Hell Hath no fury like a billionaire's Ex-Chapter 103: At What Cost

Diane’s POV

The shrill ring of my phone pierced through the morning quiet, startling me from my thoughts as I sat at Joan’s kitchen table, absently stirring my tea. Guerrero’s name flashed on the screen, and I felt my pulse quicken. After his cold, dismissive response to the Elite Group contract, I wasn’t sure what to expect from him.

"Mrs. Ashton," his voice came through the line, and I was surprised by how different he sounded...subdued, almost vulnerable. Gone was the confident, commanding tone I’d grown accustomed to. "I hope I’m not calling too early."

"Not at all," I replied cautiously. "What can I do for you, Mr. Guerrero?"

There was a long pause, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a weight I’d never heard before. "I owe you an apology, Diane. A lot has been going on with me lately, and that’s why I haven’t reached out to you properly since... well, since you secured that incredible contract with Elite Group. I know my response was inadequate, and I’m sorry."

I blinked, taken aback by this unexpected turn. "I... thank you for saying that."

"I have something important to tell you," he continued, his voice heavy with emotion. "Something that explains my behavior, and why I’ve been... hesitant about moving forward with our previous discussions. Would you be able to come meet me? There’s a popular coffee shop downtown lla’s Café on Main Street. Would that work for you?"

The vulnerability in his voice was so unexpected, so unlike the composed businessman I knew, that I found myself agreeing before I could think twice. "Yes, I can be there. What time?"

"Would eleven work? And Diane... thank you. I know I don’t deserve your understanding, but I’m grateful for it nonetheless." free𝑤ebnovel.com

After we hung up, I sat staring at my phone, trying to process this dramatic shift in Guerrero’s demeanor. What could possibly have happened to transform the confident, sometimes ruthless businessman into someone who sounded almost... broken?

I made my way upstairs to get ready, my mind spinning with possibilities. I chose a simple free dress, paired with comfortable flats. As I applied a light touch of makeup.

Coming back downstairs, I found Andrew—my father—sitting at the kitchen table with Joan, both of them engaged in quiet conversation over coffee.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, looking up as I entered the kitchen, his silver hair catching the morning light streaming through the windows.

"Guerrero wants to meet," I explained, reaching for my purse. "He called this morning, sounded... different. Apologetic. He wants to talk about something important."

Andrew’s expression immediately shifted to concern. "Different how? Diane, given everything that’s been happening with Liam, I don’t like the idea of you meeting with anyone without proper precautions."

Joan nodded in agreement, setting down her coffee cup. "He’s right, honey. Especially after how strange Guerrero was acting about the Elite contract. Something doesn’t feel right."

I sighed, understanding their concern but feeling confident in my decision. "He sounded genuine, vulnerable even. Not like he’s planning anything manipulative. More like... like he’s carrying some heavy burden."

"That may be true," Andrew said, standing up with the authoritative presence that had built his empire, "but if you’re going to meet him, the security detail goes with you. No arguments."

I started to protest, but he held up a hand, his expression showing no disagreement. "Diane, I just found you again. I’m not about to risk losing you to whatever game Liam might be playing. And don’t think I won’t go upstairs and tell your mother if you try to refuse."

The mention of Mom made my heart ache, I can’t risk having her worry. Even after all these years, he knew exactly which buttons to push to get me to comply. "Fine," I conceded. "The security can come."

As I headed toward the door, I heard Joan’s voice behind me, speaking to Andrew in a tone filled with knowing satisfaction. "Perfect timing."

I paused, curious about what she meant, but decided I didn’t have time to investigate. Whatever understanding had passed between my father and my best friend could wait. Right now, I needed to focus on whatever Guerrero was about to reveal.

The drive to Bella’s Café was quiet, the security detail maintaining their professional distance while staying close enough to intervene if necessary. I watched the familiar streets of the town pass by, my mind churning with possibilities about what could have prompted such a dramatic change in Guerrero’s behavior.

Ella’s Café was a charming little establishment that had been a local favorite for decades, with its exposed brick walls, vintage photographs, and the perpetual aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. I spotted Guerrero immediately, sitting at a corner table near the back, his usually impeccable appearance slightly disheveled. When he saw me enter with the security detail, his eyebrows rose in question.

I made my way over to him, gesturing for the security to take positions near the entrance where they could observe without being intrusive. "I’ve been cautious since Liam started going rogue," I explained as I pulled out a chair and sat down across from him.

Guerrero nodded slowly, his understanding evident. "I don’t blame you. Recent events have... opened my eyes to just how far some people will go when they feel cornered."

Up close, I could see the strain etched in his features—dark circles under his eyes, deeper lines around his mouth, a tension in his shoulders that spoke of sleepless nights and heavy burdens. This was not the composed, intimidating businessman who had challenged me in that meeting with the rest of the board members. This was a man who looked genuinely haunted.

"So," I said gently, settling back in my chair, "what’s this meeting about? And why did you call me here when you seemed so... withdrawn about my winning the Elite contract? It felt like you were trying to back away from our initial agreement."

Guerrero’s hands wrapped around his coffee cup as if seeking warmth, and when he looked up at me, his eyes held a pain so raw it took my breath away. "You’re right to question that, Diane. My behavior has been inexcusable, and it all comes back to what I need to tell you."

He paused, seeming to gather himself before continuing. "Liam has refused to provide the financial reports I requested. Without those documents, I don’t really have concrete evidence of his mismanagement. But that’s not the real issue anymore."

I frowned, sensing there was much more to this story. "Then what is the real issue?"

"I wouldn’t want to rush you into making any decisions," I said carefully, "but whatever you’re doing with this situation, I hope you’ll be fair. To everyone involved."

A bitter smile crossed Guerrero’s face. "Talking about fair... Liam has been acting increasingly stubborn, trying to threaten me in ways I never expected. Which brings me to why I really needed to see you today."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. "Let me tell you a story, Diane. About the cost of ambition, and the price we pay for our choices."

I nodded, settling in to listen, though nothing could have prepared me for what he was about to reveal.

"I used to be married to the best woman on earth," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "I had what I thought was the perfect family. But ever since my first wife died, my daughter... she hates me."

My eyes widened in shock. In all the years I’d known Guerrero professionally, through all our interactions whenever I came to Liam’s office during board meetings, he had never once mentioned having a previous marriage or a daughter. The revelation hit me like a physical blow.

He continued, oblivious to my surprise, lost in his painful memories. "She says I’m the cause of her mother’s death. My wife’s death. And honestly? I wouldn’t blame her for thinking that."

The raw pain in his voice made my chest tighten. I could see him struggling with each word, as if speaking them aloud was physically painful.

"I was at the peak of my career back then," he said, staring down at his hands. "Always traveling for business deals, always chasing the next opportunity. My wife... she had been battling cancer for months. Stage three breast cancer. The treatments were expensive, brutal, and she needed me there. But I kept telling myself I was doing it for her, for our family. That I was working so hard to afford her medical bills, to build a future for us."

His voice cracked slightly, and I had to resist the urge to reach across the table and take his hand. The grief radiating from him was palpable.

"The cancer got worse," he continued, his words coming faster now, as if he needed to get them out before his courage failed. "More aggressive. The doctors said her time was limited, but I had this crucial business trip to Japan. The biggest deal of my career up to that point. I told myself it would secure our financial future, pay for experimental treatments, give us options."

He looked up at me then, and the guilt in his eyes was devastating. "The client in Tokyo was extremely traditional, very particular about business customs. Part of his requirements was that we conduct our final negotiations at a secluded mountain retreat where there were no phones allowed, no network coverage at all. He called it ’a communion with nature’ that would help us understand each other’s true intentions."

I felt my heart sinking as I began to understand where this story was heading.

"I was required to surrender all electronic devices," Guerrero continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. "No exceptions. The client’s assistant explained that this was how he conducted all his most important business—away from distractions, focused entirely on the matter at hand. I should have said no. I should have walked away from the deal. But it was worth millions, Diane. Millions that could pay for any treatment my wife might need."

He paused, pressing his palms against his eyes as if trying to block out the memories. "I was at that mountain for three days. Three days completely cut off from the world. When I finally came back down to the main town in Tokyo and checked into the hotel where the client’s assistant had arranged for me to stay, I turned on my phone to find..."

His voice broke completely then, and I watched this powerful, intimidating businessman crumble before my eyes. "Dozens of messages from my daughter. ’Where are you?’ ’Mom’s situation is critical.’ ’Please come home.’ ’The doctors say it’s time.’ She had even tried calling my assistant, begging her to find a way to reach me, telling her it was urgent, that she needed to get in touch with me immediately."

Tears were openly streaming down his face now, and I felt my own eyes filling in response to his pain.

"But I had given my assistant explicit instructions," he continued, his voice filled with self-loathing. "I told her not to call me or disturb me while I was at the mountain. I didn’t want the Japanese client to think I was unserious about the deal, that I wasn’t fully committed to our negotiations. That deal... it was the foundation of everything I built afterward. It made me who I am today financially."

He looked at me with eyes full of anguish. "But at what cost, Diane? At what cost?"

The silence stretched between us, heavy with the weight of his confession. I could feel the attention of other café patrons occasionally drifting our way, probably wondering why this distinguished businessman was crying in their quiet morning sanctuary.

"By the time I got those messages and caught the first flight home," he whispered, "she was already gone. My wife died alone in that hospital room, with only our daughter by her side. I wasn’t there to hold her hand. I wasn’t there to tell her I loved her one last time. I wasn’t there to say goodbye."

The sob that escaped him was heartbreaking, and I couldn’t stop myself from reaching across the table to grasp his hand. His fingers were cold, trembling slightly.

"My daughter... she looked at me at the funeral and said something I’ll never forget. She told me that since I had always claimed I was traveling and working for our family, since I had always said everything I did was for them, then she wanted nothing to do with the money that had cost her mother’s life. She said if my business was more important than being with Mom when she was dying, then she never wanted to see a penny of what that business had earned."

I squeezed his hand tighter, my own tears falling freely now. "Guerrero..."

"No one knows I have a daughter here in this town," he continued, his voice steadying slightly. "When I remarried, she refused to accept my new wife...her stepmother. She said I had already proven that family came second to everything else in my life, so why should she pretend to be part of another family I’d eventually abandon for business?"

The pain in his voice was so raw, so honest, that it took everything I had not to break down completely. I understood now why he had always seemed so driven, so focused on business to the exclusion of almost everything else. He was carrying this crushing guilt, this devastating loss.

"I’ve made it my policy to keep this part of my life completely private," he said, wiping his eyes with his free hand. "To avoid anything that might cause harm or chaos in my current family. My wife knows about my daughter, of course, but we don’t discuss it often. It’s... too painful."

He took a shaky breath before continuing. "Ever since then, I’ve been trying to find a way back into my daughter’s life. We meet a few times every year, but most significantly on my birthday. We go for a cup of coffee, cut a piece of cake, blow out the candles. She tolerates it because... well, I think some part of her still loves the father I used to be, before I let ambition consume everything else."

I was crying openly now, not caring who might see. The image of this powerful man, reduced to stealing a few hours with his estranged daughter over coffee and birthday cake, was almost too heartbreaking to bear.