The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 310

Chapter 310

Cynthia's POV

I stood behind the one-way glass, watching Grace sit in that interrogation room like she had all the time in the world, and felt my patience fraying thread by thread.

The longer I stared at her, the tighter something twisted in my chest. It wasn’t just frustration—it was something sharper, more dangerous. The kind of anger that sat just beneath the surface, waiting for the slightest crack to break through.

She hadn't said a single word.

Not one syllable.

Not even a sigh, not even a shift in discomfort. Nothing.

Detective Susan had been in there for over an hour, asking questions, presenting evidence, making offers, trying every interrogation technique in the book.

And Grace just sat there.

Calm. Collected. Occasionally smiling that infuriating, knowing smile.

Like she was enjoying this.

Like this was entertainment.

Like watching us desperately search for Ethan while she held all the answers was some kind of sick game.

Her fingers would tap lightly against the metal table every now and then, slow and rhythmic, as if she had a melody playing in her head that no one else could hear. And every time she smiled, it wasn’t wide or obvious—it was subtle, almost delicate.

But it carried weight.

It said I know something you don’t.

"I can't watch this anymore," I said, my voice tight, my arms crossing over my chest as if that could somehow hold me together. "She's never going to talk."

Kevin's hand settled on my shoulder.

It was steady. Grounding.

"Give it time," he said quietly. "Susan knows what she's doing."

"Time is something we don't have," I snapped, the words coming out sharper than I intended. The second they left my mouth, guilt followed right behind it.

I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. "Sorry," I muttered under my breath.

But Kevin didn’t react. He rarely did when I got like this. He just stood there, solid and patient, like he understood that none of this was really about him.

Nikolai stood near the door, his arms crossed, watching the interrogation with a carefully neutral expression.

Too neutral.

If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was calm. Detached. But I knew better. The tension in his shoulders, the slight clench in his jaw—it was all there.

He was just better at hiding it.

Nathaniel had arrived about twenty minutes ago, looking haggard and stressed—probably from dealing with Julian, though he hadn't said anything about it yet.

His tie was slightly crooked, his hair messier than usual, like he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. He hadn’t even fully settled since arriving—just pacing, stopping, staring through the glass, then pacing again.

We were all unraveling in our own ways.

Detective Susan finally emerged from the interrogation room, her expression frustrated but not defeated.

There was a tightness around her eyes, a slight downward pull at the corners of her mouth—but her posture remained straight, controlled. She wasn’t giving up.

"She's not breaking yet," Susan said, stating the obvious. "But she will. When she realizes she has no help coming, no way out, that sitting in silence is only making things worse for her—she'll talk."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

"How long will that take?" I asked, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.

"Could be hours," Susan admitted. "Could be days. Some suspects hold out longer than others."

Days.

The word echoed in my head like a threat.

I couldn't wait days.

Couldn't stand here watching Grace smirk while Ethan was…

My thoughts spiraled, cutting off before they could fully form, before they could paint pictures I wasn’t ready to see.

A commotion from the front of the station cut off my thought.

Raised voices. Multiple people talking at once. The sounds of chaos.

Not the usual background noise of a police station—this was louder, sharper, urgent.

Detective Susan's expression shifted immediately to alert concern.

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