The Billionaire CEO Betrays his Wife: He wants her back-Chapter 132: This Isn’t a Dream

It was barely dawn, and the house still slept. But he couldn’t not after what he read in Mara’s diary, and certainly not with the weight of her pain clawing at his chest. Her confusion, her loneliness, the way she still craved Ethan even when her logic screamed otherwise—it haunted him.

He stood in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, staring into nothing.

Soon, he wasn’t alone.

Stanley walked in next, hair slightly disheveled, but his composure still intact. He gave a silent nod and poured himself a drink. Then came Stanford, his usual calm tinged with something darker, that morning quiet fury he hadn’t yet voiced.

Finally, Stefan wandered in, barefoot, rubbing the back of his neck. "Didn’t sleep either," he muttered.

No one responded. They didn’t need to. They were all thinking the same thing. Then came the knock at the back door, soft but firm. The maid appeared moments later, hesitant. "Sirs... um, Ethan is at the gate." The room went still.

Rage sharp and immediate flared in the air like a match struck too close to open flame. All four brothers stilled, shoulders tight, eyes hard.

Steve was the first to speak. "Let him in." The others turned to him, surprised, and he said simply. "Support, not control." They exchanged looks loaded, reluctance. Then they nodded.

—

Ethan stepped into the house with steady eyes but a clenched jaw. He looked ready to be punched—or maybe just bracing for it. None of the brothers moved to shake his hand.

Steve led. Stanley stood beside him like a silent blade. Stanford folded his arms, saying nothing, but his presence screamed judgment. Stefan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"You’re lucky she still thinks of you," Steve said, his voice low, even. "Because if this were about us, you’d be gone before you could take another breath." freēwēbηovel.c૦m

Ethan didn’t respond. Stanley added, "We don’t trust you. We wish we didn’t have to see you again."

"But we aren’t the ones you hurt the most," Stanford said quietly. "She is." Stefan tilted his head. "So here’s the deal."

"You’re here because of the babies," Steve said. "That’s it." Stanley stepped forward. "You make her sad, and we’re done pretending to tolerate you."

"You make her cry again, even a drop of tears—" Stefan said, stepping closer, "and we’ll make sure you never see her or your children again. That’s not a threat. That’s a promise."

Ethan took it all in, every word, every warning, and simply nodded. "Understood."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Don’t make us regret this."

And that was the end of it.

They allow him in not because they accept him, but because they accept her right to choose.

Back to present.

Steve stood off to the side, silent, watching as Mara and Ethan faced one another in the living room. They hadn’t spoken a word since she came down the stairs. They were just standing there.

But the air between them was alive.

Tense. Breathless. Burning.

He wondered if she was thinking about the dream she’d clearly had. He wondered if Ethan felt it, too that invisible thread still tying them together.

Stanley walked past and muttered low, "You think she’s gonna forgive him?" Steve didn’t answer. He only watched as Mara’s hand drifted to her stomach. Ethan’s eyes followed.

There it was again. The ache. The want. The unresolved. Steve exhaled slowly. It’s not our choice. But God, it hurt to watch. Mara swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.

The silence had stretched too long. She couldn’t take the weight of it anymore—the way Ethan’s eyes held hers like a silent confession, the way her brothers were watching, not saying a word, yet saying everything.

She forced herself to speak, her voice soft and almost uncertain. "What... what are you doing here, Ethan?"

Her gaze flickered to Steve, guilty like she had broken some rule by saying his name out loud. Like her heart had betrayed her logic again. But Steve—he surprised her.

He offered her a gentle, almost amused smile. "Breakfast’s served." She blinked.

"What?" Steve took a sip of his coffee. "It’s outside. In the garden. Just for two." Mara stared, stunned. "You... set up breakfast?" Stanley gave a short nod, barely looking up from his phone. "The maid did. We just said yes."

Stefan added, "We figured you’d want to eat. Eventually."

Stanford arched a brow, arms still crossed. "And maybe talk. You’ve got things to say, yeah?"

Mara opened her mouth, then closed it. These were her brothers—the same ones who’d interrogated every guy who so much as blinked at her. Now they were sending her off for a garden breakfast with Ethan?

The shock on her face must’ve been obvious. Steve gave a small shrug. "We love you, Stef. We’re not here to make your choices. Just to make sure you’re okay after you make them."

His voice held warmth. And a warning.

She looked back at Ethan, who hadn’t moved, still watching her with unreadable eyes.

Mara hesitated, then finally nodded. "Okay." She turned slowly, and Ethan stepped beside her. They walked out together through the patio doors, sunlight spilling onto the stone path that led to the garden.

The table was small and round, dressed in soft linen with two plates set side by side. Fresh juice, steaming eggs, toast, and sliced fruit. Intimate. Simple. Heavy with unspoken intention.

Mara sat down, trying not to feel exposed. Ethan pulled out his chair, his voice low. "They set this up?"

"I guess so," she said, her tone still unsure.

But before either of them could speak again, she felt it.

The gaze.

She turned slightly and looked back through the glass wall leading into the house. And there they were. Steve. Stanley. Stanford. Stefan.

All four of them were seated at the indoor dining table, sipping coffee, not eating, not talking. Just... watching. No disguise. No pretense. Ethan followed her gaze and let out a short breath. "Wow."

Mara shook her head with a half-laugh. "They said they were giving us privacy."

"They’re your brothers," Ethan muttered. "This is their version of privacy." And still, they sat. Like bodyguards in suits and T-shirts. Unmoving. Unblinking.

Unapologetically protective. Mara sighed, picked up her fork, and said, "Let’s eat before they decide to ’casually’ join us." Ethan gave her a small smile, and finally, they began.

The clinking of cutlery on porcelain filled the air as Ethan and Mara ate in near silence. The garden was quiet, too quiet with the soft breeze occasionally rustling the leaves overhead. But neither of them was relaxed. The air between them was charged not with anger, not anymore, but with something heavier... maybe something like regret.

Ethan glanced up, his voice soft, "Did you... read the letter?" Mara paused mid-bite. Her fingers tensed around her fork. She didn’t look at him right away. "Yeah," she said simply. "I did."

He waited, but she didn’t continue. Instead, she sighed and finally met his eyes, a small forced smile tugging at her lips. "But I don’t want to talk about the sad stuff right now. Not here."

Ethan blinked. "Why?"

"Because my brothers are literally watching us," she said under her breath, flicking her gaze toward the glass wall behind them.

Sure enough, four tall shadows sat motionless at the table inside. Steve had the newspaper up but hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes. Stanley was pretending to sip coffee, but it was clearly cold. Stefan and Stanford were just... staring.

Ethan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "They will never trust me."

"They’re watching to see if I cry," Mara said, then added dryly, "so they can throw you into the rose bushes."

Ethan smiled, but his eyes softened with guilt. "I’m serious," she said, though her voice was lighter. "So... let’s not talk about crying or heartbreak or what went wrong."

Ethan tilted his head. "Then what do we talk about?"

"Something happy," she said quickly, then leaned back in her seat and folded her arms. "Like... how we met."

He blinked, startled. "You remember that?"

"Of course, I remember the bar refused to sell me a drink and you didn’t offer me a drink but instead dragged me to a towel-stained rooftop for a view of the city."

Ethan laughed, finally. "I told you the drink won’t do the trick."

"You said and I quote ’If I buy you a drink, you’ll think I’m trying to impress you. And I don’t believe in tricking people into liking me.’" He rubbed his chin, grinning. "Wow. That was either confidence or stupidity."

"You forgot ’annoying, I swear I badly needed that drink,’" Mara teased. Their laughter floated between them like a bridge awkward at first, but then effortless. Familiar. Like dusting off an old memory that had always been too painful to touch before.

"You remember what you did after that?" she asked, tilting her head, her voice gentler now.

Ethan smirked. "You mean when I casually proposed marriage after one overpriced bottle of sparkling water and half a muffin?"

She burst out laughing. "It wasn’t even a muffin. It was a stale croissant!"

"And I’m still mad Steph interrupted the moment," he said. "I thought, if you said no, at least I’d have to try something else to win you."

They laughed again, real, whole, unbroken. For a moment, it felt like time had rewound to a version of them untouched by betrayal.