The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 299

Chapter 299

Ethan's POV

The car pulled up to a small farmhouse, modest but well-maintained, with a neat garden and a sturdy fence surrounding the property.

The rain had finally started to let up, though the sky remained heavy and gray.

Miguel turned off the engine, and he and Carmen exchanged another rapid conversation in Spanish.

I sat in the back seat, clutching my bundle of wet clothes, feeling like an intruder despite their kindness.

I caught fragments of their discussion—heard my name mentioned, heard what sounded like concern in Carmen's voice, saw Miguel glance back at me through the rearview mirror with an expression I couldn't quite read.

They were definitely talking about me.

Trying to figure out what to do with the soaking wet stranger they'd just picked up off the side of the road.

Finally, Carmen turned in her seat to face me, her expression warm and open.

"You want to stay?" she asked in her heavily accented English. "Tonight? We have... room. You can sleep here."

The offer was so unexpected, so generous, that I felt my throat tighten with emotion.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "I don't want to impose…"

"Is no problem," Carmen interrupted, smiling. "You need help. We help."

Simple as that.

No questions about who I was or why I'd been walking in the rain. No demands for explanations or proof that I deserved their kindness.

Just... help.

Because I needed it.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Thank you," I managed finally. "Thank you so much."

Carmen's smile widened.

"I am Carmen," she said, gesturing to herself. "And this is Miguel."

Miguel gave me a brief nod from the driver's seat.

"Nice to meet you both," I said. "I'm Ethan."

Carmen's expression flickered with something… recognition? Confusion?

"Ethan," she repeated slowly, as if testing the name. "That is... familiar. I think maybe I hear this name before."

My heart skipped.

"You have?" I asked urgently. "Where? When?"

But Carmen was already shaking her head, the moment of recognition fading.

"I don't know," she said, frowning slightly. "Maybe on television? Or... no. I don't remember. Sorry."

The brief flare of hope died as quickly as it had ignited.

Of course she didn't know me.

How could she?

I was nobody. A man with no past, no identity, no connection to the world beyond a name on a ring.

"Why you have nowhere to stay?" Carmen asked gently, her eyes concerned. "You have no family? No home?"

I opened my mouth to tell her everything.

The whole impossible story — waking up with no memory, being found by Gavin, spending six months trying to piece together who I was, the flash of memory about Cynthia, Gavin's ultimatum, being thrown out in the rain.

But the words stuck in my throat.

Because how did I explain all of that without sounding completely insane?

Without making these kind strangers regret their offer of help?

And realized I hadn't had a proper meal since yesterday morning, my stomach cramping with sudden hunger.

Miguel joined us at the table, though he ate in silence, watching me with quiet curiosity.

Carmen chatted in broken English, asking simple questions—where I was from (I didn't know), where I was going (I didn't know that either), what I did for work (couldn't remember but for now, farming).

I kept my answers vague, and she didn't push for details.

After dinner, she showed me to a small room—barely more than a closet, really, with a single bed and a small window.

"You sleep here," Carmen said. "Is not much, but is warm and dry."

"It's perfect," I said honestly. "Thank you, Carmen. For everything."

She patted my shoulder maternally.

"You rest," she said. "Tomorrow is new day."

Then she left, closing the door softly behind her.

I sank onto the bed, my body aching with exhaustion.

But my mind wouldn't rest.

It kept circling back to the same thing.

The same person.

Cynthia.

I pulled the ruined drawing from my pocket, unfolding the soggy, disintegrating paper carefully.

The image was completely gone now, just a blurred mess of gray.

But I didn't need the drawing anymore.

Because her face was burned into my memory.