The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 298

Chapter 298

Ethan's POV

I sat on the side of the road, my back against a fence post, staring at the drawing in my hands.

Cynthia's face looked back at me from the crumpled paper, her eyes seeming to ask a question I couldn't answer.

What now?

I had no idea.

The police wouldn't help. Gavin had given me an ultimatum. And I had nowhere to go, no resources, no plan beyond this desperate need to find a woman I could barely remember.

Tears blurred my vision, making the drawing swim in front of me.

I failed.

Failed to convince the police to help. Failed to make anyone believe me. Failed to do anything except prove that I was exactly as helpless and lost as I'd been six months ago when Gavin first found me.

The first drops of rain started falling.

Soft at first, then harder, until it was coming down in sheets, soaking through my clothes, plastering my hair to my forehead.

I looked down at the drawing, watching in horror as the paper started to darken with moisture, the pencil lines beginning to blur and run.

No.

I scrambled to my feet, trying to shield it with my body, but it was too late.

The rain was too heavy, coming from every direction.

Cynthia's carefully drawn face was melting away, the features I'd worked so hard to capture dissolving back into nothing.

I shoved the ruined paper into my pocket anyway, protecting what little remained, and started running.

Back toward Gavin's farm.

I stopped short when I reached the farmhouse.

My clothes were outside.

The few threadbare shirts and pants Gavin had given me over the past six months, bundled roughly together and dumped on the porch like trash.

Getting soaked in the rain.

The door was locked.

I knew it before I even tried the handle, but I tried anyway, yanking on it desperately.

"Gavin!" I shouted, pounding on the door. "Gavin, please! I'm sorry! Please let me in!"

No response.

I pounded harder, my fists aching.

"Prisca! Please! It's pouring out here!"

Still nothing.

I pressed my forehead against the door, rain streaming down my face—or maybe it was tears, I couldn't tell anymore.

Gavin had meant it.

He'd actually meant it when he said I had to choose.

And I'd chosen Cynthia.

Chosen a woman I couldn't remember over the people who'd saved my life.

And now I had nothing.

I grabbed my soaked clothes from the porch, holding the pathetic bundle against my chest, and stumbled away from the farmhouse.

…

I walked without direction, my feet moving automatically, my mind blank with shock and despair.

The rain was relentless, turning the dirt road into mud that sucked at my shoes with every step.

I reached into my pocket, pulling out what remained of the drawing.

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