Hell Hath no fury like a billionaire's Ex-Chapter 102: The Snake’s Head

Liam’s POV

Morning arrived like an unwelcome guest, sunlight slicing through the gaps in my curtains. I’d barely slept, Holbrook’s words echoing in my mind throughout the night. I’m dropping your case... My decision is final. Another abandonment to add to my growing collection.

My weekend routine offered little comfort—black coffee, two painkillers for the persistent ache in my side, mindless scrolling through news I couldn’t bear to read fully. The mansion felt cavernous and empty, my footsteps echoing on marble floors as I paced from room to room, a restless ghost haunting his own life.

The intercom’s harsh buzz shattered my brooding silence.

"Mr. Ashton?" My head of security—Marcus’s voice crackled through the system. "There are police officers at the gate, sir. They’re requesting to speak with you."

Ice flooded my veins. "Police? Did they say what about?"

"No, sir. Just that they need to speak with you urgently. Detective Caleb and Officer Ruby."

My mind raced through possibilities. Had Diane filed some new complaint? Had Noah reported our confrontation? No—Noah wouldn’t stoop so low, not after everything we’d been through together. Would he?

"Let them in," I said finally, straightening my robe and running a hand through my disheveled hair. "I’ll meet them in the foyer."

I steadied myself against the wall, catching my reflection in the decorative mirror hanging in the hallway. Christ. I looked like hell—stubble darkening my jaw, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot. Not exactly the image of an innocent man.

I splashed cold water on my face in the downstairs bathroom and ran damp hands through my hair, attempting to tame it into something presentable. A quick gargle of mouthwash to mask the stench of alcohol. It would have to do.

I changed quickly into jeans and a casual button-down—nothing too formal, nothing that suggested I’d been expecting them. Just a man interrupted during his weekend.

The doorbell rang as I took a deep breath, arranging my features into a mask of mild curiosity before opening the door.

Two officers stood on my doorstep—a tall, stern-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and a younger woman whose sharp eyes seemed to catalog everything about me in an instant.

"Mr. Liam Ashton?" the male officer asked.

"That’s right," I replied, my voice steady despite the adrenaline beginning to course through my system. "What can I do for the police on this fine Saturday morning?"

"I’m Detective Caleb. This is Officer Ruby," both flashing their badges. "May we come in? We’d like to ask you a few questions."

I stepped aside, gesturing them into the foyer with what I hoped looked like relaxed compliance. "Of course. Can I offer you coffee? Water?"

"No, thank you," Caleb said, his eyes scanning the opulent entrance hall. "This shouldn’t take long."

I led them to the living room, wincing slightly as we passed the whiskey bottle still on the coffee table from last night. "Please, have a seat. How can I help the police department today?"

Detective Caleb remained standing, while Officer Ruby perched on the edge of an armchair, notepad in hand. "Mr. Ashton, we’re investigating a complaint filed by your wife, Diane Ashton."

"Soon-to-be ex-wife," I corrected automatically, settling into my chair with feigned ease.

Caleb nodded. "Yes, we’re aware of your situation. Mrs. Ashton has filed a police report regarding being followed and potentially threatened."

And there it was. The other shoe dropping.

I widened my eyes, adopting an expression of concern. "Threatened? No, I had no idea. Is Diane alright?"

"Mrs. Ashton is fine," Ruby said, watching my reaction closely. "But she’s concerned for her safety. Someone has been following her—a man matching the description of a professional private investigator."

I shook my head, the picture of bewilderment. "That’s disturbing to hear. But I’m not sure what this has to do with me?"

Caleb’s gaze hardened slightly. "Mrs. Ashton suggested you might have hired someone to keep tabs on her. Given the... contentious nature of your separation."

My heart thundered in my chest, but I kept my expression neutral, even mildly offended. "Excuse me? That’s ridiculous. Why would I do something like that?"

"That’s what we’re here to determine," Officer Ruby said, her pen poised over her notepad. "Given the contentious nature of your divorce—"

"Contentious," I interrupted with a bitter laugh. "That’s one way to put it. I’m sure you’ve seen the interview? The one where she dragged my name through the mud on national television?"

"We’re not here about the interview, Mr. Ashton," Caleb said firmly. "We’re here because a pregnant woman feels threatened. We take such matters very seriously."

I flinched involuntarily at the mention of Diane’s pregnancy. The twins. My children. A fleeting image of them crossed my mind—children I might never know.

"So do I," I said, composing myself. "And I resent the implication that I would endanger the mother of my children, regardless of our personal differences."

Caleb studied me, his expression giving nothing away. "Where were you last Tuesday between noon and three PM?"

I didn’t hesitate. "At home, recovering. My driver, Thomas, can confirm. He brought me medications and some takeout."

A convenient truth—Thomas had indeed visited, though not for medication. Still, he’d back my story if asked.

"Can anyone verify that?" Ruby asked, scribbling something in her notebook.

"My security, and my driver, Thomas." I spread my hands in a gesture of openness. "Look, I understand you’re doing your job, but this is absurd. Diane is..." I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "She’s not been herself lately. The pregnancy, the stress, she’s become paranoid."

"Paranoid enough to imagine a man following her?" Caleb asked, reaching into his jacket to withdraw several photos. He placed them on the coffee table between us. "This individual was captured by your soon-to-be ex-wife at a café where she and her attorney were grabbing breakfast."

I leaned forward to examine the photos, keeping my expression carefully blank. The images showed a broad-shouldered man in sunglasses, his face partially obscured but still recognizable to anyone who knew him.

"I’ve never seen this person before," I lied smoothly. "And I certainly didn’t hire him to follow Diane."

"We tracked this individual to an abandoned building on the east side of town," Caleb continued, his eyes never leaving my face. "Inside, we found a photograph of your wife with a red X drawn across her face."

A chill ran down my spine. That wasn’t part of the plan. Jackson was supposed to just gather information and shadow Diane, nothing more.

"That’s..." I shook my head, genuine shock mixing with my performance. "That’s disturbing. Have you identified this person?"

"Not yet," Ruby replied. "But we will. Mr. Ashton, this appears to be an actual threat."

I stood abruptly, pacing toward the window. "Well, I had nothing to do with it. Nothing. Diane and I may have our differences, but I would never—" I turned back to face them. "Never threaten her safety. Or the safety of my children."

Caleb watched me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Ashton, do you know anyone who would want to harm your soon-to-be ex-wife? Perhaps a friend or business associate who might think they’re helping you?"

An image of Jackson flashed through my mind.

"No," I said firmly. "No one."

Caleb sighed, collecting the photos and returning them to his jacket. "Well, if you think of anything that might help our investigation, please call me directly." He handed me his card. "And Mr. Ashton? I strongly advise you to avoid any contact with Mrs. Ashton for the foreseeable future. For your own sake as much as hers."

"I haven’t spoken to Diane in weeks," I replied truthfully. "Not since..." The hospital. The threat. The escape. The memories flooded back, but I pushed them away.

The officers exchanged glances, and Ruby closed her notebook. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Ashton. We’ll see ourselves out."

I followed them to the door anyway, maintaining the façade of the cooperative citizen. "I hope you find whoever’s responsible," I said, the perfect blend of concern and indignation. "Diane shouldn’t have to live in fear, especially not in her condition."

Detective Caleb paused at the threshold, turning back to fix me with a penetrating stare. "We will find them, Mr. Ashton. The department won’t rest until we do. Good day."

I closed the door behind them, waiting until I heard their car pull away before I let my mask slip. "That was close," I muttered, sliding down against the door until I sat on the marble floor, heart racing. "What the hell was that?"

Jackson had gone rogue. That was the only explanation. I’d hired Jackson to gather information, to report on Diane’s movements, her meetings, her plans—not to threaten her, not to leave evidence, not to draw police attention. And now he’d disappeared completely, leaving me to face the consequences.

"Damn it!" I slammed my fist against the floor, pain shooting up my arm. The momentary physical discomfort was almost a relief from the maelstrom of my thoughts.

I pushed myself up, stumbling back to the living room to pour another drink despite the early hour. The amber liquid burned down my throat, steadying my nerves just enough to think clearly.

The shrill ring of my phone cut through the silence, making me jump. Guerrero’s name flashed on the screen, and my jaw clenched involuntarily. What did that bastard want now?

"What?" I answered, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Liam," Guerrero’s voice was cold, businesslike. "I trust you received my previous messages about the financial reports."

"I’ve been busy," I replied curtly, taking another sip of whiskey.

"Your personal problems are not my concern. The board requires those documents immediately. Every transaction, every account, every detail of Synergy Sphere’s finances under your leadership."

The demand hit me like a slap. "You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think—"

"My patience is wearing thin, Liam," Guerrero interrupted, his voice hardening. "Provide those reports within the next forty-eight hours, or I’ll be forced to take drastic action against you."

I laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. "You should remember what I told you the last time, Guerrero. About Ocean Drive. I’m not bluffing, and I would make sure to present the evidence of my findings to the board. You cannot take Synergy Sphere from me."

There was a pause, then Guerrero’s voice returned, dismissive and cold. "Empty threats, Liam. You have nothing."

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone, Guerrero’s dismissal echoing in my ears. But instead of anger, a slow smile spread across my face. His silence, his quick dismissal—that wasn’t confidence. That was fear. Cold feet. I had hooked him, and he knew it.

Setting down my glass, I made my way to my private study, my steps purposeful now. Hidden behind a false panel in the wall was my personal safe, a secret I’d never shared with anyone. I punched in the code, and as the safe swung open, I reached inside.

My fingers closed around a photograph, and I withdrew it slowly. The image showed a beautiful woman with striking features—youthful, attractive, her smile radiant and knowing. Natasha.

My call girl. My secret indulgence. For over a year, she had been meeting me at the Ritz-Carlton, usually on the second Tuesday of every month, sometimes more when the pressure became unbearable. She was skilled at her profession, discreet, and understood exactly what I needed—release without complications.

I held the picture, brushing my thumb against her face. "Natasha, oh Natasha," I murmured. "You’re one hell of a bitch, and thank you for making this easy for me to hold Guerrero by the balls."

She had wanted more, of course. Had hinted at something serious between us, something beyond our transactional relationship. But I had never seen her as more than what she was—an escort, a means to an end.

Reaching deeper into the safe, I found the manila envelope tucked carefully at the back, hidden properly among other documents. My fingers trembled slightly as I opened it and withdrew two photographs.

The first showed Natasha and Guerrero in a coffee shop, his hand placed intimately over hers across the table. The second was even more damning—Guerrero hugging Natasha outside the Ocean Drive apartment building.

For a moment, I considered confronting Natasha about her affair with Guerrero, but I quickly dismissed the thought. She was just my call girl. It would be pointless. Guerrero was my target, and since I knew about Natasha—had a history with her—I could leverage this information against him perfectly. Why would the righteous board member be seen with a call girl? I couldn’t blackmail Natasha, but I could definitely blackmail Guerrero.

"If you want to kill a snake," I said aloud, gripping the photographs, "it’s better to cut off the head of the snake."

My smile widened as I pulled out my phone and carefully photographed both images. I attached them to a message and typed: "I know about your affair, and that you are cheating on your wife. The same thing you’re saying I’m doing, you’re also guilty."

I hit send.

Sliding the phone into my pocket, I grinned. "Let the game begin," I said to the room.

I will make sure to destroy Guerrero for what he’d done. Present this evidence to the board, expose his hypocrisy, regain control of my company. And then I’d deal with Diane and her little police friends.

"I won’t send the financial report he’s asking for. What’s with the sudden request anyway? Guerrero can go to hell."

But as I walked back to put the manila envelope back in the safe, realization dawned on me. Something wasn’t right. The safe wasn’t the way I had left it months ago. Items were slightly displaced, papers in a different order.

My heart racing, I hurried to where I had hidden the secret key. The key was there, untouched. I returned to the safe and began pulling out the remaining documents, checking to see if everything was intact.

To my greatest surprise, some files were missing. Important files—My company and house deeds—offshore accounts documents—proof of financial impropriety. My eyes widened in shock, these were damning documents. Who had taken them? I had no idea.

Frantically, I went to check the security footage from when Noah had last visited. But Noah hadn’t even gone near this room during his visit. I kept checking, rewinding, fast-forwarding through hours of footage, but couldn’t find anything suspicious.

And then it hit me like a physical blow. Someone else had been here. Someone who knew about the safe, knew the combination, knew exactly what to look for.

I sank into my chair, the photographs still clutched in my hand, as the terrible realization washed over me.

It was over for me.