky breath, trying to gather what little Spanish I still remembered from high school, trying to organize my thoughts into words that would make sense.

"El hombre," I started, my voice trembling. "The man. El que me secuestró. I saw him. At the police station. He was there."

The man who kidnapped me.

Miguel's wife gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"¿Él estaba en la estación de policía?" she repeated.

He was at the police station?

"Sí," I said, nodding frantically. "Yes. He was talking to the officers. Giving them money. He told them I kidnapped someone. That I'm dangerous. They're looking for me now."

My Spanish was broken, clumsy, but I pushed through, trying desperately to make them understand.

"I can't go to the police," I continued, tears starting to stream down my face again. "They won't help me. They'll give me to him. I need to get to Missford. Necesito ir a Missford. My family—mi familia—they're there. They can help."

Miguel's wife turned to her husband, her expression pleading.

Miguel just shook his head.

"Es una locura," he muttered. "Esto es una locura completa."

This is crazy. This is complete madness.

"Por favor," I begged, looking between them. "Please. I need to get to Missford. Can you help me? ¿Pueden ayudarme?"

Miguel's wife looked at her husband, then back at me, clearly torn.

"Missford," she said slowly, her brow furrowing. "Eso está... muy lejos."

That's very far.

"Más de cuatro horas en coche," Miguel added, his voice firm. "Y no hay vuelos a Missford desde aquí. El gobierno nunca nos dio un aeropuerto."

More than four hours by car. And there are no flights to Missford from here. The government never gave us an airport.

My heart sank.

Four hours.

That was so long.

Too long.

Ethan didn't have four hours.

He might not even have one hour.

But what other choice did I have?

"I'll find a way," I said desperately. "A bus. A train. Anything. Just please… please tell me how to get there."

Miguel let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"No puedes llegar a Missford en autobús público," he said. "Son varias conexiones. Tomaría todo el día, tal vez más. Los trenes son más rápidos, pero tampoco es un camino directo."

You can't get to Missford on public buses. There are multiple connections. It would take all day, maybe longer. Trains are faster, but it's not a direct route either.

My chest tightened painfully.

All day.

Maybe longer.

"Unless," Miguel's wife said suddenly, her voice thoughtful.

Miguel turned to look at her, his expression wary.

Miguel's expression remained skeptical, his arms still crossed.

"Esto es demasiado," he said to his wife. "No la conocemos. No sabemos si está diciendo la verdad. Podría ser peligrosa."

This is too much. We don't know her. We don't know if she's telling the truth. She could be dangerous.

"¿Peligrosa?" Carmen repeated, her voice sharp. "Miguel, mírala. Está asustada. Está herida. No es peligrosa."

Dangerous? Look at her. She's scared. She's hurt. She's not dangerous.

Miguel looked at me and I saw the war playing out in his expression.

Suspicion versus compassion.

Self-preservation versus decency.

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

Carmen reached out and placed her hand on Miguel's arm, looking up at him with an expression that spoke volumes.

Help her.

Miguel closed his eyes and let out another long, defeated sigh.

"Está bien," he said finally, his voice resigned. "Puedes venir con nosotros mañana."

Fine. You can come with us tomorrow.

Relief crashed through me so powerfully I nearly collapsed.

"Sí," I said, nodding frantically. "Yes. I understand. Thank you. Thank you so much."

Carmen smiled gently and reached out to squeeze my hand.

"Ven," she said. "Puedes quedarte en la carpa. Te traeré comida y agua."

Come. You can stay in the tent. I'll bring you food and water.

I followed her toward the canvas tent, my legs shaking, my entire body trembling with exhaustion and relief and fear.

Tomorrow.

I just had to survive until tomorrow.

And then I could get to Missford.