The Billionaire CEO Betrays his Wife: He wants her back
Chapter 214: Golden catch

Chapter 214: Golden catch

Stefan Shepherd, one of the Four. The nation’s richest, most untouchable families, a name spoken like myth in the kind of circles Aveline had only danced around in the shadows of. And here she’d been, laughing on her couch with him. Wrapped in his arms. Confiding in him.

He’d hugged her.

Aveline sat back, phone slipping a little in her hand as she stared at the ceiling, her pulse a wild, unsteady thing.

She wasn’t ready to let this go. Not yet. sex was fun. Danger was easy. But this? Stefan was something else entirely. A soft life wrapped in silk and power. The kind of man who could give her everything — security, scandal, safety, status. And maybe... just maybe... the kind of love that didn’t feel like a punishment.

She smirked, thumb tracing the engraved letters on the watch.

"Well, well, Dr. Shepherd," she murmured to the empty room. "Looks like you’re not getting away that easily."

–

The hallway stretched before him, dim and quiet. The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful, no, this was the heavy, suffocating kind. The kind that settled over your chest and made it hard to breathe.

Stefan made his way down it slowly, the floorboards creaking under his steps like they were warning him to turn back. The faint glow of a lamp seeped from beneath Steve’s door. He was still up, or the light had been left on in case... in case no one came.

Stefan hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He could still smell the whiskey clinging to his jacket, could feel the sting of old arguments in the back of his throat. All those years of Steve stepping up, playing protector, driving them crazy with his stubbornness, and now here they were. Running out of time.

He took a breath and pushed the door open.

The room was still, save for the soft hum of the air purifier in the corner. His brother was there, sprawled on top of the covers, a tangle of pillows at his back. The harsh lines of illness had begun to carve themselves into Steve’s face, even in sleep. The bottle of medication sat like a vulture on the nightstand, watching.

Stefan swallowed hard.

"Hey... big brother."

Steve stirred, his eyelids heavy as he cracked one eye open. The meds had pulled him under, but not deep enough. He blinked blearily at Stefan, and for a moment, just a moment, he looked like the Steve from years ago. The one who could carry the world on his shoulders and still make it to family dinner.

"You’re home late," Steve rasped, his voice scratchy, but there was a flicker of teasing in it. A ghost of their old banter.

Stefan stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. He didn’t bother to defend himself. The bar, the whiskey, the self-destruction — it didn’t matter now.

"I, uh... I came to check on you."

Steve gave a tired, crooked grin. "That’s a first."

It stung more than it should’ve, but Stefan let it slide. He crossed the room, dragging the armchair from the corner to sit beside the bed.

"Stef’s been making calls," Stefan said, resting his elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms together. "Sent your reports to every researcher she could find. One of them’s flying in. Gonna... look things over."

Steve sighed, closing his eyes again for a beat. "She doesn’t give up."

"None of us do," Stefan said quietly.

A long silence stretched between them. Not hostile. Not awkward. Just... heavy. Filled with the things they’d left unsaid for too long.

"I didn’t want you to find out like this," Steve murmured, cracking his eyes open again. "Didn’t want you all... sitting around waiting for me to drop."

Stefan’s throat tightened. "You idiot. Did you think we wouldn’t notice? That we wouldn’t care?"

Steve gave a half-smile, sad and soft. "Would’ve made it easier for you."

"No, it wouldn’t." Stefan shook his head, looking down at his hands. "You’ve been carrying us for so long... and we let you. We let you be everything. And I was so damn pissed about it for years. But now...now I’d give anything to have you stay. Even if it meant fighting with you every day of my life."

Steve’s eyes shimmered, and he turned his head away. "I don’t want to leave you all like Mum and Dad, Stefan."

The broken way he said it nearly wrecked Stefan.

He reached out, grabbing his brother’s hand, anchoring them both in that one human, desperate touch.

"Then don’t. Fight. Let them try whatever they have to try. Stef’s bringing in the best, and yeah I will talk to a few doctors I know, it might suck, it might hurt, and it might not work. But don’t you dare check out before you’ve wrung every last damn drop out of this life."

Steve’s fingers squeezed his, and for the first time in what felt like years, Stefan saw the smallest flicker of fight in his brother’s eyes.

"Okay," Steve whispered.

Stanley had been pacing again. Back and forth in the living room like a lion in a cage. Every time he passed the hallway, he’d glance down it, knowing Stefan was in Steve’s room, knowing he should be there too.

And Mara? Mara sat on the edge of the couch, her phone in one hand, an old photo in the other — one from a year ago, before the world got cruel. Steve with his stupid cocky grin, Mara on his back, Stefan flicking water at them by the pool. She could barely look at it without choking.

Stanford stumbled out of the kitchen, reeking of whiskey, his hair a mess, eyes rimmed red. But the glass was empty now, and the fight had drained out of him.

"Where’s Steve?" he croaked.

Mara looked up at him, and for once, no one snapped, no one cursed, no one told him to sober the hell up. Instead, she stood, pocketed her phone, and nodded down the hall.

"Come on."

And like that, they went. One after another. Stanley fell into step behind Mara, Stanford trailing with a hand against the wall like he needed the house to hold him up. The family they were splintered, bruised, and stubborn as hell.

When Mara pushed Steve’s door open, Stefan glanced up from the chair, his hand still gripping Steve’s. Steve looked half-asleep, but his eyes opened when the door creaked.

And for a second, just a second, no one said anything. The sight of them all together, in this one small room, felt too big for words.

"Hey, good morning," Steve rasped.

Stanley was the first to move, coming to the other side of the bed, dropping onto the edge like he might break if he didn’t sit down right now. "You idiot," Stanley muttered, voice cracking, rubbing his palm over his face. "You don’t get to leave us, man. We’re a pain in the ass, but you don’t get to leave."

Steve managed a weak, crooked grin. "Don’t tempt me."

Stanford let out a wet laugh, leaning heavily against the wall, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Mara crossed to the bed and sat on the other side, taking Steve’s other hand, smaller and colder than it used to be.

"A professor’s coming," she said softly. "He’s gonna look at your reports. Might have ideas. I’m not giving up on you, Steve. None of us is."

Steve’s throat worked around a knot of emotion, his eyes glassy as he looked at the four of them. The room felt like it was breathing for the first time.

"I’m scared," Steve admitted, his voice small, stripped of the bravado he wore so well.

"We all are," Stefan said quietly. "But you’re not doing this alone." Stanley nodded. "Not this time."

Stanford raised his glassless hand. "Swear to God, I’ll stay sober long enough to annoy you."

That made them all laugh, weak, broken, messy, but it was laughter. The kind you only hear when grief and love and fear tangle together in a room. A bruised, battered, ridiculous family. But a family still.

They sat there in that dim room as the clock crawled toward daybreak. No one is ready to leave, no one is willing to let go just yet.

Because in that fragile, precious hush, they still had each other.

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