The Billionaire CEO Betrays his Wife: He wants her back
Chapter 192: Do you know her well enough

Chapter 192: Do you know her well enough

"You don’t know, do you?" Stanford chimed in, disbelief plain in his voice. "Man, you wanna propose to this girl and you don’t even know where she works?"

"And her last name?" Stanley added quietly, as if laying down the final card in a stacked deck.

Stefan swallowed hard. His fingers drummed against the table, then stilled. "Aveline... uh..." He cleared his throat. "I just call her Ave."

Steve groaned and dragged a hand down his face, while Stanford let out a low whistle.

"Goddamn, Stefan," Steve muttered. "You’re falling hard for a girl you barely know."

"I know enough," Stefan snapped, standing now, his chair scraping against the floor. "She’s good. She’s kind. She listens to me. She makes me feel... seen. And isn’t that what matters?"

Mara’s heart ached, hearing it in his voice that thread of loneliness, of need, like a man chasing something to fill an old, aching hollow.

She looked around at her brothers, their stubborn faces, their protectiveness disguising their fear. Fear of watching Stefan crash and burn. Fear of watching another Ava slip through his fingers.

Steve’s voice cut across the room like a whip. "House address, past life, the school she went to, do you even know any of that about this girl you claim you want to marry?"

Stefan stiffened, his face flushed with heat, a mix of anger and shame curling in his gut. In his mind, it had never been about that. The connection was what mattered, the late-night talks, the way Aveline’s voice softened when she spoke about the future, how she listened like every word he said was precious. He figured the rest could come later. Names, schools, exes... who cared about ancient history when your heart was on fire?

But Steve’s words hung in the air, sharp and unrelenting.

And then, Mara spoke.

Her voice was calm, too calm. The kind of quiet that made everyone go still.

"Ahh, Steve," she murmured, leaning back in her chair, eyes never leaving his face. "You’ve been throwing stones all night, but you’ve been hiding something yourself."

The room shifted. You could feel it. That low hum of unease as attention pivoted like a needle on a compass.

"Like the call you had this morning," Mara continued, her voice soft but relentless, "the one that changed your mood in an instant. Or how you came home so early today, looking like you left something burning behind you. And that smile you keep flashing, Steve, the one that dies the moment it touches your eyes."

The brothers exchanged glances. Stanford arched a brow. Stanley crossed his arms. Stefan, grateful for the sudden shift of heat, just stared, watching his brother’s armor crack in real time.

Mara’s words lingered like smoke in the room. "You wanna come for Stefan? Fine. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing all of it. We’re family, whether we like it or not. Getting up in each other’s business is our love language. We don’t have a mother. No father. Grandpa’s gone. And the last person who even remotely counted as an enemy and family, Uncle Philip, is gone too."

Her voice caught on that, just for a second. But she didn’t stop.

"So, guess what? It’s us. It’s just us. And if one of us is carrying something heavy, any of us we bring it to the damn table."

Now all eyes were on Steve. The room was a tight, unblinking stare.

And like clockwork, Steve’s expression shifted.

The grin faltered, the light in his gaze dimmed, and there it was, that crack in his foundation they all knew was there but had been too distracted to call out. The haunted look behind the forced smirks. The storm he thought he was hiding.

Stanley leaned in. "She’s right, man. What’s going on?"

Steve let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand down his face. "It’s nothing," he muttered.

But nobody moved. Nobody blinked.

Because they all knew Shepherd men didn’t say it’s nothing unless it was something big enough to swallow you whole.

"Steve," Mara said gently, her hand covering his now, "talk to us."

And for a long moment, he just sat there, staring at the table like it might save him.

Mara’s sharp eyes never missed much, and they sure as hell didn’t miss the tremble in Steve’s hand as he reached for his glass of water. It was barely there, but it was enough. Enough to make her heart clench, enough to make her forget about Stefan and his mystery Avaline for a split second.

"Steve," she said softly, "your hand’s shaking."

The room hushed, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Steve froze, then forced a crooked grin, the kind that used to fool them all when they were kids. "Stef, dear, you’re seeing things," he chuckled weakly. "I’m fine. It’s just... work. Stress, you know how it is. I’ve been thinking about taking some time off, spending a little more time with the twins. Is that so wrong?"

It was a lie. She knew it. Hell, they all knew it — but nobody moved.

Mara wanted to press. Wanted to grab his hand and hold it steady, look him in the eye, and tell him she wasn’t stupid, tell him she saw right through the act. But then she saw something else, something worse.

She saw fear.

Real, naked fear in the eyes of the brother she’d always thought was made of stone.

And for the first time in years, Mara didn’t have the heart to push him.

"Excuse me," Steve muttered, shoving his chair back so abruptly it scraped against the hardwood. "I need to... I need to make some calls. Bon appétit."

His hand went to his temple like the weight of the room was too much to bear, and his steps were uneven, a little too slow, a little too deliberate. As if every movement was rehearsed, a desperate performance to appear normal.

Mara stood halfway from her seat, ready to follow. She couldn’t let him leave like this, not without knowing what storm was building in his chest.

"I’ll check on him," Stefan said quickly, placing a steady hand on Mara’s arm to stop her. "I’ll, uh... check his blood pressure, see if it’s just stress."

Their eyes met, Stefan’s pleading, Mara’s unwilling, but in the end, she sank back into her chair.

"Fine," she whispered, though it tasted like defeat.

Stefan gave her a grateful squeeze and hurried after Steve, his own heart pounding because he knew, deep down, this wasn’t just stress. Shepherd men didn’t show their cracks unless the dam was about to break.

Back at the table, the remaining brothers stared after them, the earlier teasing and banter long forgotten, replaced by a heavy silence none of them knew how to fill.

Stanley cleared his throat. "So, uh... who’s up for dessert?"

But no one laughed.

And Mara, Mara just sat there, feeling the invisible thread that tied them all together fray just a little more.