Chapter 43: Call Me… Whenever. If Need Be

That Same Day. A Continent Away. Cynthia’s POV...

The room was quiet, save for the hum of Lagos traffic far below. Cynthia sat by the window, her arms resting on the edge as her eyes scanned the bustling street from the topmost floor of an hotel. Her face was tense, lips slightly parted as if caught in a thought she wasn’t ready to share.

Behind her, Ethan stood slowly from the bed. He moved toward her, each step measured. He reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You don’t have to be afraid," he said softly. "You’re safe here. He won’t find you."

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze not leaving the cityscape. Then, raising her eyes, she looked up at Ethan over her shoulder.

"How do you know that?" she asked, her voice low. "Carlos is... resourceful. If there’s one thing I know about him, it’s that he’s closing in on us even as we speak."

Ethan patted her shoulder gently. "I assure you. There’s no way he finds us here."

Cynthia rose to her feet slowly, placing a hand on her five-month-old belly. She took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on his.

"If he's find out I’m pregnant, and that the child I carry is his... he’ll move heaven and earth to get me back. I guarantee it. It’s not a question of if, Ethan. It’s when."

"He won’t," Ethan replied, placing his hand over hers on her belly.

"He will," she whispered. Her fingers tightened around his. "And I’m scared. Not for me. For you."

Ethan took a step back, shaking his head. "You don’t need to be scared for me. I’m not a child. I can handle myself."

"But I have to be," Cynthia said. Her gaze never wavered, her voice cracked slightly. "Carlos is dangerous, Ethan. You don’t understand. He doesn’t share. Especially not me. If he believes you took me from him... he will do things to you so cruel, so inhumane, you’ll pray for death, but it won’t come."

"I said I can handle myself," Ethan snapped, turning and walking back to the bed.

Cynthia followed him, sitting beside him at the edge of the mattress. She kept her eyes on him.

"I really appreciate you, Ethan. You broke me out. You risked everything. For that, I’ll be in your debt forever. But from here on out, I can manage on my own."

"Don’t say that."

"If he finds me, he won’t harm me. Not as long as I carry his child. But you? He will kill you slowly just for breathing near me. You can’t stay. Not if you want to live."

Ethan's eyes dropped. Silence lingered.

"I love you," he muttered, the words barely audible. "You can’t expect me to just leave."

Cynthia closed her eyes, nodding slowly. "I know you do. And I... I feel the same way about you now. That’s why I won't let you die because of me. This isn’t forever. Just until the storm passes."

"You’re a foreign woman. In a strange country. Five months pregnant. How are you going to survive if I leave you alone here?"

She exhaled. "I don’t know. But I’ll figure it out. I’m not weak. I’m a survivor."

Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small blue bank card. He pressed it into her hand.

"There’s a thousand dollars on this. It should help. It’s not much, but it’s something."

Cynthia looked down at the card, eyes wide. "I can’t take this."

"You have to," he said firmly. "Or I won’t leave. I need to know you’ll be okay, at least for a while."

Tears welled in her eyes, trailing down her cheeks. Her lips trembled. "Thank you... I don’t even know what to say."

"You don’t need to say anything," Ethan whispered, a faint smile on his lips.

Cynthia then leaned in, her eyes glistening. "Can I kiss you?"

He didn’t answer with words. His eyes locked onto hers, and slowly, he leaned in. Their lips met in a tender, passionate kiss— slow, lingering, full of emotion. Their breaths mingled, tongues brushing, hands finding each other in the heat of the moment. They held onto each other like time had stopped, like this was the last safe place on earth.

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About a minute later, Ethan broke the kiss gently, the warmth of Cynthia’s lips still lingering on his. He rose slowly to his feet, his eyes brimming with unspoken emotions— raw, tender, fierce. He held onto Cynthia’s hands, both of them still seated on the edge of the bed. Their eyes locked.

Her gaze pleaded silently.

He raised her hand slowly, bent forward, and pressed a soft, reverent kiss to the back of it. His lips lingered there longer than necessary, as if imprinting a promise into her skin.

Still holding her hand, he stood back up and said softly, never breaking eye contact, “This is not the end. I’ll find a way to make this work.” He exhaled deeply. “But what you’ve said is true. If he catches me, he’ll rip me apart, slowly… piece by piece. I have to go.”

A weak smile touched his lips. He let go of her fingers— gently— like she was made of glass.

He reached over to the bed, grabbed his black backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper and a pen. Walking over to the nightstand, he scribbled something down, then returned and handed it to her.

“This is my number. Get a burner phone. Call me… whenever. If need be.”

Cynthia nodded quietly as she took it, gripping the paper like it was her lifeline.

He slung the backpack over his shoulder then walked to the door, but paused as he reached for its handle and glanced back one last time— his eyes full of ache. Cynthia met his gaze, her heart tightening in her chest. She didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Then he slipped out, and as the door clicked shut, it felt like the sound of something breaking inside her— the quiet departure of the man who had just walked off with her heart, and unknowingly taken her last sense of safety with him.