The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 9

nthia’s POV**

Three years had passed since I walked out of that house with nothing but a suitcase and six months to live.

Now, as I stood in the lobby of Le Lumière, one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city of Missford, I was no longer Cynthia Walker. I was Cynthia Cynclair Lauren, owner of Maison Cynclair, a Michelin three–star restaurant that had taken the culinary world by storm. Critics called my cooking “transcendent.” Food journalists flew in from Tokyo and New York just to taste my signature dish, a deconstructed coq au vin that had made a renowned food critic weep.

For two years, my restaurant had been fully booked six months in advance.

I was returning to Missford University as a visiting professor, invited to teach the next generation of chefs.

“Are you ready, Cici?” My second brother, Kevin stood beside me, his presence as steady and reassuring as it had been through every nightmare of the past three years. Even in sunglasses and a deliberately understated suit, Kevin Laurent was impossible to miss – Formula One’s reigning champion, with the kind of face that launched a thousand sponsorship deals. (1

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I murmured

Mr. Stanley rose as we approached, his smile wide and slightly nervous.

“Ms. Cynthia! What an honor. Please, sit, sit.” He gestured expansively to the seats. “And this must be Mr. Kevin Laurent, I’m a great admirer of your work on the track. That overtake at Monza last season was simply breathtaking.”

Kevin nodded politely but said nothing, taking the seat beside me with the fluid grace of someone whose body was a precisely

calibrated instrument.

A waiter appeared immediately with champagne, Kevin winked at her and she blushed.

I rolled my eyes, because that is so Kevin. A flirt. (1)

“To new beginnings,” Stanley said, raising his glass. “And to welcoming one of the culinary world’s brightest stars to Missford University.”

We clinked glasses and drank. Being back in this city, so close to the life I’d left behind, set my nerves on edge. I was a bit restless and alert, checking if I recognized anyone around or anyone recognized me.

What if I run into Ethan here? Oh no!

“I must say,” Stanley continued, setting down his glass, “when the board suggested bringing in a visiting professor for the culinary arts program, your name was at the top of everyone’s list. Your restaurant is simply legendary. I had the pleasure of dining there last spring…the beef Wellington with black truffle? Transcendent.”

“Thank you.” I inclined my head. “I’m looking forward to working with your students.”

“Yes, yes, about that.” He pulled out a leather folder, opening it to reveal a detailed schedule. “We’ve attanged a lecture series, three times a week. Tuesdays and Thursdays for theory and technique, and Fridays for practical demonstrations in our state–of- the–art kitchen. We’ve also scheduled two master classes where you’ll work directly with our most promising students

“That all sounds fine,” I said. “I’ll defer to the university’s expertise on scheduling

”

Kevin leaned forward slightly, “We have only one requirement. My sister must have the best security team available Cost is no object… we will handle all expenses.”

Stanley’s smile flickered, just for a moment, and I caught it. That subtle shift in his eyes, a flash of condescension, quickly masked. He thought we were being paranoid like dramatic rich people with more money than sense,

+25 Bonus

“Of course, of course,” he said smoothly. “Ms. Cynthia’s safety is absolutely our top priority.”

“Thank you,” I said, keeping my voice gentle. “I appreciate your cooperation.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, setting down my napkin. “I need to find the restroom.”

“Of course.” Stanley half–rose. “It’s just past the bar, on your left.”

I made my way across the restaurant, aware of eyes still tracking me. I was just finishing in the restroom when I heard voices from the lounge area adjacent to the sinks.

“Oh my God, that’s definitely her.” A croaked voice one said

“It can’t be.” Another woman, older. “Anna said Cynthia Walker died three years ago. Brain tumor. She even had a memorial

service.”

My hands stilled under the running water.

“But look at that dress. Look at that jewelry. And she’s with Kevin Laurent…do you know who he is? One of the most famous athletes in the world. Why would he be with someone like Cynthia Walker?”

“Maybe it’s not her. Maybe she just… looks similar?”

“Cynthia could be a twin because the resemblance is uncanny.”

I turned off the water slowly, deliberately, and reached for a hand towel.

“I mean, according to Anna, Cynthia was basically a doormat. No personality, no ambition. Just a housewife who couldn’t even manage that properly. Her own son didn’t even like her.”

The towel was soft against my hands. Egyptian cotton, probably. I set it down carefully on the counter.

“Well, whoever that woman out there is, she’s definitely not a doormat. Did you see how everyone stopped talking when she walked in? That’s power.”

I pushed open the door to the lounge area.

Both women were standing by the mirror, one reapplying lipstick, the other texting. They looked up as I entered, and the lipstick clattered into the sink.

Their faces went white.

I stepped to the mirror beside them, taking my time. Opened my handbag. Pulled out my own lipstick and applied it slowly, watching them in the mirror.

Neither woman moved. They were staring at me like I was a ghost who’d just walked through their wall.

I pressed my lips together, blotted them with a tissue, then turned to face them directly.

I gave them the kind of smile a queen gives to peasants who’ve been caught gossiping in her throne room.

“Enjoy your evening, ladies,” I said pleasantly, then walked out. 1

Behind me, I heard one of them exhale shakily, “Oh my God. Oh my God. That was her. That was actually…”

The door closed, cutting off the rest.

When I returned to the table, Kevin looked up immediately, his expression sharpening “What took so long? You look pale,”

“Just ran into some… old acquaintances. So to speak.” I sat down, picking up my champagne. “There were two frogs croaking in the bathroom.”

2/4

#3

+25 Bonus

His concerned expression melted into a grin. He reached over and tapped my nose affectionately, a gesture he’d started doing after we’d bonded during my recovery, when I was too weak to bat his hand away.

“Still sharp–tongued, I see. That’s my sister.”

Just on cue, a commotion erupted near the restaurant’s entrance with raised voices, and the security trying to maintain order.

All three of us turned.

A woman stood at the host stand, arguing with security. Even from across the restaurant, even with three years between us, I recognized her instantly.

Anna.

My heart skipped, I tried to compose myself, because I had expected this, those frogs in the restroom had hinted her of my

presence.

She wore that same shade of scarlet red she’d always favored, the neckline plunging almost all of her cleavages, her hair falling in deliberately tousled waves.

“I don’t care if my name’s not on the list!” Her voice carried across the restaurant. “Do you know who I am? I’m Anna Walker! The Walkers have been dining here for years!”

Kevin tensed beside me. “Cici…”

“It’s fine,” I murmured.

It wasn’t fine. My heart was racing, my hands trembling slightly. But I kept my expression calm, detached. (1)

Her eyes scanned the restaurant, hunting, searching… and locked onto me.

Her face cycled through shock and confusion too quickly to catalog. Then, as her brain caught up with what her eyes were seeing, she broke free from the security’s restraint and started walking towards us.

She stopped at my table, breathing hard, “Cynthia?” Her voice was loud enough to make sure everyone heard. “Cynthia Walker?

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify