Hell Hath no fury like a billionaire's Ex-Chapter 36: Carry Your Cross

Liam’s POV

I slammed my car door shut, the sound echoing across the circular driveway of the mansion. The meeting with Diane had gone disastrously wrong. Her threats still rang in my ears: "Watch your back, Liam. I’m coming all out on you." The audacity of that woman! After everything I’d done for her, she dared to threaten me.

As I approached the front entrance, Marcus, the new head of security I’d hired after firing the previous one that had been too loyal to Diane, hurried toward me with a worried expression.

"Good evening, Mr. Ashton," he began, his voice measured.

"What is it?" I snapped, not in the mood for pleasantries.

Marcus cleared his throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I thought you should know, sir... Mrs. Ashton was here earlier today."

I froze mid-step. "What did you just say?" When?

"Mrs. Ashton arrived this morning, sir. She used the security codes to enter the premises."

"Did you at least follow her? Monitor what she was doing?" My voice rose with each word.

The security guard’s eyes darted away from mine. "No, sir. I didn’t feel the need to since she’s your wife, sir."

"You incompetent fool!" I shouted, not caring how loud my voice is. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done? She could have taken anything, planted anything! Did you even ask her why she was here?"

"Not at all sir," Marcus replied, taking a step back from my fury. "She was only inside for about fourty minutes." She seemed to be in a hurry.

"Fourty minutes?" I hissed. "She could have turned this entire place upside down in fourty minutes!"

"You’re supposed to be security, for Christ’s sake! What do I pay you for?"

I pushed past him, nearly running to the front door. My hands trembled as I punched in the code, my mind racing with possibilities of what Diane might have done during her visit. Had she found something incriminating? Had she taken something?

I could feel Marcus standing there, stunned by my outburst, but I didn’t care.

The door swung open, and I stood in the foyer, momentarily paralyzed by the thought of Diane moving through these rooms, touching my things.

"Check the security footage," I yelled at Marcus, who had followed me inside. "I want to know exactly where she went and what she did."

"Right away, sir," he said, backing away quickly.

I moved through the house like a man possessed, checking each room for signs of intrusion.

The living room seemed untouched, the expensive furniture arranged just as I’d left it. The kitchen showed no signs of entry. I continued my frantic inspection, moving toward the library where Diane claimed she’d gone for documents.

The library door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open, scanning the shelves and filing cabinets. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance, but I knew Diane too well to be reassured. She was meticulous, capable of covering her tracks.

I yanked open the drawer of the filing cabinet where she kept her work documents. Several folders appeared to be in disarray, and I could see that one labeled "Davidson Merger" was missing. So she had been telling the truth about needing work documents. But had that been her only purpose?

Sweat bead formed on my forehead as I continued my inspection, the anxiety growing with each passing moment. What else had she seen?

A terrible thought struck me, and I bolted up the stairs toward our—my—bedroom. The door was closed, just as I’d left it. I hesitated before pushing it open, suddenly afraid of what I might find.

The bedroom appeared just as I’d left it that morning—bed made, surfaces clear, everything in its place. I moved through the space slowly, checking drawers, looking under the bed, inspecting the closet. Nothing seemed out of place, and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

I sat heavily on the edge of the bed, running my hands through my hair. The confrontation played through my mind again. Diane’s confident demeanor, her ridiculous demands—she’d been different today, more bold than I’d seen her in months. And that smirk she’d given me when Holbrook asked about the access codes... she knew something.

But what? What could she possibly have found?

I stood abruptly, moving to the nightstand.

"Fuck!" I shouted, slamming my fist against the mattress.

What is this woman up to, why can’t I see any clue.

I stormed downstairs to the bar, my hands shaking as I poured myself a double whiskey. The amber liquid sloshed over the rim of the glass as I lifted it to my lips, downing it in one burning gulp. I immediately poured another.

My mind raced with thoughts, feeling more restless. Combined with her claim that she helped build the company..

"Ten percent additional shares," I muttered in disbelief. "The joint account split equally. Who does she think she is?"

I paced the length of the living room, glass in hand, fury building with each step. She was nothing when I met her—just another marketing executive with modest ambitions. I was the one who took the risks, built the empire, created the life she’d enjoyed so thoroughly. And now she wanted to claim an equal share?

"Sir?" Marcus stood in the doorway, tablet in hand. "I’ve reviewed the security footage."

I whirled around. "And?"

"Mrs. Ashton went to the library first, where she spent about Twenty-five minutes. Then she toured several rooms on the ground floor before heading upstairs to the master bedroom, where she stayed for approximately fifteen minutes."

My stomach clenched. "What did she do in the bedroom?"

Marcus looked uncomfortable. "She opened several drawers, sir, and appeared to be looking for something. At one point, she dropped her phone and reached under the bed to retrieve it. She then placed something in her purse before leaving."

"What?" I demanded.

"The camera angle doesn’t provide a clear view, sir. I can’t say with certainty."

I dismissed him with a wave, turning back to my drink. The glass felt suddenly fragile in my grip, my anger threatening to shatter it. Diane knew exactly what she was doing, deliberately provoking me, undermining me at every turn.

Without thinking, I hurled the glass against the wall, where it exploded in a satisfying shower of crystal and whiskey. The destruction felt good, releasing some of the pressure building inside me.

I grabbed a crystal decanter from the bar and threw it too, watching with savage pleasure as it smashed against the fireplace. A framed photo of Diane and me from some charity gala that I had forgotten to take off the wall was next, the glass cracking as it hit the floor.

"You want a war?" I shouted at the empty room, knocking over an end table. "I’ll give you a fucking war!"

I continued my rampage, overturning furniture, sweeping decorative items off shelves, venting my rage on the elegant surroundings Diane had so carefully curated during our marriage.

By the time I collapsed onto the sofa, breathing heavily, the living room looked like a hurricane had torn through it.

Marcus appeared in the doorway again, eyes wide at the destruction but smart enough not to comment. "Will you be needing anything else, sir?" he asked cautiously.

I waved him away, pulling out my phone to dial Diane’s number to confront her, my fingers jabbing at the screen with unnecessary force. It rang, once, twice, three times, then went to voicemail. Her recorded voice—cool, professional—instructed me to leave a message, which only fuelled my anger.

"Diane, I know you were in the house today," I snarled into her voicemail. "Whatever you think you found, whatever you’re planning—it won’t work."

I hung up, then immediately dialed again. Straight to voicemail again. She was ignoring me. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. I said as I threw the phone down in frustration.

A thought occurred to me. Noah. He’d always been more sympathetic to Diane than to me, despite our years of friendship. If anyone knew what she was planning, it would be him.

I dialed his number, relieved when he picked up on the third ring.

"Noah," I said, not bothering with pleasantries. "Have you spoken to Diane recently?"

His sigh carried clearly over the line. "Hello to you too, Liam."

"Cut the crap. I need to know what she’s planning."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I’m in Tokyo on business, Liam. I haven’t spoken to Diane in over a week."

"But you’ve sided with her," I accused. "My so-called best friend, taking my wife’s side."

"Soon to be Ex-wife," Noah corrected calmly. "And I’m not taking sides. I just refuse to participate in your vendetta against her."

"Vendetta?" I laughed bitterly. "She’s the one threatening me, demanding half of everything I’ve built!"

"Everything you’ve built?" Noah’s voice hardened. "Liam, I was there from the beginning, and also a shareholder in the company remember? I saw how hard Diane worked alongside you. I saw the sacrifices she made for your career, for your dreams."

"She was my wife. That was her job," I snapped.

"The wife you almost ran over!"

There was a long pause. "You know, Liam," Noah continued, his voice low but firm, "I’ve stood by you through a lot over the years. I’ve overlooked your... indiscretions. I’ve made excuses for your behavior. But I can’t do it anymore."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means you need to take a good, hard look at yourself. You cheated on Diane with her sister, Liam. You’ve been systematically trying to cut her off financially, accusing her of all sorts of things. And now you’re angry because she’s fighting back?"

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," I hissed.

"I think I do. And I think it’s time you swallowed your pride and reached a fair settlement with Diane before this gets any uglier."

"Are you threatening me now, too?" I demanded.

Noah sighed again. "No, Liam. I’m trying to help you, though God knows why I still bother. Look, I have work to do. I suggest you carry your own cross and figure out how to fix the mess you’ve made."

The line went dead before I could respond. I stared at the phone in disbelief. Even Noah was against me now. The betrayal cut deeper than I expected.

I needed to think, to plan my next move carefully. Diane was playing a game I hadn’t expected, and I needed to regain control.

My phone rang again. Sophie’s name appeared on the screen, and I briefly considered ignoring it. But Sophie, at least, she’s on my side.

"Hey," I answered, trying to sound normal, as if I wasn’t sitting amidst the wreckage of my own making.

"Liam?" Sophie’s voice was bright, excited. "Are we still on for dinner tonight? I’ve been looking forward to it all day."

Dinner. I’d completely forgotten our plans. The thought of sitting across from Sophie, making small talk, pretending everything was fine—it was impossible.

"Sophie, I’m sorry, but I think we need to reschedule," I said, running a hand through my hair. "I’m not really in the right frame of mind right now."

"Oh." The disappointment in her voice was thick. "Is everything okay? Did something happen with... with the divorce?"

I nearly laughed at the delicate way she avoided mentioning her sister by name. As if Diane were Gryla, the sister whose name must not be mentioned.

"You could say that," I replied, my voice heavy with exhaustion. "Your sister is... being difficult."

"I’m sorry," Sophie said, and I could hear the genuine regret in her voice. "Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to come over, just to keep you company?"

The offer was tempting. Sophie’s unwavering support, her desire to please me—it was a balm to my wounded ego. But the state of the house, my own volatile mood—it wasn’t a good idea.

"Not tonight," I said firmly. "I need to be alone, sort some things out."

"Of course," she agreed quickly. "But Liam... do not hesitate to let me know if you need me around."

I ended the call with a promise to call her tomorrow, a promise I wasn’t sure I’d keep. Sophie was becoming... clingy. I tossed the phone onto the sofa beside me. The house fell into silence, broken only by the tick of the antique grandfather clock in the hallway—a wedding gift from Diane’s colleagues, I remembered bitterly.

The adrenaline of my rage was fading, leaving me hollow and exhausted. I surveyed the destruction around me with a detached sense of shame. This wasn’t who I was—this raging, destructive man. I was Liam Ashton, successful CEO, respected businessman. I was in control.

Except I wasn’t. Not anymore.

The realization hit me with unexpected force. Since Diane had left, my carefully constructed world had been slowly unraveling. First the scandal of the affair with Sophie, then the separation, now these increasingly hostile divorce proceedings. My reputation, my legacy—everything I’d worked for was at risk.

And for what? It all seemed clear now, faced with the potential loss of everything I valued.

I stood up and went straight to the bar again. I poured another drink, trying to drown out the treacherous voice in my head that whispered maybe, just maybe, I’d made a terrible mistake. That voice sounded suspiciously like Noah’s. Like weakness.

No. I hadn’t made a mistake. Diane had forced my hand with her demands, her refusal to understand that I needed more than she could give me. Our marriage had become a prison, a constraining box that held me back from what I truly desire.

I would not give in. I would not show weakness.

Tomorrow, I would call Holbrook, instruct him to fight every single one of Diane’s demands.

But tonight... tonight I would drink until the anger subsided, until sleep claimed me and granted me a few hours’ respite from the mess I’d made of my life.

I raised the bottle in a mock toast to the empty room, to the shattered remnants of the life I’d built.

"Here’s to you, Diane," I muttered bitterly. "May the best man win."