The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 292

Chapter 292

Ethan's POV

I barely noticed when the light started fading.

Didn't register the sun moving across the sky, didn't feel the temperature dropping as evening approached.

All I could see was her face. Cynthia’s face.

The memory had ignited something in my brain — not everything, not a flood of returned memories like I desperately wished for—but enough.

Enough to remember the curve of her jaw, the exact shade of her eyes, the way her blonde hair fell just to her shoulders.

I needed to get it down on paper before it faded.

Before the details blurred back into the fog that had consumed the last six months of my life.

I'd found paper in Prisca's room and a pencil, and I'd started drawing.

Over and over.

Sketch after sketch.

The first one was wrong — her eyes weren't quite right, too wide, too round.

The second was closer but her nose was off, too sharp.

The third was better. The fourth is even more so.

I kept going, my hand moving frantically across the page, erasing and redrawing, trying to capture exactly what I'd seen in that flash of memory.

Because if I could get her face right, if I could draw her accurately enough — maybe the police could help.

Maybe they could identify her. Find her. Bring her to me or tell me where to find her.

Maybe this was finally the key to getting home.

The light from the window had gone from golden to orange to deep purple before I finally looked up.

When did it get dark?

I glanced at the papers scattered around me—at least two dozen attempts, each one getting progressively closer to the image burned into my mind.

The latest one was good.

Really good.

Her eyes were right now—warm and expressive, holding depths I couldn't fully understand but recognized instinctively. Her smile was there too, small and soft, the kind that felt like a secret meant just for me.

Cynthia.

This was her.

This was my wife.

The door opened without warning.

I looked up to find Gavin standing in the doorway, his weathered face twisted with an expression I'd never seen before.

Deep, bitter disappointment.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice flat.

I scrambled to organize the papers, my heart suddenly pounding.

"Gavin," I said quickly. "I was going to come find you. Something happened today. I had a memory… a real, vivid memory of Cynthia."

I held up the latest drawing, excitement making my words tumble out faster.

"Look. This is her. This is what she looks like. I can see her now, Gavin. I can actually see her. And I thought if I could draw her face accurately enough, maybe the police could help me find her. Maybe they could identify her or…"

"Stop," Gavin interrupted, his voice hard.

He gestured to the scar on my chest.

"And in six months, no one has come looking," Gavin said. "No missing person reports that match your description. Nothing."

Each word was like a knife twisting deeper.

"Maybe she doesn't want you back," Gavin said quietly. "Maybe whatever life you had before is gone. And maybe it's time you accepted that and built a new one. Here. With people who actually care about you."

"I can't," I said, my voice breaking. "I can't just give up on her."

Gavin's expression hardened into something cold.

"Then I can't let you keep using me," he said flatly.

I stared at him. "What?"

"I've given you six months," Gavin said. "Six months of my home, my food, my hospitality. And this is what I get in return. Disrespect. Rejection of my daughter. Obsession with a woman who clearly doesn't care enough to find you."

He crossed his arms.

"So here's what's going to happen," Gavin said. "Either you let this Cynthia thing go or you leave."

The ultimatum hung in the air between us.

"You're kicking me out?" I asked, disbelief coloring my voice.

"I'm giving you a choice," Gavin corrected. "Stay and be part of this family. Court my daughter properly. Build a life here. Or chase after a ghost and see where that gets you."

He gestured to the papers.

"But I won't let you have it both ways," Gavin continued. "I won't continue housing and feeding someone who's just biding their time until they can leave. If you want to find Cynthia so badly, then go. See how far you get with no money, no identification, no transportation."

The threat was clear.

If I left, I'd have nothing.