The Billionaire CEO Betrays his Wife: He wants her back
Chapter 210: There has to be a way

Chapter 210: There has to be a way

Stefan had always thought he was the one who could hold it together. The fixer. The quiet strength. The man people came to when the world got too loud.

But after what he learned — after Steve looked him in the eye and told him he wasn’t going to fight, wasn’t going to try, wasn’t going to live — something inside Stefan cracked. Something heavy and old, something he didn’t even have a name for.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t beg.

Just left.

And when Aveline called, her voice soft and hesitant, asking if he wanted to meet... for the first time, he didn’t find a reason to say no.

They met at a little bar on the corner of a street neither of them usually bothered with. It was dim and quiet, the kind of place people went to disappear. Stefan nursed his first drink too long, then his second too fast. By the third, the edges of the world blurred in a way that made it easier to breathe.

Aveline watched him quietly, her hand brushing his once, then pulling away. She didn’t press. Didn’t ask him to talk.

And maybe that’s why he let her lead him back to her apartment.

—

The house felt wrong.

Too quiet, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. Shadows stretched long in every corner, the night thick and heavy, carrying the weight of the secret that had finally clawed its way into the open.

Steve was dying.

The words hung there, unspoken now but impossible to ignore, like smoke clinging to everything.

One by one, they had scattered.

Steve had gone to his room first. Not a word to anyone, his face unreadable, eyes holding the kind of sadness that made you ache just looking at him. Stanley had slammed his door hard enough to make the frames on the wall rattle. Stanford... Stanford was already halfway to a bottle when Mara left the living room.

She had tended to the twins, smoothing their hair back from their innocent, sleeping faces. They didn’t know — thank God — but the moment was coming when she would have to tell them. Mara brushed soft, desperate kisses to their foreheads, tasting salt and baby shampoo, whispering promises she wasn’t sure she could keep.

The house creaked, floors groaning like old bones under her feet as she made her way to her room. Her phone felt heavy in her hand, her thumb hovering over Stefan’s name, heart pounding because she knew — she knew — what this would do to him. Stefan, her anchor, her other constant. If he spiraled now, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to pull him back.

She called once.

Voicemail.

The second time, she didn’t even get the tone.

Her stomach twisted. A sour, gnawing dread she couldn’t shake. She was about to dial again when Rafael’s name lit up her screen.

She answered in a hush.

"Hey, baby."

His voice, warm and steady, cracked through the fog like sunlight through storm clouds.

"Sorry, I couldn’t pick up earlier."

Mara’s throat was too tight. She tried to sound casual, tried to pretend everything wasn’t splintering around her, but the words came out brittle.

"It’s fine."

Rafa knew her too well. There was a beat of silence.

"What happened?"

The dam broke.

"Steve’s... Steve’s sick. It’s bad, Rafa. I don’t know what to do, I—" Her voice hitched, the tears burning their way down before she could stop them. "I can’t lose him, too."

The grief in her voice was so raw it made Rafa’s heart crack across an ocean of distance.

"Oh, dear..." His voice dropped, thick with helplessness. "I wish I were there right now. I’d wrap you up in my arms so tight, baby. I’d never let go."

Mara wiped her face roughly with the sleeve of Stefan’s old sweatshirt, swallowing the sob that threatened to choke her.

"You wanna talk about it?" Rafa asked softly.

She shook her head even though he couldn’t see.

"No. I... I just need to go check on him. Make sure he’s okay. Make sure... someone’s there."

"Alright, baby." He didn’t push, didn’t lecture, didn’t give her false hope. Just pure, aching tenderness. "I’ll come soon. I promise. Kisses, love."

"Kisses," she whispered, before the line went dead.

But the silence after felt even heavier.

Mara stared at her laptop on the bed. The glow of the screen was like a lighthouse in a storm. She opened it, her fingers flying across the keys, desperate, searching for anything. Research papers. Clinical trials. Experimental treatments.

The Shepherd Foundation had made medical miracles happen, including cancer remission rates, spinal injury recoveries, and even genetic therapies. What was the damn point of all of it if it couldn’t save her brother’s life?

She sent frantic emails. Left voicemails for professors in different time zones. Texted researchers she hadn’t spoken to before.

"There has to be something," she whispered to the empty room, the tears falling fast now. "There has to be."

In his room, Steve sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the medication lined neatly on the nightstand. Bottles with labels too clinical, instructions too cold. He hated how they looked. Hated that his secret was out. Hated the hollow way his brothers looked at him now, like pieces of them had cracked clean through.

Stanley was pacing his room like a trapped animal, fury and fear gnawing at his insides.

Stanford sat alone in the den, a bottle of bourbon his only company, the glass trembling in his hand.

And in the heart of the house, Mara fought her battle against death with nothing but hope. The night dragged on.

And none of them slept.

—

The city outside was sleeping, the streets slick with leftover rain. In Aveline’s living room, the light was soft, and Stefan sat on the couch, his head leaning back against the cushion, eyes closed as the alcohol hummed through his veins. It dulled the ache, blurred the faces he couldn’t stop seeing.

Aveline made the coffee out of habit more than intention. The kettle whistled, the rich scent filling the apartment, but when she poured it into the mug and set it on the table, neither of them reached for it.

Stefan was slouched on her couch, his head tilted back, lashes casting soft shadows on his cheekbones. The weight of the world clung to him like a second skin, even in sleep. His chest rose and fell in a slow, uneven rhythm, the faintest murmurs slipping from his lips — words she couldn’t quite catch, names maybe, regrets, or things meant for no one to hear.

Aveline sat beside him, careful not to disturb the fragile peace he’d found. She didn’t speak. Didn’t reach for the coffee.

Just sat there.

The room was quiet, save for the low hum of city traffic through the window and the occasional sound of rain tapping against the glass.

And then, without meaning to, without thinking about it, she smiled.

There was something about him like this — heavy-lidded and vulnerable, his defenses down, the sharp edges softened by exhaustion and drink — that tugged at something in her chest.

He wasn’t beautiful in the way men tried to be. He was beautiful in the way storms were, in the way old, stubborn trees clung to cliffs. A quiet, aching kind of beautiful.

Her fingers moved on their own, brushing through his hair, the strands surprisingly soft beneath her touch. Stefan let out a low sigh at the contact, leaning into it the slightest bit, like some part of him recognized comfort when it came.

Aveline let her hand linger, a ghost of a touch, not daring to press more.

She told herself it didn’t mean anything. But God, she knew better. And for a brief moment, the world felt a little less cruel.

But peace, like all good things in Stefan’s world, didn’t last.

A knock at the door.

Sharp. Impatient.

Aveline stiffened. Her eyes flicked to Stefan, who had fallen asleep, then to the door.

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