Hell Hath no fury like a billionaire's Ex-Chapter 48: A Wild Goose Chase

Liam’s POV

The following morning, I was at the airport by 5 AM, impeccably dressed in my best Armani suit, Italian leather briefcase in hand. I’d barely slept, too wired with anticipation, but I didn’t feel tired. Excitement and the promise of victory had me operating at peak efficiency

The flight to Boston was smooth, and I used the time to review all our previous materials on the Reign project, refreshing my memory on the details James might want to discuss. By the time we landed, I felt confident and prepared.

The Ever Green Hotel was, as expected, the epitome of luxury. I checked in, unpacked my overnight bag, and ordered room service—a steak dinner and a bottle of their best red wine. As I ate, I rehearsed different scenarios for the morning meeting, anticipating questions, planning my responses.

I slept surprisingly well that night, and woke before my alarm, ready and eager. At 6:30 AM, I was freshly showered, dressed, and on my way to the conference room James had specified in his email.

The hotel was quiet at that hour, just a few early risers heading to the gym or checking out. I found the conference room easily...Mercury Suite, on the middle floor, and checked my watch. 6:45 AM. Perfect timing.

I tried the door. Locked. I knocked, but there was no answer. Probably too early still. I decided to wait in the adjacent lobby area, reviewing my notes one last time.

At exactly 7 AM, I approached the conference room again and knocked firmly. Still no answer. I frowned, checking the email on my phone to confirm the details. I had the right place and time.

I waited another ten minutes, growing increasingly anxious, then called the number James had used to contact me. It went straight to voicemail.

"Mr. James, this is Liam Ashton. I’m at the Mercury Suite as arranged, but it seems to be locked. Please let me know if there’s been a change of plans."

I hung up and approached the front desk, maintaining my composure despite the knot forming in my stomach.

"Excuse me," I said to the receptionist, a young woman with a practiced smile. "I’m supposed to be meeting James in the Mercury Suite at 7 AM, but the room appears to be locked. Could you check if there’s been a booking error?"

She tapped at her computer, frowning slightly. "I don’t see any booking for the Mercury Suite this morning, sir. Are you sure you have the right day?"

"Absolutely," I insisted, showing her the email on my phone. "See? From James Wilson’s assistant."

She studied the email, her frown deepening. "I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have any record of a James Wilson’s booking with us currently."

"That can’t be right," I said, my voice sharpening. "He specifically said he will be meeting me here. James Wilson, the CEO of Pinnacle Development."

Another tap on her keyboard. "I’m sorry, sir. We have booking by that name."

The knot in my stomach tightened into a cold, hard ball. Something wasn’t right.

I pulled out my phone and dialed James’s number. I scrolled through my call history, searching for the one he had used to contact me the first time. As soon as he picked up, his voice came through, cold and irritated.

"I thought I told you I had given the contract to someone more serious and worthy. Why are you calling me, Mr. Aston?"

"I... I received a call from you—supposedly you—stating that the Reign Project was back on for Synergy Sphere," I stammered.

"Is this some kind of joke, Mr. Aston?" His voice was sharp with confusion.

The line went dead.

And in that moment, realization crashed over me. I’d been dealing with an impostor all along.

And now I was in Boston, having flown halfway across the country for... nothing. A phantom meeting with a fraud, chasing a contract that never existed.

Cold fury washed over me as the truth dawned. This had Diane written all over it. This was her revenge—making me waste time and money on a wild goose chase, humiliating me.

I checked out of the hotel immediately, not bothering to explain the change of plans. At the airport, I managed to get on an earlier flight back to New York, spending the journey in a state of simmering rage.

By the time I landed at JFK, I’d had hours to think about how Diane had orchestrated this elaborate ploy. She must have had help—there was no way she could have pulled this off alone. Which meant she had allies I didn’t know about, people working against me.

As I exited the terminal, preoccupied with these dark thoughts, The moment I stepped out of the terminal, a gust of cold air hit me, but it did nothing to cool the fury simmering inside me. The entire trip had been a total waste of time. A cruel joke orchestrated by Diane.

I had barely taken three steps when a young man rushed toward me, his phone already raised.

"Excuse me," he said, practically bouncing on his toes. "Aren’t you the guy from that movie? The one who cheated on his wife with her sister?"

I froze, blinking at him. "What?"

The guy grinned. "Yeah, it’s you! Man, my girlfriend hates you in that movie, but she still made me watch it twice. Can I get a selfie?"

"Get away from me," I snapped, shoving past him.

I quickened my pace toward the parking lot, but the murmur of voices behind me made my stomach clench. A woman gasped.

"Oh my god! It is you! The cheater!"

Another voice chimed in. "Yeah! From that awful marriage movie!"

My pulse spiked. How the hell did they know?

I ducked my head and pulled my briefcase up to shield my face. But it was too late. More people were turning, their voices blending into a sickening chorus.

"Hey, buddy! How does it feel to be a walking cliché?"

Click. Click. Click. Cameras flashed in my face.

"Jesus," I muttered, pushing forward.

Then a man stepped right in my path, phone in hand, filming. "Hey! Tell us, do you regret cheating?"

"Move," I ground out.

But he didn’t. He smirked, angling his phone closer. "What? No comment?"

The rage that had been simmering since Boston boiled over. I shoved him aside. Hard.

The man stumbled, his phone slipping from his grasp and clattering onto the pavement.

"What the hell, man?" He spun back, eyes blazing. "You think you can just assault people?"

"Stay out of my damn face!" I barked.

"Oh, screw you!" He threw up his arms. "See this, everyone? Not only a cheater but an entitled asshole too!"

Laughter. Whispers. Someone muttered, "Guess the movie was spot on."

My jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Another round of cameras clicked. The crowd had grown. I was a spectacle. A joke.

I shoved forward, practically jogging now. A woman shrieked, "Look! He’s running away like a guilty man!"

I didn’t stop until I reached a secluded area near the private car pickup. With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone and dialed Thomas.

"Sir?" Thomas’s voice was crisp, professional.

"I’m at JFK. Get here. Now."

"Of course, sir. Five minutes."

I ended the call and pressed my back against a concrete pillar, chest heaving.

Five minutes stretched into eternity as more people loitered nearby, watching, whispering, pointing.

Then, finally, the black car pulled up to the curb. Thomas stepped out, looking around before spotting me. He strode over, his face impassive.

"Sir." He opened the door for me.

I slid in, exhaling sharply as the door shut, sealing me away from the chaos.

Thomas took the wheel. "Home, sir?"

"Yeah," I muttered.

He pulled into traffic, navigating the city streets with ease. I leaned my head back, exhaustion creeping in. But I couldn’t rest. The adrenaline was still too strong, the embarrassment still too fresh.

After a long silence, Thomas glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Rough trip?"

I let out a humorless laugh. "You have no idea."

As the car cruised down the freeway, my hands curled into fists. My phone sat on the seat beside me, screen glowing with missed notifications—probably news articles, social media posts, or messages from people who had seen the spectacle at the airport.

Enough.

I grabbed the phone and scrolled to Diane’s number.

She answered on the third ring, I didn’t give her a chance to speak.

"You think you’re clever, don’t you?" My voice was cold.

A pause. Then a soft, smug chuckle. "Liam. What a surprise. Back from your important business trip already?"

"Cut the crap, Diane." My grip tightened around the phone. "You set me up. The fake meeting, the impostor, the airport stunt—you did all of it."

"Now, why would I do such a thing?" she mused, her voice dripping with mock innocence.

I clenched my jaw. "Don’t play dumb. You wanted to humiliate me. You confidently came to my company, destroyed my car and as if that wasn’t enough you made me waste my time and money chasing a deal that never existed. You really pulled out all the stops, didn’t you?"

She sighed dramatically. "Oh, Liam. Always so paranoid. Maybe people just finally realized who you really are."

I could hear the satisfaction in her voice. She was enjoying this.

"You won’t get away with this," I growled. "You think this is funny? You think this is just another one of your little games? You have no idea what you’ve started."

"Is that a threat?" she asked, feigning concern.

"No," I said, my voice low and lethal. "It’s a promise. Brace yourself, Diane. Because whatever you thought you were doing? You just made the biggest mistake of your life."

She was silent for a moment. Then, she laughed.

"Oh, Liam. You always were so dramatic," she purred. "I guess we’ll see who comes out on top, won’t we?"

The line went dead.

I exhaled sharply, my chest rising and falling with the force of my anger. My fingers were still curled around the phone, so tight my knuckles ached.

Thomas’s voice cut through the tension. "Everything alright, sir?"

I took a long breath and forced my tone to steady. "Just drive, Thomas."