The Billionaire CEO Betrays his Wife: He wants her back
Chapter 185: Arrogance 2

Chapter 185: Arrogance 2

The room went still, the air thick like it wanted to collapse in on itself.

"And... who are you again?" the principal asked, her tone sharp now, tired of whatever little show this was turning into.

Ethan smiled. That insufferable, self-assured smile that Mara had once, to her eternal regret, found intoxicating.

"Ethan," he said, straightening a little, as though claiming space that wasn’t his. "Ethan Anderson. The twins’ father." He paused, then added with a little flourish, "And her husband."

The words landed like a slap. Mara blinked. The world seemed to reel, her stomach flipping so fast it left her momentarily lightheaded.

Husband.

The word left her lips before she could catch it, a sharp, disbelieving whisper. "Husband?"

As if he could just rewrite history because it suited him. As if the ink on their divorce papers could vanish by sheer force of will.

The principal looked between them, reading the storm building behind Mara’s dark eyes, and made the wise, quiet decision to step away. "I’ll, uh... give you two a moment," she said, retreating with the kind of speed that suggested experience in sidestepping disaster.

The door clicked softly shut, and the room was left to the ghosts.

Mara turned, her gaze locking on Ethan’s. No amusement in her face now. No trace of the woman who once loved him.

"You’ve lost your mind," she said, low, cold, final. And for a breath, neither of them moved.

"Listen, Ethan," Mara began, her voice low, steady, the kind of calm you learn when you’ve weathered too many storms. She didn’t want the twins to hear raised voices through thin walls. She didn’t want this scene, not here, not now, but here they were.

Ethan’s eyes burned, the sheen of almost-tears turning them a darker shade of blue, like a storm rolling in over deep water.

"So now you’re gonna cut me off from my own kids?" he shot back, his voice cracking in a way that made Mara’s stomach twist even as she held her ground. "You get to make all the major decisions, huh? Because they have an incompetent father, right?"

Mara closed her eyes for a moment, let out a deep, tired breath. God, she was so exhausted. Not from this conversation, but from how long it had been leading up to it.

"I’m sorry, Ethan," she said quietly, meeting his gaze, making sure he could see the truth in hers. "I should’ve let you know. I was going to. I just... I wanted to check out the school first. See if it felt right."

She stepped a little closer, not enough to touch, but enough to soften the words between them.

"You are their father," she said, and her voice trembled just a little on it. "And no one is taking that from you."

But Ethan shook his head like the words bounced right off. Like they weren’t enough. Like they never were.

"It doesn’t feel that way, Mara," he rasped, voice raw now, carrying years of ache and anger. "Rafael... Rafael’s more of a father to my kids than I am. He can walk into your house whenever he damn well pleases. Be with my children. My children," he repeated, his voice breaking, "without permission. While I...I have to book appointments, go through guards, get treated like some stranger."

Mara rolled her eyes before she could stop herself, the exhaustion turning sharp in her chest. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Because I lost the right to be your husband," Ethan pressed on, his voice dropping lower, more bitter. "So now I can’t be the father my children deserve?"

Mara looked up then, really looked at him. The man she’d once loved. The man she’d fought with, fought for, and finally fought free from. And still, part of her ached for how broken this was.

"What you want, Ethan," she said softly, firmly, "isn’t possible."

The words hung there, thick in the space between them.

"We’re not a family anymore," Mara went on. "And I’m not opening my home for you to come and go as you please. That isn’t about the kids. It’s about me. About boundaries. About what I can’t let happen again."

Ethan’s face crumpled, just for a moment, before he smoothed it over like a man too proud to bleed where others could see. He turned away, staring out the window like he might find the answers in the leaves swaying outside.

And Mara felt the weight of all the things neither of them said settle heavily in the room. This wasn’t love anymore. But it still hurt like it was.

Shall we talk about the twins, then?" Mara said, her voice softer now, steady like the calming after a storm. She kept her gaze on Ethan, watching the tension bleed from his shoulders, watching the way grief and pride made a complicated knot in his throat.

"I like this school," she went on, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a small, almost absent gesture. "I don’t like Andrew’s old school because Lucy... she might still know people there. Might still have access in ways we don’t even see coming. And I’m not taking any chances with our children, Ethan. That school’s off the table."

Ethan was quiet, absorbing the words, the weight behind them. For a long, aching second, neither of them spoke, the history between them a third, silent presence in the room.

Finally, Mara added, calmer now, "If you don’t like this one, you can suggest another. We’ll look at it together. But it’s gotta be safe. That’s the only thing I care about."

There was a long pause, then Ethan let out a sigh, the kind that deflated years of stubbornness in one breath. His lips curved into the ghost of a smile.

"Well... if you put it that way," he said, voice rough but softer than before, "this is probably the second-best school in the city. I think... here will be fine then."

Relief flickered in Mara’s chest. A fragile, cautious kind. But still.

"Okay," she nodded, a small smile of her own finding its way to the surface. "Glad we’re on the same page. Can we go to the principal’s office and get the paperwork done?"

Ethan nodded.

Without another word, they moved down the hall, side by side, not quite touching, but no longer at odds. It wasn’t peace, not really. But it was something like it.

In the principal’s office, signatures were scrawled, forms filled out, and by the time they stepped back outside, the sun had slipped lower in the sky, casting honey-colored light across the playground.

The twins were there, tiny, laughing shapes among other children their age. Andrew toddling after a ball, Audrey holding court with a small circle of toddlers and nannies nearby. The guards kept discreet watch at the edges.

And for a fleeting moment, it felt almost normal.

Ethan crouched down, scooping them both into a hug, kissing their soft, chubby cheeks. The twins squealed in delight, their tiny hands grabbing at his collar.

Mara watched them, arms crossed loosely, a soft ache pressing behind her ribs. The nannies take the twins as Mara and Ethan speak alone.

"I know this isn’t how we imagined our life," she said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of everything unspoken. "But it is what it is now. I’m trying, Ethan. I’m really trying..."

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