The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 302

Chapter 302

Ethan's POV

The food Miguel and Carmen had prepared was incredible.

Simple, maybe, by some standards—roasted potatoes with herbs and garlic, scrambled eggs cooked until they were fluffy and perfectly seasoned, thick slices of homemade bread still warm from the oven, and some kind of spicy chorizo that made my taste buds come alive.

But to me, after months of Gavin's bland, functional meals that existed only to keep me working in the fields, this felt like a feast.

I ate like I'd never seen food before.

Shoveling potatoes into my mouth, tearing off chunks of bread, barely pausing to chew before reaching for more. My fork moved from plate to mouth in rapid succession, and somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I probably looked like an animal, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

I was hungry.

Genuinely, bone-deep hungry in a way that went beyond just needing calories.

And the food was good.

Really, truly good.

I glanced up between bites and caught Carmen watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Something between amusement and concern, her eyebrows slightly raised, her head tilted to one side.

But I ignored it.

Ignored the way she was studying me like I was some kind of fascinating specimen.

Because the potatoes were crispy on the outside and soft inside, and the eggs had just the right amount of butter, and the bread had a perfect crust, and I'd been surviving on overcooked vegetables and tough meat for six months and this was the first meal that had actually made me feel human again.

Miguel ate in comfortable silence across from me, occasionally glancing at his wife with raised eyebrows as if to say, Where did we find this one?

I was reaching for my third helping of potatoes when Carmen spoke.

"Is your wife's name Cynthia?"

The question came out of nowhere.

Completely casual, like she was asking about the weather.

And I choked.

A piece of potato lodged in my throat and I coughed violently, my hand flying to my chest, my eyes watering as I tried to clear my airway. The chunk of food finally dislodged and I gasped for air, wheezing, staring at Carmen with wide, shocked eyes.

She was watching me calmly, waiting for an answer.

Like she hadn't just asked the most impossible question in the world.

I opened my mouth but no words came out.

Just stared at her.

Carmen stared back, patient and curious.

Miguel had stopped eating too, his fork halfway to his mouth, watching this exchange with obvious interest.

The silence stretched on.

It felt like a staring competition—who would break first, who would speak, who would explain how this simple woman in this remote farmhouse knew the name that had been haunting me for six months.

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

"How did you know?" I finally managed, my voice coming out hoarse and strained. "How do you know that name?"

Carmen's eyes went wide.

"Really?" she asked, her voice rising with something that sounded like excitement. "Your wife is actually named Cynthia?"

She stood up so abruptly that her chair scraped loudly against the floor, nearly tipping backward.

"Your wife is Cynthia?" she repeated, moving around the table toward me. "Cynthia from Missford?"

I scrambled to my feet too, my hands gripping the edge of the table for support because my legs felt suddenly unsteady.

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