The Billionaire CEO Betrays his Wife: He wants her back-Chapter 111: Redemption

Mara had fallen asleep.

One arm draped over the back of the couch, the other still loosely clutching her now-cold mug of hot chocolate. Her lashes fluttered gently, her lips parted slightly, and that hoodie swallowed her whole as she belonged to the moment and nowhere else.

Rafael watched her. Not like a man with an agenda. Not like someone who thought this moment meant anything more than what it was.

But also... exactly like a man who wished it did.

He reached out carefully, took the mug from her hand, and set it on the table. His fingers brushed hers, and she didn’t stir—just murmured something soft in her sleep. His name, maybe. Or someone else’s. He didn’t ask.

He sat back, elbow on the armrest, hand over his mouth.

Damn.

He hadn’t meant to fall. That wasn’t the plan.

He was supposed to be her safe space. Her friend. Her calm. He told himself he was just helping her pick up the broken pieces. He never thought he’d want to hold them for himself.

But then she laughed earlier. Really laughed, like she’d forgotten the pain for a split second. And something inside him... shifted.

Like, permanently.

He glanced at the soft curve of her cheek, the way her brows still carried the weight of everything she’d survived even at rest. There was something in her that refused to break, even when it bent. She didn’t ask to be saved—she just asked for space to heal.

And damn if he didn’t want to give her the whole world just so she could build a softer one.

He exhaled slowly, quietly. His heart felt too loud in his chest.

"Too soon," he whispered to himself.

But he couldn’t stop looking. Couldn’t stop hoping. Couldn’t stop falling.

—

The ride back home was quiet, but not awkward. Rafael had a way of driving like he was holding space for grief, for thoughts, for breath to catch up with a racing heart. Mara sat beside him, her fingers curled around the divorce papers, soft creases already forming at the edges.

He didn’t ask her anything. He just handed her a small iced tea when they stopped at a corner café, with a tiny note tucked under the lid:

"Even storms need sweetness."

She smiled just barely but it was real.

At the house, her brothers were already pacing the living room like guard dogs dressed in civilian clothes. Stanford had his arms crossed. Steve was pretending not to hover. Stanley had snacks, which Mara knew meant emotional crisis protocol was fully engaged.

"So?" Steve said the second she walked in.

"I talked to him Ethan last night," Mara said, exhaling like she’d been holding that breath for years. "We’re getting a divorce."

The relief that flooded the room was almost comedic. Stanford mumbled something about finally, Steve fist-pumped, and Stanley tossed popcorn in the air like they’d just scored a championship point. But Stefan quiet Stefan—only stepped forward and asked,

"You okay?"

And Mara nodded. "I am."

She sat at the table, unfolded the papers slowly like they were sacred scrolls, and pulled out a pen. Her hand shook, just a little, as she scribbled her name across the lines that once promised forever.

Rafael had left already, Mara tried not to think too much while doing everything to get her mind off things.

A few days later, the courthouse air felt thick. Like sorrow and second chances were having a silent duel in the hallways.

Ethan was already seated when Mara walked in. He stood when he saw her, automatically like it was instinct like his body remembered the reverence even if the marriage had forgotten.

Her brothers flanked her like silent knights. Stanford kept cracking his knuckles. Steve gave Ethan a look that could’ve frozen oceans. Stefan stayed closest to Mara.

She didn’t look at Ethan, not at first.

The judge cleared their throat. "Do both parties agree to the divorce?"

Silence.

Mara blinked, and for a heartbeat too long, said nothing.

Ethan’s throat worked around a dry swallow. "I... I want what’s best for her," he said quietly.

Still, the pause.

The judge frowned, pen hovering. "Do you both agree?"

And then: "Yes," Ethan said before Mara could speak. "Yes."

The judge nodded, surprisingly gently. "You’ll have six months. If, at the end of that time, no reconciliation is possible, then the divorce will be granted."

It was supposed to feel like a delay.

But it felt like a window cracking open.

Mara finally met Ethan’s gaze.

Soft. Distant. Complicated.

The kind of look that holds both the ache of what was and the exhaustion of trying to rebuild something from ash.

She didn’t speak. Just let Stefan take her hand, leading her away from the courthouse, her brothers circling protectively.

But from the far corner of the courtroom, Rafael watched.

Leaning against the wall like he wasn’t watching at all his eyes tracked every movement, every sigh, every bruise behind Mara’s eyes that hadn’t faded yet.

He didn’t step forward. He didn’t intrude. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

But he was there.

Rafael was still leaning against the cool marble wall of the courthouse, arms folded, watching. He had mastered the art of looking like he didn’t care when in fact, every fiber of his being was tuned into her.

Mara.

She looked... composed. Too composed. The kind of stillness that comes right before a storm.

Her brothers were orbiting her, protective as always. Stefan had a hand on her back, subtle reassurance. Steve was throwing glances back at Ethan like he wanted an excuse to break the law. Stanley was mumbling something about celebratory whiskey, already planning the post-court debrief.

And then there was Ethan.

Rafael didn’t hate the guy, but right now, he wanted to.

Ethan had everything once. Everything Rafael was starting to want. And he threw it away.

And yet... Mara still looked at him like there was something unfinished between them.

That stung.

More than he expected.

He clenched his jaw and exhaled slowly. Not your place, Rafael. You don’t get to be mad. You don’t get to feel anything. She isn’t yours.

But that pause she took before answering the judge? That tiny, hesitant pause?

That killed him.

It meant that some part of her no matter how small, no matter how buried wasn’t ready to fully let go. Not yet.

Six months.

Ethan had six months to prove he was worth something to her. To prove that his past mistakes didn’t outweigh the love he once had.

Rafael had six months to stand back and do nothing.

Because Rafael wasn’t the type to interfere.

He’d never beg for what wasn’t freely given.

And Mara... she wasn’t his to claim.

Not yet.

But damn it, he was starting to wish she was. Rafael shifted his gaze, not with urgency, but with the indifference of a man who has nothing left to fear—or nothing left to lose.

Ethan came to a stop a few paces away. The distance between them was more than physical. It was love wrapped in fine clothing and wine-soaked dinners.

"You know," Ethan said, his voice dipping lower, edged now, "I was actually glad the divorce didn’t push through."

He paused. Let the words hang there, like a guillotine on a fraying rope.

Rafael arched a brow, eyes cool and unreadable.

Ethan’s jaw tightened. "You won’t keep pursuing my wife, will you?" he asked, almost a whisper. Not out of fear but out of restraint. Like he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he heard the wrong answer.

Rafael’s lips curved into something, not quite a smile something colder. Something ancient. A knowing. A dare. And then, without a word, he turned and walked away, the heels of his boots tapping against the floor like a countdown.

Ethan watched him go, fists clenched at his sides, rage swirling just beneath the surface. He wasn’t sure which was worse Rafael answering him, or that icy silence.

Because silence meant the game wasn’t over.

It had just begun.