The Billionaire CEO Betrays his Wife: He wants her back
Chapter 213: It’s going to be okay

Chapter 213: It’s going to be okay

The front door creaked open at 4:13 a.m.

Stefan slipped inside, thinking the house would be dead silent, everyone finally knocked out by grief, booze, or sheer exhaustion. The weight of the night clung to him, his clothes smelling of whiskey and cheap bar air, his eyes glassy, his head pounding with the ache of too many drinks and even more regrets.

He moved quietly, setting his keys down like a man trying not to wake the dead.

But Mara was there.

Leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms folded over her chest, a loose cardigan hanging off one shoulder. Her hair was messy, eyes red-rimmed but sharp. Stefan tensed, bracing for a fight, for the lashing he probably deserved. He knew what he looked like. Reeking of alcohol, his jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder, another promise broken in the string of so many.

But she didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even sigh.

She just... looked at him. And there was something in her face, a flicker of relief, even now, even with everything. She was just glad he made it home in one piece.

That was somehow worse.

Stefan opened his mouth, the words dry and clumsy in his throat, about to say something, anything, when Stanley came storming in from the hallway. His hair was a mess, his jaw tight, the look in his eyes wired and desperate. He stopped cold when he saw Stefan.

Before anyone could speak, Mara’s phone buzzed sharply against the kitchen counter.

The sound was loud in the too-quiet house.

She snatched it up, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

"Hello? Professor." Her tone shifted instantly, from bone-tired sister to focused, hopeful advocate.

Stefan and Stanley exchanged a look, neither moving.

"You have no idea how much I appreciate you calling me back," Mara said, pacing slightly now, her voice low but urgent. "I sent you Steve’s reports last night — I know it was late, but I didn’t know who else to turn to."

On the other end of the line, the professor spoke, his voice tinny through the speaker but clear enough to crack the heavy air.

"I’ve gone through the reports you sent. I’ll be in the country in a day or two. We’ll sit down and discuss options."

Mara exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for hours.

"Thank you," she whispered, tears rising in her throat again. "Thank you so much."

The call ended with a soft click.

Stanley was the first to break the silence. "Well? What’s that about?"

Mara rubbed her face, exhaustion hanging off her like a second skin.

"I sent Steve’s files to a few researchers and professors I know. Told them everything. Asked for second opinions, alternative treatments... hell, even miracles." She looked up at them, her eyes fierce despite the tears. "One of them just called back. He’s coming."

Stanley let out a sharp, shaky breath, his fingers dragging through his hair.

"At least... at least someone’s doing something. Maybe he’ll have answers. God, let there be some good news." His voice cracked on the last word, and he turned away like he couldn’t let them see it.

Stefan stayed where he was, leaning against the wall, watching her. He knew. He knew what this meant. False hope could be the cruelest thing of all. And if it wasn’t false... if it wasn’t, Steve would have to subject himself to procedures, trials, experiments. Painful, invasive things with no guarantees. Stefan, a doctor, had seen it up close. The way patients with no options clung to the slimmest of chances, only to be broken all over again.

His voice was low, rough. "You know what this means, Stef."

She met his gaze head-on. "I know."

And in that tiny, terrible moment, they weren’t fighting. They weren’t snapping at each other over old wounds. They were two people standing in the same storm, drenched and clinging to the same brittle branch.

Stanley gave a sharp nod. "Well, it’s better than sitting here waiting for him to..." He couldn’t finish it. Couldn’t say the word. Mara spared him the pain of having to.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the quiet, the house thick with exhaustion and a new, fragile thread of hope. Stefan straightened. "I’ll check on Steve."

—

Aveline sat there, staring at the empty space he left behind, her chest tight, her skin still carrying the ghost of his touch. Not the kind that bruised — the kind that healed.

And that scared her more than Caleb ever had.

The apartment felt emptier after Stefan left. Quieter. Like his absence had weight.

Aveline tried to shake it off. She tossed the nightgown aside, padded barefoot to the kitchen for a glass of water she didn’t really want, and let the soft hum of the city waking outside fill the silence.

That’s when she saw it.

Sitting on the edge of the coffee table, glinting faintly in the soft light like it knew it was meant to be found, was a watch. Sleek. Silver. Customized. The leather strap was worn just enough to show it was well-loved. And right there, engraved into the back of the face, one word:

Shepherd.

Aveline frowned, picking it up. Her fingers brushed over the name, the letters etched deep and clean. It felt familiar somehow, like a half-forgotten headline or a whispered conversation in a too-dark bar.

Curiosity tugged at her, sharp and insistent.

She grabbed her phone, settling back onto the couch, the watch still in her hand as she typed in:

Stefan Shepherd.

It didn’t take long.

The search results flooded in like a tide, headline after headline.

"Dr. Stefan Shepherd,"

Aveline’s breath caught, her stomach dropping in that electric way it did when a gamble suddenly paid off bigger than you expected. She scrolled through images of him in tailored suits, on the arms of socialites, at charity galas, shaking hands with politicians. And yet, always with that same crooked, unassuming smile. The kind you didn’t see coming until it was already too late.

The Shepherd Dynasty.

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