The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 287

Chapter 287

Cynthia's POV

Nikolai had insisted on staying to help me close up the restaurant.

We moved through the space together in comfortable rhythm—him wiping down the counters in the prep area while I organized the sample menus and design sketches I'd been reviewing earlier.

"I still can't believe they actually found him," I said, breaking the silence. "After all this time, Pascal was just... here. In Missford. The whole time."

Nikolai looked up from the counter he was cleaning, his expression thoughtful.

"It makes sense, though," he said. "Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight. The police were searching everywhere except right under their noses."

"But now they have him," I said, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. "Or they're close to having him. And once they do, he'll have to tell them where Ethan is. He'll have to—"

My voice caught, emotion threatening to overwhelm me.

Nikolai set down the cloth he'd been using and crossed the kitchen to stand beside me.

"I hope you find him, Cynthia," he said quietly. "I really do. You deserve answers. Closure. Whatever comes next."

I looked up at him, grateful for the support.

"But," Nikolai continued gently, "I also want you to be careful about getting your hopes too high. Five months is a long time. And if things don't turn out the way you're hoping…"

"I know," I interrupted. "I know it might not be good news. But I have to hope, Nikolai. It's all I have right now."

He nodded, understanding in his eyes.

"How's Amber doing?" he asked, changing the subject slightly. "I know he's been staying with Nathaniel and Helen."

The mention of my son made my chest tighten with the familiar guilt I'd been carrying for months.

"He's doing well, actually," I said. "Better than I expected. Nathaniel and Helen have been incredible with him. They've kept his routine stable, made sure he's getting to school, helping with homework. All the things I should be doing but…"

"You're working," Nikolai said firmly. "You're building something. That's not a bad thing, Cynthia."

"I'm drowning myself in work so I don't break down," I corrected, my voice hollow. "There's a difference."

Nikolai's expression softened with sympathy.

"You're surviving," he said. "However you need to. There's no wrong way to do that."

I wanted to believe him and accept that it was okay that I'd essentially handed my son off to my brother while I threw myself into renovating a restaurant I wasn't even sure I'd have the emotional capacity to run.

But the guilt remained.

We finished cleaning in silence, and I was reaching for my coat when Nikolai spoke again.

"Come out with me," he said suddenly.

I turned to look at him. "What?"

"Let's go celebrate," Nikolai said, his eyes bright. "The lead on Pascal. The progress on the restaurant. Everything moving forward. You deserve to acknowledge the good things, Cynthia."

"I don't know if I'm really in a celebrating mood," I said hesitantly.

"Then don't think of it as celebrating," Nikolai countered. "Think of it as... taking a break. Having a normal evening for once. When was the last time you did something that wasn't work or worry?"

I couldn't remember.

Honestly couldn't remember the last time I'd done anything purely for enjoyment.

"I should probably get home," I said. "It's getting late and…"

"One drink," Nikolai interrupted, his tone persuasive. "One meal. Just to clear your head. Please?"

There was something in his expression—hopeful, almost vulnerable—that made it hard to refuse.

And maybe he was right.

Maybe I did need to take a break from the constant anxiety that had been my companion for five months.

"Okay," I said finally. "One drink."

Nikolai's face lit up with a smile that was so genuinely pleased it made me feel simultaneously warm and uncomfortable.

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