Hell Hath no fury like a billionaire's Ex-Chapter 58: Birthday Rush

Liam’s POV

Two days had passed since the board meeting, and the knot of tension in my shoulders had only tightened. Sleep eluded me, leaving me staring at the ceiling of my bedroom until the early hours, mind churning with strategies and countermoves. When I finally did drift off, my dreams were filled with faceless accusers and crumbling empires.

The insistent buzz of my phone dragged me back to consciousness. I reached for it blindly, squinting at the screen. A calendar notification glowed back at me: "BIRTHDAY - 40 YEARS."

I stared at it for a long moment before dismissing it with an aggressive swipe. My birthday. The reminder felt almost mocking—what exactly was I supposed to celebrate? Another year of watching everything I’d built teeter on the brink of collapse? The fact that at Fourty, my marriage was in shambles, my best friend wouldn’t speak to me, and my position at my own company hung by a thread?

Happy fucking birthday to me.

I tossed the phone aside and dragged myself out of bed. The house felt cavernous and empty without Diane, though I’d never admit that to anyone, least of all myself. Her absence had left a void that seemed to follow me from room to room, a persistent reminder of failure.

Under the shower’s scalding spray, I mentally rehearsed the day ahead. Three client calls, a marketing presentation to review, and a strategy session with the development team. Routine tasks that once energized me now felt like weights dragging me down. But I couldn’t afford to show weakness, not with Guerrero’s warning still ringing in my ears.

"Focus on the company, or we’ll be forced to reconsider leadership."

I dressed with care, selecting a navy Armani suit that Diane had once said brought out my eyes. The thought came unbidden, and I pushed it away with a flash of irritation. I didn’t need her approval. I didn’t need anyone’s.

The house staff had left a small breakfast spread in the kitchen—avocado toast, fresh fruit, and a cappuccino. No birthday acknowledgment, which was exactly as I preferred it. My housekeeper, knew better than to make a fuss. Unlike the office staff, who insisted on celebrating every milestone with nauseating enthusiasm, complete with sheet cake from the grocery store and off-key singing in the conference room.

My lip curled at the thought. With any luck, they’d forgotten this year. The last thing I needed was to stand there with a plastic smile while they gawked at me like some zoo animal.

The drive to the office was mercifully quiet, my driver, Thomas sensing my mood and keeping conversation to a minimum. I used the time to check emails, respond to texts, and generally immerse myself in work—the one area of my life that still offered some semblance of control.

The car pulled up to the curb outside Synergy Sphere headquarters, and I stepped out into the crisp morning air. The building towered above me—a physical manifestation of my ambition.

No one was taking this from me.

I entered the lobby with purposeful strides, nodding briefly to security as I headed for the executive elevator. The staff seemed particularly attentive this morning, their greetings a touch more enthusiastic than usual. I attributed it to the lingering effects of the board meeting—everyone walking on eggshells around the CEO whose position had been publicly questioned.

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped inside, grateful for the momentary solitude.

Squaring my shoulders, I watched the numbers climb.

The doors opened, and I was greeted by darkness.

I stepped forward cautiously, my hand instinctively reaching for my phone to use as a flashlight. Had there been a power outage? Was I about to trip over abandoned desks in the dark?

Suddenly, the lights blazed on, and a chorus of voices erupted around me.

"SURPRISE!"

The entire floor staff stood before me, their faces split with grins, some holding balloons, others with small wrapped packages in their hands. Above the reception desk hung a banner: "Happy Birthday, Liam!"

For a moment, I stood frozen, caught completely off guard. Then muscle memory kicked in, and I forced my lips into what I hoped was a convincing smile.

"Well, this is... unexpected," I managed, adjusting my tie in a gesture that felt like grasping for control.

Vanessa, my new secretary, stepped forward with a champagne flute filled with what appeared to be orange juice. "Happy birthday, Mr. Ashton! We couldn’t let the day pass without celebrating."

I accepted the glass with a nod, scanning the crowd. Familiar faces from marketing, development, finance—all beaming at me with a sincerity that felt almost alien after the chilly reception at the board meeting. But notably absent were several key figures: Noah, Guerrero, and most of the other board members. Their absence spoke volumes.

"Thank you, everyone," I said, raising my glass in acknowledgment. "This is quite the welcome to the day."

Vanessa gestured toward the conference room, where I could see a cake sitting on the table. "We have breakfast pastries and coffee too. And gifts! I learnt It’s tradition, you know."

I did know. Every year, the staff organized these little celebrations, and every year, I endured them with polite appreciation, counting the minutes until I could escape to my office. But this year felt different. This year, the gesture struck something raw within me—a reminder of how quickly it could all disappear.

"Lead the way," I said, following her into the conference room.

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur of awkward small talk, exaggerated laughter, and performative gratitude. I cut the cake (chocolate with buttercream, my alleged favorite), accepted congratulations, and fielded predictable jokes about growing older. Through it all, I maintained the façade of the gracious CEO, even as my mind wandered to the mounting problems awaiting my attention.

Then came the ritual I dreaded most: the gift opening. Company culture dictated that each present be opened in front of everyone, with the accompanying card read aloud. A torturous exercise in feigned enthusiasm that felt more like corporate theater than genuine celebration.

"Time for presents!" Vanessa announced, clapping her hands like an elementary school teacher. "Where should we start?"

My eyes swept the conference table, where various packages had been arranged. Most were small, tasteful offerings—the usual bottles of premium liquor, leather-bound notebooks, and artisanal food items that employees deemed appropriate for their boss. But one gift stood out conspicuously from the rest—an enormous package wrapped in glossy silver paper, nearly as tall as Vanessa herself.

"What on earth is that?" I asked, unable to mask my surprise.

Vanessa’s smile faltered slightly. "It was delivered this morning. We assumed it was from someone special."

"Someone special". The words hung in the air, charged with unspoken implications. Diane? No, impossible. Sophie? Equally unlikely. Noah? He could barely stand to look at me these days.

"Let’s save that one for last," I said, reaching for a smaller package. "Start with something more manageable."

The next twenty minutes dragged by as I unwrapped a parade of predictable gifts: a Montblanc pen from the legal team, a rare single-malt scotch from finance, a custom leather portfolio from marketing. I read each card aloud as expected, injecting appropriate emotion into my voice at the flowery sentiments penned by people who ultimately depended on me for their livelihoods.

"And now for the grand finale," Vanessa said, gesturing to the massive silver package with theatrical flair.

The room hummed with anticipation as I approached it. Something about its size, its prominence, set alarm bells ringing in my head. But with thirty pairs of eyes watching expectantly, I had little choice but to proceed.

I tore into the silver wrapping with measured movements, revealing a large cardboard box beneath. No card visible on the outside. Interesting. I pried open the top of the box and peered inside.

A sea of silver and white balloons greeted me. Odd, but not immediately alarming. I reached in, grabbing a handful to pull them out.

As the balloons emerged, a collective gasp rippled through the room. It wasn’t just balloons—it was an enormous, inflatable unicorn, its iridescent body slowly expanding as it was freed from the confines of the box. But what caused the gasps wasn’t the unicorn itself, but rather the custom banner stretched across its middle, emblazoned with bold, unmistakable lettering:

"INFIDELITY AWARD"

The words seared into my vision, burning there like an afterimage. My hands froze mid-motion, still clutching the partially-inflated unicorn as it continued to expand grotesquely, the banner becoming more prominent with each second.

The conference room had gone eerily silent. Wide eyes stared at me, then darted away when I tried to meet them. A few nervous coughs broke the stillness, followed by hushed whispers that seemed to echo in the charged atmosphere.

Heat surged up my neck, flooding my face with what I knew must be a telling crimson. Humiliation, rage, and shock battled for dominance as I struggled to process what was happening.

"Who did this?" My voice emerged low and dangerous, barely controlled fury evident in every syllable. "Who thought this would be funny?"

No one answered. Staff members exchanged uncomfortable glances, shifting their weight and looking anywhere but at me or the obscene unicorn that now dominated the room.

"Mr. Ashton," Vanessa began tentatively, her voice pitched higher than usual, "no one here would—I mean, we didn’t—"

"Then how did it get here?" I demanded, letting the unicorn drop to the floor, where it continued its grotesque inflation, the banner taunting me with each passing second.

Vanessa looked helplessly toward the door, where Dan from security stood awkwardly. "Dan, wasn’t there a delivery this morning?"

Dan stepped forward, his expression carefully neutral. "Yes, sir. A courier service dropped it off about an hour before you arrived. It was addressed to you, marked as a birthday gift. Followed all the security protocols."

"And no one thought to check what was inside?" I snapped, my voice rising despite my efforts to contain it.

"It passed through the scanner, sir," Dan replied, his professionalism not quite masking his discomfort. "Nothing dangerous showed up. We don’t typically open personal gifts addressed to executives."

The unicorn had now fully inflated, its cartoonish face bearing a sickeningly cheerful grin that seemed to mock my rage. The banner stretched tight across its middle: "INFIDELITY AWARD"

Whispers continued to ripple through the gathered staff. My private shame, laid bare for all to see.

With deliberate movements, I removed the pin from my tie. Kneeling beside the unicorn, I drove the pin into its side, the sharp metal puncturing the shiny material with a satisfying hiss. Air began to escape, the unicorn slowly deflating, its cheerful face collapsing in on itself like my own carefully constructed façade.

I stood, adjusting my jacket with precise movements, and turned to face my employees. Their expressions ranged from mortified to morbidly fascinated, like witnesses to a car crash unable to look away.

"Remove this," I instructed, my voice deadly calm. "And get back to work. The show is over."

Without waiting for a response, I strode toward the door, my back rigid, my steps measured. Dignity. Control. That’s what mattered now. I wouldn’t give the sender—Diane? Some board member looking to undermine me?—the satisfaction of a public meltdown.

I made it to my office without faltering, closed the door with a controlled click, and only then allowed my composure to slip. A savage curse tore from my throat as I slammed my fist the one injured from earlier against the desk, sending a stack of reports cascading to the floor.

The humiliation burned like acid, made worse by the knowledge that by lunchtime, the story would have spread throughout the company. By evening, it would reach industry gossip channels. By tomorrow, Guerrero would know—if he wasn’t behind it himself.

I sank into my chair, struggling to regain control of my breathing, of my thoughts. This wasn’t just a childish prank. This was a calculated attack, designed to undermine my authority, to make me a laughingstock in front of my own employees.

My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen. Sophie, again. Her timing could not have been worse.

Against my better judgment, I answered. "What?"

"Happy birthday, Liam." Her voice was soft, tentative. "I just wanted to—"

"Did you send it?" I cut her off, my voice a razor edge.

A pause. "Send what?"

"Don’t play dumb, Sophie. The unicorn. The ’infidelity award.’ Was it you?"

"What are you talking about?" Her confusion sounded genuine, but I’d learned long ago that Sophie was a better actress than anyone gave her credit for. "I haven’t sent you anything, Liam. I’ve been trying to reach you for days."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, a headache beginning to throb behind my eyes. "Forget it. I don’t have time for this right now."

"Liam, wait—" But I’d already ended the call.

I swiveled my chair to face the window, staring out at the city sprawled below. From this height, everything looked small, manageable. Problems reduced to microscopic scale. If only reality worked that way.

Who would have sent such a thing? The list of possibilities was distressingly long. Diane, obviously, though it didn’t quite match her style. Diane was coldly calculating in her anger, not prone to public spectacle. Sophie seemed genuinely baffled. Noah had the access and the motive, but would he really stoop to such juvenile tactics?

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.

"What?" I barked.

The door opened slightly, and Vanessa peered in, her expression carefully neutral. "I’m so sorry about what happened, Mr. Ashton. We’ve removed the... item... and I’ve spoken to the team. Everyone understands this was an inappropriate prank and not a reflection on you."

I doubted that very much, but I nodded curtly. "Have you contacted the courier service?"

"Yes, sir. They’re checking their records, but they couldn’t find any trace of the sender."

Of course. Whoever did this wasn’t stupid enough to leave an obvious trail.

"Fine. Cancel my morning meetings. I need some time."

"Of course." Vanessa hesitated, then added, "There’s quite a bit of cake left, if you’d like me to bring you a slice."

The offer was so absurdly normal after what had just happened that I almost laughed. "No, Vanessa. Thank you."

After she left, I turned back to the window, my thoughts darkening. This wasn’t just about humiliation. This was about power. Someone was sending a message, letting me know they could reach me even here, in the heart of my domain. That my secrets weren’t safe. That I was vulnerable.

My Fourty years birthday. Another milestone in a life that suddenly seemed to be spiraling beyond my control.

Happy birthday to me, indeed.