The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 92

Ethan’s POV

The only sound in the car was Amber’s cheerful chatter about ice cream flavors.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, hyperaware of Cynthia sitting in the back seat. She’d refused the front passenger seat, insisted on sitting with Amber, claiming she’d missed him too much to sit anywhere else.

But I knew better.

She was avoiding me.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of her face as she listened to Amber describe the differences between various anime characters. She looked relaxed and genuinely happy.

But whenever her eyes accidentally met mine in the mirror, that wall slammed down. Her expression would shutter, and she’d look away.

I had so many questions burning in my chest.

Was the brain tumor real? Had she actually survived it, or had it all been some elaborate excuse to leave? How had she gotten to Paris with no contacts there? How had she managed without using her credit cards, which I’d monitored for months after she disappeared?

And the biggest mystery of all: how had she transformed from a quiet, unassuming housewife into a world–renowned Michelin chef?

The questions multiplied with every passing mile.

I wanted to hear her story. Needed to understand the three years I’d lost. Needed to know how the woman I’d taken for granted had become someone I barely recognized.

But she hadn’t said a single word about any of it since I’d told her about Hayden.

Had I made a mistake revealing that? The words had just tumbled out, in my attempt to make her see me differently. To show her I wasn’t the man she remembered from three years ago.

I was ready to change. Ready to love her the way she’d deserved from the beginning. Ready to stop putting Anna first, or my mother, or anyone else who’d ever come between us.

I needed her to reconsider the divorce.

“Dad! You missed the turn!”

Amber’s voice jolted me back to the present.

“What?”

“The ice cream place! It’s back there!” He twisted in his seat, pointing behind us.

I checked my mirrors and made a quick U–turn at the next light, earning an annoyed honk from the car behind me,

“Sorry, buddy. Got distracted.”

A few minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Sweet Dreams Ice Cream Parlor. The place had been Amber’s favorite since he was six years old.

But as I turned off the engine, Amber let out an excited gasp.

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“Whoa! When did that open?”

I followed his gaze to the shop next door. A brand new storefront with bright signage: “Anime Haven – Grand Opening Week!”

My own interest piqued immediately. The window displays featured limited edition figures, manga collections, and promotional posters for upcoming releases.

Anime had been my favourite for years. Most people didn’t know that about me, it didn’t fit the serious businessman image. But Bryan, Devian, and I had bonded over it in college. We’d spent countless nights binge–watching series, debating character development, arguing about which adaptations were superior.

“Can we go in there first?” Amber pleaded, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “Please? Just for a few minutes?”

I glanced at Cynthia in the mirror. She was looking at the shop with a mixture of confusion and curiosity, clearly, anime wasn’t her thing. 1

“It’s fine,” she said before I could ask. “We can look around.”

Amber was out of the car in seconds, pressing his face against the shop window like a kid half his age.

I got out more slowly, holding Cynthia’s door open for her out of habit.

She hesitated before taking my offered hand to step out, and the brief contact sent electricity up my arm.

Did she feel it too? Or was I imagining things?

We followed Amber into the shop, and I was immediately hit with that distinctive smell of new merchandise and plastic packaging.

The place was impressive, well–organized sections for different genres, a wall of collectible figures, racks of manga in both English and Japanese, even a small café area in the back.

Amber made a beeline for the shonen manga section, and Cynthia drifted after him.

I was examining a display of vintage posters when I heard a familiar voice.

“No way. Is that an original cel from the ’98 series?”

I turned slowly and found myself face to face with Bryan and Devian.

They were standing near the collector’s section, both holding shopping bags. They’d clearly been here for a while and their eyes met mine, and then behind me Cynthia and Amber.

Their expressions shifted dramatically.

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