The Billionaire CEO Betrays his Wife: He wants her back
Chapter 209: Help

Chapter 209: Help

The office smelled faintly of old leather, paper, and something sharper — maybe Jonathan’s cologne or the ghost of a cigar smoked long after hours. The walls were lined with shelves heavy with thick, somber books: criminal law, forensic psychology, procedural codes. A single window let in a reluctant wash of late afternoon light, smudged by city grime.

Ethan sat in the boss’s chair.

Jonathan had gestured to it when he arrived, a stiff flick of the wrist, the kind of silent deference men made to one another when stakes were high and alliances shifting. The chair was too big for him. Swallowed him whole. The high back loomed behind his shoulders, and as he leaned forward, his elbows sinking into the worn leather desk pad, it creaked like a warning.

His phone buzzed again.

Steph.

Ethan’s jaw flexed as he answered, not bothering with a greeting. "Ethan, are you sure you wanna represent Maria yourself? I’m telling you, Jonathan can handle this. Hell, anyone else could. You don’t have to—"

"I’m sure," Ethan cut in, his voice rough. His gaze drifted to the thick manila folder Jonathan had pushed toward him. The one marked Maria-Isabel. He’d barely touched it, but its presence on the desk felt like a stone on his chest.

Jonathan, a big man with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetual scowl, gave a small shrug from across the room. "We could get her a lesser sentence," he offered quietly, hands stuffed into his pockets, watching Ethan with something like pity — or maybe warning.

Without another word, Ethan picked up the folder.

He flipped it open.

Photographs. Police reports. Witness statements. Autopsy notes. A grainy image of Maria Isabel, hair tangled, face streaked with tears, sitting in a cold interrogation room. The weight of it hit him in waves. Like crabs, he thought irrationally — scuttling, clawing, each word another sharp pinch.

He snapped the folder shut.

"No." His voice was a stone thrown into still water. "She didn’t do it."

A sharp sigh crackled through the phone. "Come on, Ethan. The evidence is stacked. It’s a textbook: years of abuse, snapped, crime of passion. The guy’s history, their toxic marriage, everything’s pointing at her. Be smart about this."

Steph’s voice wasn’t cruel — it was the voice of someone too far away to help but too close to let it go. The kind of voice that wanted to spare him the heartbreak of a fight already lost.

Ethan got up, started pacing. The office wasn’t big, but he moved like a man trying to outrun a tide. He ran a hand through his hair, shoulders tight.

"I know what it looks like," Ethan muttered. "But there’s more. There’s always more, Steph. You just gotta look past what they want you to see."

"Even if there is — this isn’t your fight, man. It’s not your mess. You’ve got cases. You’ve got a reputation. Are you really ready to burn it all for her again? What’s it to you?"

He stopped by the window, looking out at the city. Lights bleeding into the dusk, traffic inching by like sluggish blood through arteries. Somewhere in that mess was a little girl, barely 2, waiting for a normal childhood everyone was so quick to bury.

"I can’t take her daughter to Mara," Ethan said, the words catching like splinters in his throat. "At least... at least I can give her a shot at raising her own kid. I owe them that."

Jonathan made a sound — halfway between a scoff and a sigh — but didn’t interrupt.

On the other end of the line, Steph was quiet.

Then, soft, resigned. "You risk your career for this, Ethan... you’ll be alone in it. You know that, right?" Jonathan said nothing, just watched as Ethan raked a hand through his hair, the storm in his chest leaking into the room. The folder lay on the desk like an unspoken dare.

Ethan’s voice cut through the thick air, low, cracked, raw like a nerve exposed.

"You think I care about that?" His laugh was humorless, a rough sound in the back of his throat. "Without Mara... none of this makes sense."

Jonathan’s brow furrowed, his mouth opening to speak, but Ethan was already rolling, words tumbling out like a dam had cracked inside him.

"At least... at least I could do something she’d be proud of." His hand landed hard on the desk, palm flat, making a soft, dull sound against the leather pad. "Helping Maria-Isabel. Her once best friend. Yeah, I know she’s angry at her. I know she hates her." His voice cracked around the word hate, but he powered through.

"But come on — this is two lives we’re talking about. And I don’t believe for one second that Mara’s so angry she’d wish her dead. Or her baby growing up an orphan, bouncing between relatives and foster homes like a bad memory."

He turned, pacing again, dragging his fingers down his face like he could wipe away the weight of it all.

"And aside from that," Ethan continued, "I’d help anyone in Maria’s shoes. Not just because it’s her. Not because of our history. Not because of some ancient friendship buried under bad blood. Because it’s the right thing to do."

He stopped by the chair, grabbed his jacket from the back of it, and shrugged it on like armor. The leather was worn at the elbows, a faded mark on the collar — he’d had it for years. It felt like old battle gear now.

Jonathan finally spoke, his voice low, a note of reluctant respect curling at the edges.

"You’re gonna burn for this, Boss." Ethan snorted softly, an almost-smile ghosting his lips.

"Maybe. But at least I’ll burn doing something that matters."

He moved toward the door, pausing just long enough to toss over his shoulder,

"Prepare for her defense. I’m going out, I need to see the crime scene again, make it happen,"

And then he was gone, the office door swinging shut behind him with a soft, decisive click.

The room settled in his absence, the air thick with the scent of tension, dust, and conviction. Jonathan sighed, looking down at the file again. "Crazy bastard," he muttered under his breath, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes. Admiration, maybe. Or dread.

He reached for the phone. "Get me the files on Maria-Isabel’s first witnesses. And call in the P.I. I want eyes on anyone connected to that house the night of the incident."

Outside, Ethan’s footsteps faded into the hum of the city.

War drums in his chest, his pulse marching toward whatever came next.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.