The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 80

I couldn’t focus with work.

The quarterly reports sat untouched on my desk. Emails piled up in my inbox, flagged as urgent, unanswered. My coffee had gone cold hours ago.

All I could think about was Cynthia.

The way she’d looked at me in that restaurant. The divorce papers she’d left on the table. The way she’d walked out without coming back.

I’d torn those papers to shreds, but the gesture felt hollow now. What did it matter if I refused to sign? She clearly wanted nothing to do with me.

A knock on my office door interrupted my spiraling thoughts.

“Mr. Walker?” My secretary, Margret, poked her head in. Her expression was tense. “We have a situation.”

“What kind of situation?”

“It’s about the company, sir.” She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Meridian Capital is pulling out.”

I straightened in my chair. “What?”

“They’ve initiated the withdrawal of their investments. All of them.” Margret placed a folder on my desk. “It started processing this morning. If they follow through, we’re looking at a significant hit to our operating capital.”

I opened the folder, scanning the documents inside. The numbers were alarming. Meridian Capital had been one of our largest investors for the past five years.

“Did they give a reason?”

“That’s the strange part, sir. No formal explanation. Just the standard contractual withdrawal notice.” Margret shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve been trying to find out what’s going on. I managed to secure a coffee meeting with one of their administrative executives, someone who might be willing to talk off the record. She’s in a restaurant down town right now.”

“Let’s go.”

I grabbed my jacket and followed Margret to the elevator. My mind was racing.

Why would Meridian suddenly pull out? We’d had a solid relationship with them. Our returns had been consistent. There was no logical reason for this.

Unless someone had gotten to them. Whispered something in their ear. Made them an offer we couldn’t match.

We got to the restaurant and Margret led me to a corner table where a smartly dressed woman in her forties sat waiting.

“Mr. Walker,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Patricia David. Thank you for meeting with me.”

We exchanged pleasantries and ordered coffee. I was about to launch into my questions when my instincts forced me to look adjacent me.

Unbelievable!

Cynthia was seated there, looking radiant, professionally dressed, hair perfectly styled, completely put together and she was carrying a little girl who couldn’t have been more than two years old. She had chubby cheeks, curious eyes, dark hair that matched the man sitting opposite Cynthia.

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He looked familiar – tall, distinguished, exuding wealth and power in every line of his tailored suit – like I have seen him in one of the events I have attended over the years but that wasn’t my problem right now.

The resemblance was unmistakable. That child was his.

My blood ran cold.

They were laughing about something as they ate their food. The man said something that made Cynthia smile, in a way that pissed me off and she tickled the little girl’s chin.

The child giggled and reached for Cynthia with grabby hands.

Like she knew her. Like she was comfortable with her. Like this was routine.

The coffee cup in my hand cracked from the pressure of my grip.

“Mr. Walker?” Patricia’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “Is everything alright?”

No. Everything was not alright.

Cynthia had a child with another man.

While we were still married. While she was supposedly in Paris, building her restaurant, recovering from brain cancer and she’d been having a baby with someone else.

The timeline raced through my head. The girl looked about two. Cynthia had been gone for three years. Which meant….

Which meant she’d gotten pregnant almost immediately after leaving me or even before.

Had she been cheating on me the entire time? Was that why she left? Not because of anything I’d done, but because she’d found someone else?

I was on my feet before I realized I was moving.

“Mr. Walker…” Margret called after me.

I didn’t stop.

I crossed the restaurant in long, furious strides, my vision narrowing to a tunnel with Cynthia at the end.

She saw me coming. Her smile faded, replaced by confusion, then alarm.

“Ethan? What are you…”

“You’re still my wife!” The words exploded out of me, loud enough that people at nearby tables turned to stare. “We’re not divorced yet!”

Cynthia’s face went pale.

The man dropped his cutlery and looked at me in the eye, like he could stand up and give me a punch for raising my voice. I didn’t care.

“Is there a problem here?” His voice was cool, controlled, dangerous.

“The problem,” I snarled, “is that my wife seems to have forgotten she’s married. To me.”

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