The Billionaire CEO Betrays his Wife: He wants her back-Chapter 125: You Want to play, Let play

Philip sat at his desk, smug... until the TV flickered.

Breaking News.

"Several key figures tied to convicted criminal Philip Shepherd were arrested or hospitalized this morning after what authorities are calling ’coordinated vigilantism."

His smile faded. A guard rushed in.

"Inmate Shepherd. You have a visitor." Philip stood, confused. "Who the hell—" But when he stepped into the visitation room, all four brothers stood there.

In suits. Silent. Deadly.

Steve leaned in.

"Even in a prison cell, you still manage to pull such stuns." Philip looks more deadly than they did, his hand in his pocket even when he didn’t say anything to them.

"Guards!" he yells. "We are done here," He said walking back to his cell, looking at the guard’s demeanor it was as if he was afraid of him, the brothers noticed he ran the prison even the officers were afraid of him. The brother’s deadly look turns to something else anger frustration helplessness all wrapped together.

—

Rain fell in soft waves over the hills, painting everything in muted greys and silence. The chapel was small, wooden, and old—but it was beautiful.

The pews were filled.

Mara sat with Steve, Stanford, and Stefan beside her, holding her breath as the soft hymn played through the space. Beside her, Stanley stood still—face pale, eyes vacant.

In his hands was a small white rose. In front of them? Rhina’s coffin. White.

Just like the dress she dreamed of wearing.

Steve walked to the front, paper in hand, but didn’t read from it. "Rhina... wasn’t perfect. She made mistakes. But she tried to fix them. She died trying to fix them."

He looked at Stanley—whose hands trembled. "She protected this family. She protected my brother. She saved Stefan’s name. She gave Stanley something he didn’t know he was capable of—love. And she gave us all a reason to fight."

"So no... we won’t remember her by how she entered our lives." He looked toward her coffin.

"We’ll remember her for how she left it—brave, full of fire, and carrying the future."

Graveside

As the rain fell harder, Stanley stepped forward alone. He laid the white rose gently on the casket. "You changed me," he whispered. "You taught me how to feel again."

His voice cracked. "I was going to teach our baby how to walk, how to throw a football, how to be strong. Now...." He pressed his hand on the wood.

"I know you two are in a better place now." Behind him, Stefan knelt in the mud, praying silently. Steve placed a hand on Stanley’s shoulder.

Mara walked over and wrapped her arms around him. "You’re not alone," she whispered.

Stanley didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. When they got home Mara went to rest in her room while the brothers sat in the quiet living room. No suits. No drinks. Just silence and grief. "Philip’s still breathing," Stanford said bitterly. "Not for long," Steve replied.

But Stanley didn’t join in. He stared at a small ultrasound photo he pulled from his pocket—the only thing Rhina left him. "He took my baby," Stanley said softly, the baby he was starting to love and imagining teaching how to run a business.

"Then we take everything else from him, the right to have visitors for a start," Stefan answered. "We will," Steve said.

Back in his cell, Philip stared out at the rain through the tiny barred window. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Let them burn," he muttered. "There’s always another piece to play." Because unknown to the brothers... Philip still had other cards to play.

—

Ethan was halfway through a contract review when his phone buzzed. He ignored it.

It buzzed again. And then again—until he finally glanced at the screen. One image. One message.

He opened it.

It was a picture of Lucy, dressed in a flowing dress, standing sideways in front of a mirror. One hand under a visible bump, the other holding her phone. Her hair was styled, her makeup flawless, her smile radiant.

"Hey Ethan, Baby needs money. Don’t keep us waiting,"

Beneath it was a payment request. Ethan’s blood boiled as he stared at the image. The nerve. The nerve she had to just disappear and then pop up like this as if she hadn’t been missing for two weeks.

Ethan replied to her text. Where the hell are you? You disappeared without a word after dropping such a bomb. When can we get this over with I want that DNA test ASAP.

Three dots blinked for a long moment before her reply came. Lucy

Do you miss me? Aww. I’m fine, Ethan. Just needed some alone time with our little angel growing inside of me, you were stressing me out. Now... about that money?

Ethan sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. Every instinct told him not to send her a damn thing. But if that will keep her away and give him some peace why not? And even if she was lying, he needed to keep her close.

"Fine," he muttered and tapped the screen. He sent the money.

Lucy received the bank alert as she stepped out of a luxury car, sunglasses perched high on her cheekbones. She strutted into the boutique-like she owned the world. Her figure was flawless, fitted with a small prosthetic baby bump under her dress, one she had purchased online from a company specializing in "photo realism."

The sales assistant smiled and greeted her warmly. Lucy offered a breezy nod and began running her fingers through racks of designer clothes, humming to herself.

"Charge it," she said casually, holding up a silky white dress.

She knew Ethan would enjoy the fantasy of getting rid of her, cutting her loose with a few digital transfers and unanswered calls. But he was wrong. He could never get rid of her. Not really.

Not once did she have the baby. Even if she couldn’t carry one herself.

Her hand lingered on her flat stomach as she passed a mirror, eyes narrowing for a moment remembering the doctor’s words, the pain, the womb she no longer had.

Her reflection stared back at her. A lie. A perfect, stunning, untraceable lie.

Once she had his baby by any means Ethan’s life would be tethered to hers. There would be no breathing without her.

No peace. No freedom.

He just didn’t know it yet.

—

Mara’s baby bump was no longer just a gentle swell—it was a full declaration. At six months along and carrying twins, there was no denying the life growing inside her. Her once-loose blouses now clung desperately to the curve of her belly, and every morning felt like a battle between pride and panic as she stood before the mirror, wondering what on earth she could wear that wouldn’t invite whispers at the office.

But no amount of fabric could hide a truth that had become too big—too real—to ignore.

The last three months had been a whirlwind, a storm of loss, love, betrayal, and secrets. Losing Rhina and her unborn child had left an ache in the air, one that neither time nor distraction could ease. Philip’s arrest only added to the chaos—his stubborn refusal to accept the weight of his crimes kept the Shepherd brothers constantly on edge. Even with their wealth and power, they couldn’t relax, not for a second. They watched their backs. Trusted no one. And yet, somehow, they clung tightly to the small moments—the quiet ones, the meaningful ones. Because in times like these, those moments were gold.

Mara stood barefoot in her room, frustrated as she tossed aside yet another dress that didn’t fit.

"Damn it!" she hissed under her breath, her hands bracing against the sides of her belly. "Nothing fits!"

The door creaked open gently, and Steve stepped in with his usual calm presence, his smile soft, almost teasing.

"I heard the swearing all the way from the hallway. What did the poor dress do to you this time?"

Mara gave him a look, halfway between exhaustion and annoyance. "I can’t hide this anymore. Everything I wear makes me look like a whale, Steve."

He crossed the room with unhurried steps and picked up a soft, flowing lavender dress from the back of her chair. "You are pregnant, Stef. Carrying twins. It’s okay to look like it." His voice was gentle, yet firm. "Why do you keep trying to hide something so beautiful?"

She sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Because people talk, Steve. I walk into a room, and I can feel their eyes on me. She’s pregnant... where’s the husband? Isn’t she the one divorcing that guy? Who’s the father?"

Steve’s jaw tightened slightly, his smile fading into a serious line. "Let them talk. I’ll cut every tongue that speaks your name with anything less than respect," he said, his voice low, protective. "You’re better off alone than with a man who didn’t know what he had."

She swallowed hard. "You mean Ethan?"

Steve hesitated. "I mean anyone who didn’t love you the way you deserve. Ethan. Rafael. Every man who came into your life and couldn’t stay."

The mention of Rafael made something tighten in her chest. It had been three months since she’d heard from him. Not a call. Not even a text. And though she tried to convince herself she didn’t care, he was a gentleman and she was still a married woman. How could she, when every night her dreams were haunted by Ethan, by what they were, and what they could never be—some small, stubborn part of her still wondered how he was doing.

Their divorce would be finalized in three months. Three months, and she’d officially be free. Free to raise her children on her own. Free to rewrite her story. Free to finally stop looking back.

Steve held out the dress. "Try this one. It flows. You’ll look gorgeous."

She gave him a faint smile. "You’re always on my side."

"Always," he said, then paused. "Hey... would you come with me to the doctor’s tomorrow?"

Mara looked up, surprised. "I thought Stefan was going?"

"He is," Steve nodded. "But I want you there too."

Her heart softened. "Of course, I’ll be there."

There was something unspoken in the air between them. A tenderness, unforced and quiet, lingering just long enough to make Mara wonder what it might become—if only time and healing allowed it.

For now, she reached for the dress and whispered, "Thank you."

Steve smiled. "Anytime."