The Billionaire CEO Betrays his Wife: He wants her back
Chapter 188: Your problem

Chapter 188: Your problem

The conference room buzzed with low conversation, the steady shuffle of papers, and the occasional chime of a phone on silent. Valerie sat at the head of the table like a queen in waiting, her eyes sharp, the faintest smirk playing at her lips as Mara entered.

"Well, well, the prodigal queen returns," Valerie teased, gesturing for Mara to take her seat at the head of the table while she takes the one beside her. "Took you long enough."

Mara cracked a small smile, setting her files down. "Careful, Val. I might just start getting comfortable again."

The meeting moved along in waves, updates on ongoing projects, financial reports, upcoming charity galas and then came the thing that snagged Mara’s attention.

"There’s a need for immediate humanitarian work in Los Vinania," one of the directors announced, laying out a dossier. "Supplies, mobile clinics, shelters for displaced families. The usual, but the situation’s volatile. We need to move fast."

A low hum of agreement circled the room.

Valerie turned to Mara, brow raised. "We should send a team in the next forty-eight hours. Could lead it yourself if you want. Could be good PR and you’ve got connections down there." Connections. Rafael.

The name sat heavy in Mara’s chest for a beat. She could surprise him, show up when he least expected it. And God knew it wasn’t like her to miss a fight when people needed her.

But... Steve. That call from this morning gnawed at her now. He’d been acting strange, tension carved into his face like words on stone, then that hushed phone call when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

And the twins. She’d promised herself she would never leave them alone, and the court case against Lucy was coming up. Be present. Too many threads. Too many hearts she was tethered to.

She sighed, the weight of choices thick on her shoulders. "Well," Mara said, clearing her throat and standing, collecting her files, "get the list ready. The best people for it. We’ll finalize the team tomorrow."

Valerie gave a knowing smile. "Sure thing, Stef."

On her way out, Mara flagged down one of the junior directors. "Also, find me a new assistant. Someone sharp. Vera’s... Vera’s building her own thing now."

She didn’t say it with bitterness. Just a quiet sort of pride. Vera was a Shepherd-Anderson, after all. That girl was meant to build empires, not answer phones.

The director nodded. "I’ll get on it."

And with that, Mara headed out, her heels clicking against the floor like the steady beat of a war drum. Outside, the late afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the city. She needed to get home. Check on Steve. Kiss her babies. And maybe, just maybe, call Rafael again before the night was through.

–

The office felt heavy, like the walls themselves carried secrets. The blinds were half drawn, the late afternoon light slicing across Ethan’s desk in neat, ruthless lines. A glass of something half-drunk sat by the corner, and the room smelled faintly of expensive cologne and tension.

Steph leaned back in his chair, one brow raised, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a good smirk. It was one of those I-told-you-so, what-did-you-expect kinds.

"You mean to tell me," Steph said slowly, voice like gravel and smoke, "you couldn’t even say Maria Isabel’s name to Mara without her going nuclear?"

Ethan sighed, running a hand down his face. "Went ballistic, Steph. You should’ve seen her. It was like lighting a match in a room full of gas."

Steph chuckled darkly. "Well, what did you expect? You know how deep that cut runs. You and Maria Isabel? That’s a wound she’ll never let scab over, man."

Ethan didn’t reply right away. He turned to the window instead, watching the city breathe below them. Cars. People. Lives that weren’t his mess. God, how easy it must be to just... be.

"Well," Steph sighed, grabbing the file from the desk, flipping through the sparse notes. "Let’s talk business, then. What do we know about her case so far?"

Ethan turned back, a weight settling on his shoulders. "According to Jonathan, you know, the lawyer I sent to Los Vinania, she’s been arrested for murder. Confessed to it too. Straight up. No plea, no bargaining, no story. Just ’I did it.’"

Steph’s brow furrowed. "No witnesses?"

Ethan shook his head. "None. No cameras either. It’s like it happened in a goddamn black hole. Clean, simple, quiet... too quiet. And get this, she won’t give any other statement. No defense, no explanation. Just keeps repeating she did it."

Steph frowned deeper, the weight of it starting to settle on him too. "And she’s in there... with a kid?"

"Yeah," Ethan said softly. "A one-and-a-half-year-old baby girl. Stuck in that place with her mother facing murder charges, no family stepping up, no one claiming them. Just her and this kid waiting for whatever comes next."

Steph let out a slow whistle. "That’s cold, Real cold."

A silence thick enough to drown in filled the room. Ethan exhaled, his jaw tight.

"She wants to talk to me," Ethan said finally, voice barely above a whisper. "Refused the lawyer. Said she won’t speak to anyone but me."

Steph raised a brow again. "And you’re gonna go?"

Ethan shrugged. "I don’t know, man. It’s... complicated."

"Everything’s complicated with you," Steph muttered, tossing the file back on the desk. "But if you’re asking me, there’s a reason she won’t talk to anyone else. And maybe you don’t want to hear what she has to say."

Ethan gave a dry laugh. "When have I ever?"

Steph stood, clapping a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. "Well, guess you got some decisions to make, brother."

The room held its breath, like it too was weary of this endless cycle of past sins clawing their way to the surface. The light was dimmer now, slipping away like it didn’t want to stick around for the rest of this conversation.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, one hand rubbing the bridge of his nose, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. Oh, Maria... The very name tasted bitter in his mouth. It was like swallowing glass — jagged memories cutting on the way down.

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