The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Cynthia’s POV

“How bad is it?” Kevin asked, though his expression said he already knew.

“Bad,” I whispered. “Health violations. Food poisoning complaints. Anonymous tips. The press is already circling.”

“It’s a setup,” Julian said sharply. “Remember the Le Jardin Secret incident last year? I’m suspecting them.”

I remembered it all too well. Maison Cynclair had been thriving- until Le Jardin Secret planted a spy in our kitchen, stealing our recipes and reporting our progress. They were caught, taken to court, and we won… but they’re still in business. And Celeste Kingsley, their owner, has always wanted what we have.

We stole their spotlight the moment we opened our doors, and they’ve been bleeding customers ever since.

I get the jealousy. I even understand the resentment. But is that enough to go this far? To try to destroy *Maison Cynclair*?

“I know it’s a setup,” I said, pressing my fingers to my temples as a headache threatened. “But that doesn’t change the fact that my restaurant is on the brink of shutdown, and my reputation is hanging by a thread. Everything I’ve built…”

“You need to go to Paris,” Nathaniel cut in, his voice firm and decisive.

“But I have to meet with Amber…” I started.

“I know how much that meeting means to you. But Cici, if you don’t go to Paris right now, there might not be anything left to come back to.”

“He’s right,” Kevin added gently. “This isn’t just about your restaurant. This is about your entire career, your credibility in the culinary world. If these accusations stick, even if they’re proven false later, the damage could be permanent.”

“Perception is everything in your industry,” Julian said. “You need to be there in person. If you’re not there, it looks like you’re running.”

I knew they were right. But the thought of canceling on Amber, of the disappointment he would feel, of possibly making him hate me this time around for raising his hopes up…

“What airline?” Julian asked, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll book the flight.”

“The fastest one,” I said, my voice hollow as I accepted defeat. “Whatever leaves first.”

“Book the next flight for me, I’ll join you after the meeting with Damina Group” Nathaniel said as he took a deep breath weighing his schedule I bet.

I grabbed my laptop from the desk, my hands shaking as I pulled up flight schedules. Air France, departing in ninety minutes. If I left now, if traffic cooperated, I could just make it.

“Got it,” I said, clicking through the booking process with numb fingers. “Flight leaves at 3:15.”

A few minutes after the same time I was supposed to be meeting Amber.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

“I’ll drive you,” Kevin said immediately.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I went back into the room and started throwing things into my suitcase, clothes, toiletries, and my laptop. My hands moved mechanically while my mind raced with everything I needed to do, everyone I needed to call.

My phone rang again.

Pierre.

+25 Bonus

“Yes?” I answered, balancing the phone against my shoulder while I grabbed my passport from the dresser.

“Madame, I’m so sorry to call again, but the situation is escalating. One of the reporters just published an article. It’s already trending on social media. ‘Michelin Star Restaurant, Maison Cynclair Under Investigation for Health Violations.‘ They’re using photos from inside our kitchen…”

“How did they get photos from inside?” I demanded.

“I don’t know! The health inspector must have leaked them, or…I don’t know, madame. But people are sharing it everywhere. Our reservation system is being flooded with cancellations.”

I closed my eyes, feeling the room spin. “How many?”

“Sixty percent of our bookings for the next two weeks. Gone.”

“Fuck,” I breathed.

“We need you here, madame. Please.”

“I’m coming. I’ll be there by morning Paris time. Just… just hold on, Pierre. We’ll fix this.”

I ended the call and stood there for a moment, staring at my half–packed suitcase, my vision blurring with unshed tears.

This was really happening. My entire world was collapsing.

“Cici,” Kevin said gently from the doorway. “We need to go now to beat traffic.”

Right. Ethan. I needed to call Ethan.

I pulled out my phone, scrolling to his contact. My thumb hovered over the call button.

But before I could press it, my phone rang again.

Unknown number.

I almost didn’t answer. Everything was happening all at once, and I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. I was distracted.

Overwhelmed.

Still, I swiped to accept.

“Hello?”

“Is this Cynthia Cynclair?” A crisp, professional female voice asked.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“I’m calling from Prestige Media in Paris…”

Oh hell no.

How did a press member get my number? It was definitely the work of Le Jardin Secret.

I ended the call without another word, my hands trembling.

My brothers were watching me, their faces tight with concern.

“The press… I don’t even know how they got my number,” I said, numb.

“Jesus,” Kevin muttered. “Come on. We really need to go.”

+25 Bonus

The drive to the airport was a blur. Kevin drove with focused intensity while I sat in the back seat, staring at my phone, trying to gather the courage to call Ethan.

Just call him. Just explain. He’ll understand.

But would he? Would Amber?

We arrived at the airport and I was rushing through the terminal with Kevin beside me, my suitcase rolling behind us, when I saw him.

Nikolai.

He was standing near the Air France check–in counter, his usually composed demeanor completely shattered. His hair was disheveled, his tie loose.

I approached him, startled by his appearance, he had just texted me about an hour ago that he had a class and he wanted to take me for dinner, what is he suddenly doing here? “Nikolai?”

“Cynthia,” he said when he saw me, and his voice cracked on my name. “I…I just got a call. My father. He’s….they said he collapsed. Heart attack. I need to get to Paris.”

“Oh my God,” I breathed. “Nikolai, I’m so sorry…”

He looked at me properly, taking in my suitcase, my rushed appearance. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Paris,” I said.

“Why? Is everything alright?”

I almost laughed at the absurdity of the question. “No. Everything is very much not alright.”

I quickly explained about the health inspection, the false complaints, and the media circus. Nikolai listened, and despite his own crisis, I could see him processing it all.

Kevin appeared beside me. “Cici, we need to check in. Now.”

I nodded, and somehow Nikolai ended up coming with us through check–in, through security. Kevin walked us all the way to the gate, refusing to leave until the last possible moment.

“Call us the second you land,” Kevin ordered, pulling me into a tight hug.

“Take care of yourself,” I whispered into his shoulder.

“I will. Now go.”

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