The Billionaire CEO Betrays his Wife: He wants her back-Chapter 146: In the Ashes

Lucy’s laughter echoed off the walls of the Anderson Mansion like a haunting lullaby. She twirled around in her silk robe, baby Andrew cradled in her arms as if he were her crown jewel.

"They’re all mourning a building!" she laughed breathlessly, kissing Andrew’s chubby cheek. "And you, my darling... are safe. You’re mine. No one will take you from me."

She paced the marble floors like a queen inspecting her castle, certain the world was finally tilting in her favor.

"No one can prove anything now," she whispered, rocking the baby gently. "The warehouse is gone. Philip’s probably dead. And that poor girl? She’ll believe her baby died in that explosion. The pain will eat her alive, and Ethan will only have me to lean on."

Her smile widened like a crack in the porcelain. "This... is perfect."

—

Vera’s eyes welled up as she turned to her mother. "I need to tell you everything, Mom."

And she did.

Every word. Every detail. About the key. The warehouse. Philip’s threat. The explosion. The guilt poured out of her like poison, her chest heaving when it was over.

Valerie was silent. Pale. Shaking.

She pulled Vera into her arms without saying a word, just held her tightly.

—

At the hospital, Mrs. Bella’s eyes fluttered open for the first time since her fall.

Ethan stood at the door, barely breathing. The doctor was too solemn.

"She’s awake," he said, "but... she’s in a vegetative state. Her brain function is extremely limited. There’s no indication of full cognitive recovery at this time."

Ethan approached the bed, tears running freely.

"Mom," he whispered. "It’s me. It’s your son." Bella blinked slowly. Her head tilted slightly toward the sound of her son’s voice, but there was no recognition. No squeeze of the hand. No smile.

Just... a void.

Ethan’s voice cracked. "I need you now, more than ever. Everything is just wrong."

The doctor placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Ethan kissed his mother’s forehead. "Please don’t stop fighting." As he stepped out of the room, his grief slowly solidified into something stronger. Determination.

—-

The house was too quiet.

A heavy, suffocating kind of silence blanketed the air, Mara lay curled on her side, her back to the door, the sheets tangled around her legs like chains. The once-pristine bedroom was now dim and untouched, curtains drawn, the light afraid to enter. She hadn’t moved in hours. She barely blinked. Only her shallow, rhythmic breathing proved she was still alive.

Her brothers took turns pacing outside her room like helpless sentinels. None of them knew what to do.

She had screamed when the officers arrived. Not with volume, but with silence. That kind of silence made grown men uneasy. They had handed over a small metal box, and the youngest officer mumbled his partial remains. They couldn’t confirm anything yet not without DNA. But they believed it could be... him.

Baby Andrew. Her Andrew.

The moment Mara saw the box, her knees gave out. She collapsed right there on the carpeted stairs like something in her soul had been severed. Her brothers caught her, but she wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t scream. She just went... still.

Now, she lay in that bed, unmoving, as the news clawed its way deeper into her heart. The weight of it pressed on her chest like a stone. The doctors came.

She didn’t speak to them. A nurse brought IV fluids. She tore them out. The food sat untouched on a tray by the door. Water, juice, and she refused. Her body ached, but not from hunger. It ached from absence. From a hollow space where her child had once existed.

The brothers tried one by one.

Steve came first, kneeling by her bedside, his usually sharp voice soft and pleading.

"Please, Stef. You have to eat something. Just a sip of water, just to keep going."

She didn’t look at him.

Then Stanley. Always the problem-solver. He tried to bargain. "We’ll find out for sure. It might not even be him. The tests, Stef, we don’t know yet."

But she knew. In her bones, she knew when the baby stared at her before everything went into flames.

Stanford came with more gentleness than she expected, brushing her hair back and whispering, "You’re not alone. We’re right here and we understand your pain."

And even Stefan, sweet, wide-eyed Stefan, who brought her a teddy bear that had once belonged to baby Andrew, bought it thinking of him. His hands shook as he placed it beside her on the bed.

Still, nothing. She stared past them all. Through them. She wasn’t here anymore.

It wasn’t until they tried to coax her again, just one more sip of water, one more attempt to anchor her to the living, that Mara stirred. Her voice came, quiet but sharp as glass.

"Please, I want to be alone."

"Stef—"

"All of you. Out, please."

They hesitated. Steve was the last to move.

She turned her face slowly toward them for the first time in days, and what they saw in her eyes wasn’t just grief. It was something deeper. A quiet, blistering surrender.

"I said goodbye to him already," she whispered. "The rest is just noise."

And so they left.

They stood outside her door, stunned, defeated. Even Stanford, the one who always had a plan, could only press a hand to his mouth to stop the trembling.

Inside the room, Mara finally sat up.

Her hand reached for the little silver box on the table. She held it in her lap, her fingers tracing its smooth edges.

She closed her eyes.

"I’m sorry," she whispered to the ashes, "Mommy’s sorry she couldn’t save you." A single tear slid down her cheek. "And I love you. Every day. Forever."

She held the box close to her chest, rocked gently back and forth, and let herself drift to a place only she and Andrew would ever know.

The burial was quiet.

A breeze whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves like a soft lullaby. Only close family attended. No press. No photographers. Just a handful of souls carrying a weight too heavy for words.

Mara stood at the edge of the small grave, draped in black, her veil covering the hollow look in her eyes. She said nothing as the box was lowered. She didn’t flinch when the first handful of earth fell. She didn’t cry. There were no tears left in her body.

Her brothers surrounded her like shadows, but none could touch her pain. Not anymore.

After the final blessing, Mara walked away in silence, heels crunching softly on gravel. She left before the sun could fully rise as if daylight was too much to bear.

She returned to her bed. Same sheets. Same air. Same haunting silence. Hours passed. Maybe days. Time is blurred at the edges.

And then the door creaked.

At first, she didn’t stir. Everyone had been told to stay away. But the footsteps weren’t cautious like the others’. They were slow. Purposeful.

Mara’s eyes opened, lashes heavy. She turned her head just enough to see the silhouette standing at the edge of her room.

He said nothing at first. He just looked at her, taking in the wreckage of a once indomitable woman; her hair was unbrushed, her skin was pale, and her eyes were rimmed with exhaustion and rage.

He finally spoke, voice low and razor-sharp.

"Tell me whose head you want first." The words sliced through the air like a blade.

Mara blinked. Her breath caught. For a moment, something flickered behind her grief. Something ancient. Something burning. Her fingers curled against the sheets as she slowly sat up, the weight of sorrow shifting just slightly to make room for something else.

Revenge.

"The police couldn’t give it to me, you think you can?" she asked, her voice a whisper cracked by grief.

He didn’t answer. "The police don’t have my contact with the dark web," he said. "Just say the word. I’ll take care of the rest." Her voice was clearer now. Colder. Alive.

"I want Philip’s head, how do you give me that?" she asked again.

"A man like Philip can be found in just two places," he said, his voice steady as he lit a cigarette and leaned against the windowsill. "The strip club and the casino. Easy to launder money and drugs. We smoke every single one of them until they’re dry. Once we cut his cash flow—"

He turned to look at her, eyes burning with promise.

"—We can have his head."

The words didn’t make Mara flinch. She simply looked at him, the quiet fire behind her gaze slowly taking shape. She was no longer the woman who begged the universe for mercy. She wasn’t looking for closure anymore.

She was building her warpath.

Outside, the wind tugged at the curtains, a soft whisper compared to the storm brewing inside her chest. She had buried her son. Now she would bury everyone who helped put him in the ground.

She shifted on the bed, legs crossed, back straight—still in black, but not for mourning.

For battle.

"You never called," she said finally, voice like velvet over the glass. Her eyes didn’t meet his, but the meaning hung thick between them.