The Billionaire CEO Betrays his Wife: He wants her back-Chapter 247: Life afterwards

It had been four years.

Four years since Refael closed his eyes for the last time. Four years since the silence of his absence became the loudest sound in Mara’s life. The world had moved on—but she hadn’t. Not entirely.

Mara sat alone on the balcony of the Shepherd estate, the sky streaked with fading gold as the sun dipped low behind the hills. Her fingers toyed with a velvet box, frayed at the edges from years of being opened and closed, touched and tucked away.

Inside was the ring.

Simple. Elegant. A solitaire diamond band, Refael had picked himself. He’d never gotten the chance to slip it onto her finger, not the way he imagined. Not the way he’d dreamed. She closes the box, which she had never worn. Not once.

The wind whispered like an old friend, brushing gently through her hair. A familiar ache pressed against her ribs, but it no longer crushed her. It lived beside her now. Grief had learned to quiet itself, allowing space for something else—purpose.

She had mourned Refael with every heartbeat. But she had also honored him. In the years since he passed, she’d established a new arm of the Shepherd Foundation—Rafael’s Hope—a tribute to the man who had devoted his life to compassion. She carried his dreams forward, helping the needy, the broken, and the forgotten, just as he once did. His name lived on, not in stone, but in action. In light.

Mara’s days were filled with sticky hands, scattered toys, and the chaos of laughter in every corner of the house. Her family had grown, and so had her heart.

But it was Isabella who reminded her that life still held miracles.

Once fragile, once tethered to machines and uncertain futures, Isabella was now a healthy five-year-old with spring in her step and sunshine in her smile. Mara had poured everything into finding a cure—a treatment that had worked. Against the odds, against the timeline, against the fear, they had done it. Isabella now ran through the garden where Mara had once wept, and the girl’s laughter was the sweetest redemption.

Every day, Isabella looked more like her mother—Maria Isabel—her best friend, her sister in spirit, lost in the same breath as Refael.

Mara kept Maria’s memory alive in small, sacred ways. She told Isabella stories—about their adventures, their friendship, about how Maria used to sing when no one was watching, and always cried during happy endings. On her fifth birthday, Mara had knelt down beside her and fastened a delicate pendant around the girl’s neck. Inside was a tiny photo of Maria, laughing.

"She lives in your heart now," Mara whispered. "And mine." And sweet Isabella, she wore the pendant proudly every day, often kissing it before bed. "Goodnight, Mama," she’d whisper to the photo inside.

And Andrew and Audrey—the miracle twins—were growing into their own unique brilliance. Andrew, with his unruly curls and quiet gaze, had already begun decoding patterns in everything from puzzles to basic coding games. His teachers often shook their heads in disbelief, claiming he was five going on fifteen. He wasn’t loud, but when he spoke, the room listened. He had Ethan’s focus. His steadiness. He was already fiercely protective, always watching over his sisters like a quiet guardian.

Audrey, on the other hand, was a whirlwind of confidence and fire. Sharp-tongued, bright-eyed, and always two steps ahead. She reminded Mara of herself at that age—curious, bold, and wildly protective of her siblings. Whenever Isabella was teased at the park, Audrey would step forward with her hands on her hips, ready to defend. No one messed with her tribe.

The house was filled with noise, with messes, with laughter—and Mara wouldn’t trade a second of it, and when it came to the Shepherd brothers, they had evolved. Their family had known grief, yes, but healing had woven itself into their lives in unexpected and beautiful ways.

Steve, once a shadow of himself, had found healing not just in medicine but in love. Though the treatment had left lasting headaches and rendered natural conception impossible, he found strength in Monica, a long-time family friend whose heart had always held a soft space for him. Their baby, conceived through surrogacy, was two months away from arriving. Steve had never smiled as much as he did now with Monica.

Stanley, once the eternal bachelor, had been swept off his feet by Lia, a vibrant, gentle woman who matched him stride for stride. Their home was chaotic in the best ways—one child was already toddling around while another babbled from a high chair. Mara often joked that their house looked like a daycare, and they loved it. There were rumors Lia might be pregnant again. Stanley hadn’t confirmed it yet, but his glow said enough.

Stanford remained a paradox. Still unmarried, still clinging to his "bad boy era," as he called it. But he had softened. He was a proud father to two beautiful children from different mothers—women he respected and co-parented with peacefully. He wasn’t perfect, but he showed up. And in his own wild way, he was building a life full of love, even if it didn’t follow the rules.

And then there was Stefan—the quiet one, the most broken one, now finally steady. He had married a woman unlike any of his past flings—strong, simple, with a calming presence that grounded him. She was nine months pregnant, due any day. His transformation had been the most surprising—and the most beautiful. He still had his sharp wit, but now he used it to make his wife laugh and soothe her nerves with late-night foot rubs.

No, he didn’t marry Aveline. That Chapter had closed when scandal shattered her world. One of her obsessed clients had leaked her sex tape, and she vanished shortly after, leaving behind silence, headlines, and regret. Stefan never looked back. He had found peace elsewhere, in someone quiet and good and full of grace.

Oh, and Vera was glowing, waddling around her kitchen while her husband trailed behind with two bags of baby supplies she hadn’t asked for. Her laugh came easier these days. Velarie, ever the mystery, was still private about her love life, though Mara had caught her sneaking a smile at her phone more than once. There was someone... but no one was allowed to know just yet.

And then—yes, believe it or not—Mrs. Bella had tied the knot again. Her seventh husband, a silver-haired charmer with a golden laugh, had somehow managed to sweep her off her well-pedicured feet. She looked happy. Truly happy. And everyone hoped, this time, it would last.

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