The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 270

Chapter 270

Cynthia's POV

We were stranded.

Completely, utterly stranded.

In the middle of a lonely stretch of road that seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions, with nothing but empty fields and the occasional withered tree for company.

Cars passed by — maybe one every five or ten minutes — but none of them stopped.

Why would they?

We were just… stuck.

Miguel had the hood of the truck propped open, his head buried inside the engine compartment, muttering curses in Spanish while Carmen stood beside him, wringing her hands anxiously.

And I was pacing.

Back and forth along the side of the road, my hands clenched into fists, my mind screaming at me to do something.

But there was nothing I could do.

No phone to call for help.

No money to pay for a tow truck even if we could call one.

No way forward except to wait for Miguel to somehow fix a twenty-year-old transmission with his bare hands.

This can't be happening.

This can't be real.

Every minute we stood here was another minute Ethan was alone with Grace.

I pressed my hands to my face, trying to hold back the scream building in my chest.

I should just walk.

I should start walking to Missford right now.

It didn't matter that it was hours away.

Didn't matter that I was exhausted and hurt and had no idea how far I'd actually make it.

I couldn't just stand here and do nothing.

"¿Estás bien?" Carmen asked gently, appearing beside me.

Are you okay?

"No," I said honestly, my voice shaking. "No, I'm not okay. I need to get to Missford. I need to—"

My voice broke.

Carmen placed a comforting hand on my arm.

"Miguel va a arreglarlo," she said. "He's going to fix it."

"What if he can't?" I whispered.

Carmen didn't have an answer for that.

We stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity, watching Miguel work.

And then — miraculously, the engine coughed.

Sputtered.

Roared back to life.

Relief flooded through me so powerfully I nearly collapsed.

"¡Funciona!" Miguel shouted triumphantly, wiping grease-covered hands on his pants. "It works!"

"Gracias a Dios," Carmen breathed.

Thank God.

I didn't wait for them to call me.

I was already climbing back into the truck, my hands shaking with a mixture of exhaustion and desperate hope.

Miguel and Carmen got in, and we were moving again.

The truck groaned and rattled even more than before, but it was moving.

That was all that mattered.

…

Another hour passed.

The landscape started to change—fewer fields, more buildings, signs of civilization creeping back in.

Up ahead was a police checkpoint.

Two officers in uniform standing beside a patrol car, flagging down vehicles, checking IDs, asking questions.

My entire body went rigid.

"¿Qué es eso?" Carmen asked, leaning forward to see better.

What is that?

"Punto de control," Miguel said, slowing the truck. "Checkpoint."

My heart started pounding.

As we got closer, I could see the officers more clearly.

One was older, heavyset, with a thick mustache.

The other was younger, thinner…

And I recognized him.

Oh God.

It was one of the officers from the village police station.

One of the ones Pascal had bribed.

One of the ones looking for me.

Panic surged through me like ice water.

"Stop," I said urgently. "We need to turn around. We need to…"

"No podemos," Miguel said, shaking his head. "They've already seen us. If we turn around now, it'll look suspicious."

He was right.

We were already slowing down, already approaching the checkpoint.

There was no way out.

"They're looking for me," I said desperately. "Those officers… they're looking for me. If they see me…"

"Agáchate," Carmen interrupted sharply. "Get down. Hide."

He'd find me.

"No," Carmen's voice cut in, firm and clear. "No hemos visto a nadie así."

No. We haven't seen anyone like that.

"¿Está segura?" the officer pressed.

Are you sure?

"Sí," Carmen said. "Estoy segura. Y por favor, no le haga caso a mi esposo. Él tiene problemas médicos. Se pone nervioso fácilmente."

Yes, I'm sure. And please, don't mind my husband. He has medical issues. He gets nervous easily.

Silence.

Long, terrible silence.

I pressed myself harder against the floor, praying they wouldn't look down, praying they wouldn't see me, praying…

Then I heard laughter.

The officers were laughing.

"Ah, entiendo," the younger officer said, his tone lighter now. "Mi padre es igual."

Ah, I understand. My father is the same.

"Pueden irse," the older officer added. "Que tengan un buen viaje."

You can go. Have a safe trip.

"Gracias," Carmen said.

The truck started moving again.

Slowly at first.

Then faster.

I stayed frozen on the floor, not daring to move, not daring to breathe, until we'd been driving for at least five minutes.

Finally, Carmen turned in her seat and looked down at me.

"Ya puedes salir," she said gently. "You can come out now."

I unfolded myself from the floor with great difficulty, my entire body aching from being crammed into such a small space, and climbed back into the seat.

My hands were shaking.

My heart was still racing.

We'd almost been caught.

Carmen was staring at me now, her expression a mixture of concern and suspicion.

"¿Estás segura de que no eres una fugitiva?" she asked quietly.

Are you sure you're not a fugitive?

I let out a shaky laugh that was half sob.

"I'm not," I said. "I promise. I'm not a criminal. I was kidnapped. And the people who took me… they're powerful. They've paid off the police. They've made me look like the criminal instead of them."

Carmen studied me for a long moment.

Then she nodded slowly.

"Te creo," she said. "I believe you."