The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Cynthia's POV**

The plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport with a jolt that sent sharp pain radiating through my skull.

I'd endured fourteen hours of fluorescent lights and recycled air and the constant hum of engines that seemed to vibrate directly into my brain but I'd made it. I was in Paris.

The city I'd dreamed about for so long. The place where I would spend my final months alive.

I gathered my small carry-on and shuffled off the plane with the other passengers, my legs felt disconnected from my body, like I was walking on stilts, my eyes were going on a hula-hoop.

I made it halfway through the arrivals hall, and I couldn’t hold it any more, my muscles locked, the floor rushed up towards me, and in seconds, everything went black.

***

I woke to steady beeping and the antiseptic smell of the hospital.

Fucking hospital again.

For a moment, I thought I was back in Missford in that sterile room where a doctor had told me I had six months to live and the past few hours had been a dream — that I'd never made it to Paris.

"Ah, you're awake."

I turned my head slowly toward the voice.

A man stood beside my bed, probably in his thirties, on wire-rimmed glasses. A white coat with a name embroidered on it that I couldn't quite focus on.

His eyes were kind and concerned.

"How are you feeling?" he asked in English, though his accent was distinctly French.

"Like I've been hit by a truck," I managed. My throat was raw.

"That's not surprising. You had a grand mal seizure in the airport. You're lucky… you could have seriously injured yourself in the fall." He picked up a chart, scanning it with a deepening frown. "But what I don't understand is how you were allowed to board a plane in your condition."

I said nothing.

"You have a terminal brain tumor." He looked up from the chart, his expression somewhere between disbelief and anger. "Advanced stage, clearly causing severe neurological symptoms. Any competent medical professional would have deemed you unfit to fly. This is simply unreasonable!"

"I didn't give them any medical report concerning that," I said quietly.

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. What matters is that you're here, and you need immediate treatment. We'll need to run more scans, consult with oncology, possibly look at surgical options…"

"No." I pushed myself up to sitting, ignoring the way the room spun. "I'm leaving."

"Leaving? Madame, you just had a seizure. You're in no condition to…"

"I'm discharging myself." I swung my legs over the side of the bed. Every movement sent shockwaves through my head, but I forced myself to keep going. "Thank you for your help, but I'm leaving."

"You can't be serious." He moved to block my path. "Your condition is critical. You need to be hospitalized for observation at minimum. Without treatment…"

"I'll die. I know." I looked for my shoes, my bag, anything. "I'm going to die anyway. I'd rather do it on my own terms."

"This is madness…"

"Please." My voice cracked. "Just let me go."

"I can't do that. As your doctor…"

"I don't have any money." The words came out flat, defeated. "I can't pay for treatment. I can't pay for this hospital stay. I can barely afford a hotel room for a few nights. So please, just let me leave before the bill gets any higher."

He frowned, worried and trying to search my eyes for seriousness.

My trembling hands betrayed me and my bag slipped, spilling my stuff out.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said automatically, bending to help gather my things.

“Thank you…” I said, picking up my stuff as hurriedly as I could, then I noticed his hand hovered over my pocket watch, not quite touching it.

"Where did you get this?"

"What?" I reached for it, but he got there first, picking it up with the care of someone handling something impossibly precious.

The case had popped open from the impact of the fall, and inside was an old family portrait of a mother, a father, and four children… three boys and a little girl. I had had that pocket watch since the kidnap, since I was twelve and it was a wonder why the doctor stared at it like he was seeing a ghost.

The doctor stared at the photo like he was seeing a ghost.

"Where did you get this?" he repeated, his voice shaking now. "Please, I need to know. Where did you get this pocket watch?"

"I don't… what business is it of yours?" I tried to take it from him, but he pulled back, his eyes suddenly bright with tears.

"Please. Please, this is important. Where did you get it?"

The intensity in his voice made me pause. "I don't know. I've had it since... since I can remember. It was with me when…" I stopped, uncertain how much to reveal. "It's been with me my whole life."

He stared at me in disbelief

"What city did you fly from?" he asked rapidly. "How old are you? When is your birthday?"

"I… what? Why…"

"Please!" His voice cracked. "Please, just answer me."

"Missford. I'm thirty years old. My birthday is March fifteenth." The words came automatically, even as confusion swirled through me. "Why does it matter?"

"Do you have a birthmark?" He was standing now, moving closer. "A star-shaped birthmark? On your back, just below your left shoulder blade?"

What is he? Psychic? Because I have a birthmark exactly where he described. I'd always thought it looked like a small constellation.

"How do you know about that?" My voice came out as a whisper.

"Your parents," he said, and now tears were openly streaming down his face. "Are they still alive?"

"I’m adopted… " The memory was hazy, fragments of things I'd been told. "I don’t know who my biological parents are. What is with the interrogation, Doctor?"

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