The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 279

Chapter 279

Cynthia's POV

Six weeks. Six damn weeks! Fucking forty-two days. One thousand and eight hours.

I'd stopped counting after the first month. What was the point?

The numbers didn't change anything.

Didn't bring Ethan back or make the pain any less suffocating.

The police had officially scaled back the search.

They didn't announce it publicly — there was no press conference, no formal statement — but I could tell.

The phone calls from the Detective became less frequent.

Once a day became every other day.

Then once a week, then nothing.

The last time we spoke, she'd used the word "unlikely."

"It's unlikely we'll find Mr. Walker at this point, Ms. Cynclair."

Such a polite way of saying impossible, a fucking gentle way of saying give up.

The media had already made their conclusions.

The headlines shifted from hopeful to resigned to outright morbid.

"Ethan Walker: Six Weeks Missing, Presumed Dead"

"Forensic Experts: Blood Loss Would Have Been Fatal"

"Police Believe Body May Have Been Disposed Of"

That last one had sent me into a rage so violent I'd thrown my phone across the room, shattering it against the wall.

Victoria had bought me a new one the next day.

I hadn't turned it on because the theories were everywhere, news analysts, true crime podcasters, random people on social media. I would have lost my mind completely if I turned the damn phone on.

Everyone had an opinion about what had happened to Ethan.

"Given the amount of blood found at the scene, Mr. Walker would have needed immediate medical attention to survive. The fact that no hospitals or clinics have reported treating anyone matching his description suggests he likely died from his injuries."

"The kidnappers probably disposed of the body to avoid detection. If they were transporting someone as severely injured as Ethan Walker, they would have been found by now."

"It's been six weeks. At this point, we have to accept the reality that Ethan Walker is gone."

It was all wrong to me because Ethan couldn't be gone.

He couldn't be dead.

I would have felt it.

Wouldn't I?

If the man I loved — the man I'd been connected to since we were children — had died, I would have known.

Wouldn't I?

But sometimes, late at night when I couldn't sleep, doubt crept in.

Whispered terrible things.

What if they're right? What if he's really gone? What if you're holding onto nothing?

I'd stopped leaving my room.

There was no point.

Nothing out there mattered anymore.

My world had shrunk to four walls, a bed I barely slept in, and a window I stared out of for hours without seeing anything.

Victoria brought me meals.

I rarely touched them.

Julian sat with me sometimes, not saying anything, just being there.

Nathaniel called every day to check in.

I didn't answer.

And Kevin...

Kevin tried the hardest.

He came by every few days, knocking on my door, sitting on the edge of my bed, talking to me even when I didn't respond.

Just kept staring at the wall, my mind numb, my body heavy.

Kevin crossed the room and sat on the edge of my bed, and I heard the soft thunk of something being set on my nightstand.

"I won," Kevin said quietly.

I didn't respond.

"The F1 championship," he continued. "Worldwide. Again."

Still nothing from me.

"Look," Kevin said, and I finally turned my head slightly.

There, on my nightstand, gleaming even in the dim light filtering through the curtains, was a trophy.

Sleek, elegant and expensive-looking.

The kind of thing Kevin had worked his entire life to earn.

"I brought it here," Kevin said. "Because I wanted you to see it. I wanted to share this with you."

I looked at the trophy, then at Kevin.

And felt... nothing.

"I'd trade it," Kevin said suddenly, his voice thick. "I'd trade this trophy—trade a hundred of these trophies—if it meant you'd be happy again."

My chest tightened slightly.

Kevin's voice cracked.

"I'd give it all up, Cici," he said. "Every championship. Every win. Every moment of glory. All of it. If it meant getting my sister back."

He was crying now.

Kevin — who never cried, who was always strong, always steady had tears streaming down his face.

"I don't know how to help you," Kevin choked out. "I don't know how to fix this. And it's killing me, Cici. Watching you disappear like this… it's killing me."

I wanted to comfort him, to reach out, to tell him it wasn't his fault, to promise I'd get better.

But I couldn't because I didn't know how to comfort him when I couldn't even comfort myself.

So I just sat there feeling numb.