Hell Hath no fury like a billionaire's Ex

Chapter 139: The Broken Boy in the Woods

Liam’s POV

As I lay on the thin prison mattress, staring at the concrete ceiling through my one good eye, the events of the shower replayed in my mind like a broken record. The humiliation, the pain, the way those men had looked at me with such contempt, it all felt sickeningly familiar.

This has happened before.

The thought hit me like a punch to the gut, and suddenly I wasn’t in this cell anymore. I was fifteen again, standing in the woods behind Jefferson High School, my heart hammering with nervous excitement as I waited for Rebecca Patrick to show up for our "date."

God, I had been so naive. So stupidly, desperately hopeful.

I closed my eyes, and the memories came flooding back with clarity. The way I’d spent my lunch money on a small bouquet of daisies from the gas station.

How I’d practiced what I was going to say to her in the mirror for hours, trying to make my voice sound deeper, more confident. The way my hands had trembled as I’d combed my hair for the tenth time that morning.

Rebecca had been everything I wasn’t, popular, beautiful, effortlessly cool. She was the head cheerleader, dating Jeffrey Thompson, the star of the basketball team. And somehow, impossibly, she’d been paying attention to me.

"You’re so smart, Liam," she’d say, sliding into the seat next to me in Chemistry class. "Could you help me with this problem? I’m just terrible at math."

I’d been so flattered, so eager to help. Every time she smiled at me, every time she laughed at one of my awkward jokes, I’d felt like maybe—just maybe—someone like her could see something worthwhile in someone like me.

The other kids at school had made it clear what they thought of me. "Nerd." "Freak." "Four-eyes." Jeffrey and his friends had made a sport of knocking my books out of my hands, shoving me into lockers, making sure I knew exactly where I stood in the social hierarchy.

But Rebecca... Rebecca had been different. Or so I’d thought.

Standing in those woods that October afternoon, clutching my pathetic little bouquet, I’d actually believed she was coming to meet me because she wanted to. Because maybe, despite everything, she’d seen past the thick glasses and the secondhand clothes and the way I flinched whenever anyone raised their voice.

I should have known it was too good to be true.

The sound of approaching footsteps had made my heart skip. I’d turned toward the sound, a smile already forming on my face, ready to present my flowers and finally tell her how I felt.

But it wasn’t just Rebecca who emerged from between the trees.

Jeffrey was with her, along with three of his basketball buddies. They were all grinning, but there was nothing friendly about those smiles. They were the grins of predators who’d cornered their prey.

"Well, well, well," Jefftey had drawled, his voice dripping with mock surprise. "Look what we have here, boys. It’s the school genius, all dressed up for his big date."

My stomach had dropped to my shoes. The flowers suddenly felt heavy in my hands, ridiculous and childish. "Rebecca?" I’d whispered, looking at her desperately, hoping against hope that this was some kind of misunderstanding.

She wouldn’t meet my eyes. Instead, she giggled—that same laugh that had made my heart flutter in chemistry class—and stepped closer to Jeffrey, slipping her arm through his.

"Did you really think," Jeffrey continued, circling me like a shark, "that someone like Rebecca would actually want to go out with a loser like you?"

The other boys had joined in then, their laughter echoing through the trees like the cries of hyenas.

"Look at him," one of them had sneered. "He actually brought flowers. How pathetic is that?"

"I bet he practiced asking her out in the mirror," another had added, and they’d all dissolved into laughter.

I’d stood there, paralyzed by humiliation and the dawning realization of how completely I’d been played. All those times Rebecca had asked for help, all those smiles and lingering looks—it had all been an act. A cruel joke designed to set me up for this moment.

"Please," I’d whispered, my voice barely audible. "Just... just let me go."

But Jeffrey wasn’t finished with me.

"Oh, we’re not done yet, genius," he’d said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "See, Rebecca here told me about how you’ve been bothering her. Following her around like a lost puppy. Making her uncomfortable."

"That’s not—I never—" I’d started to protest, but Jeffrey had cut me off with a shove that sent me stumbling backward.

"She also told me," he’d continued, "that you’ve been saying things about her. Nasty things. Talking about what you’d like to do to her."

The lie had hit me like a physical blow. I’d never said anything inappropriate about Rebecca, never even thought it. But looking at their faces, at the way they were closing in on me, I’d realized that the truth didn’t matter. Nothing I said would make any difference.

What happened next had been swift and brutal. They’d surrounded me, pushing and shoving, taunting me with every cruel nickname they could think of. When I’d tried to run, Jeffrey had tackled me to the ground, his friends quickly joining in.

"Strip him," Jeffrey had ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

I’d fought then, really fought, but it had been four against one, and they were all bigger and stronger than my scrawny fifteen-year-old frame. They’d torn off my shirt first, then my pants, ignoring my desperate pleas and attempts to break free.

Rebecca had watched it all, her face a mask of indifference. When our eyes had met for just a moment, I’d seen something there—not cruelty, exactly, but a complete lack of empathy that had been somehow worse than outright malice.

In the end, they’d left me there in the woods wearing nothing but my underwear and my broken glasses, the daisies scattered and trampled in the dirt around me. As their laughter had faded into the distance, I’d curled up into a ball and wept—for my humiliation, for my naivety, for the crushing loneliness that had driven me to believe someone could actually care about me.

The walk home had been the longest of my life. I’d had to sneak through backyards and alleyways, terrified that someone would see me. When I’d finally made it to our front door, I’d been shaking so hard I could barely turn the key.

But even home hadn’t offered the sanctuary I’d desperately needed.

Mom had been in the kitchen when I’d slipped inside, still in her work clothes, a cigarette dangling from her lips as she talked on the phone. She’d barely glanced up when I’d tried to sneak past.

"Liam? That you, honey?" she’d called absently, her hand covering the receiver. "There’s leftover Chinese in the fridge if you’re hungry. I’m going out with Raymond tonight, so you’re on your own for dinner."

Raymond. The latest in a string of men who’d paraded through our house whenever Dad was away on business trips. I’d wanted to tell her what had happened, to collapse into her arms and let her comfort me the way mothers were supposed to do. But she’d already turned back to her conversation, laughing at something Raymond had said on the other end of the line.

Dad had been in his study, as usual, surrounded by empty bottles and paperwork. The smell of scotch had hung heavy in the air, and his words had been slurred when he’d looked up from his desk.

"There’s my boy," he’d mumbled, his eyes unfocused. "How was school today? Learn anything useful?"

I’d stood in the doorway, still wearing just my underwear, covered in dirt and tears, and he hadn’t even noticed. His attention had been entirely consumed by whatever crisis was happening at the company, whatever deals were falling through, whatever justification he’d found for drinking himself into oblivion.

"It was fine, Dad," I’d whispered, and he’d nodded absently before turning back to his papers.

That night, I’d lain in my bed listening to the sounds of Mom getting ready for her date—the click of high heels on hardwood, the spray of perfume, the jingle of jewelry. When Raymond had arrived to pick her up, I’d heard them laughing together in the hallway, their voices bright with the promise of a fun evening ahead.

Meanwhile, Dad had passed out in his study, leaving me alone with my shame and my pain and the terrible understanding that I was completely, utterly on my own.

No one cared. No one was coming to save me. If I was going to survive, I’d have to do it myself.

The memory faded as I returned to my cell, but the emotions were just as raw as they’d been years ago. The same humiliation, the same sense of powerlessness, the same crushing isolation.

But there was a difference now. Back then, I’d been an innocent victim. Now... now I was here because of choices I’d made. Because of people I’d hurt. Because I’d become exactly the kind of person I’d once despised.

In trying so hard to never be vulnerable again, I’d turned myself into the very thing that had once terrorized me—a predator who destroyed anyone who threatened my carefully constructed world.

A guard’s voice echoed through the block, calling for breakfast. I dragged myself off the cot, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through my battered body. The walk to the cafeteria was a gauntlet of hostile stares and whispered threats, but I kept my head down and tried to make myself invisible.

The food was as unappetizing as I’d expected—a gray slop that might have once been eggs, toast that had the consistency of cardboard, and coffee that tasted like it had been filtered through dirt. I found an empty table in the corner and forced myself to eat, knowing I needed to keep my strength up if I was going to survive this place.

That’s when I heard it—the television mounted on the cafeteria wall, tuned to the morning news. I’d been trying to ignore it, but suddenly the reporter’s words cut through the din of conversation like a knife.

"—breaking news this morning. Sophie Evans, sister of the new CEO of Synergy Sphere Diane Evans and key figure in the recent Liam Ashton scandal, was found dead in her sister’s home few days ago and mother in hospital struggling for her life—"

The plastic spoon fell from my numb fingers, clattering against the metal tray. Around me, the cafeteria noise seemed to fade to a distant hum as I stared at the screen in horror.

Sophie’s photo filled the frame—a professional headshot that must have been taken years ago, back when she still had that bright, mischievous smile I remembered so well. The reporter was still talking, but I couldn’t make out the words over the roaring in my ears.

"—the victim was found in the nursery of her sister’s new home, apparently having died protecting her infant niece. Police are calling it a home invasion gone wrong—"

The screen flickered to security camera footage, grainy but clear enough to show a man’s face. My blood turned to ice as I recognized the features—the scar along the jawline, the cold eyes I’d seen only twice before.

Jackson.

"The suspect has been identified as Jackson Torres" the reporter continued. However, in a shocking turn of events, Jackson himself was found dead this morning in an abandoned warehouse."

The footage switched to crime scene photos that made my stomach lurch. A body stripped naked, mutilated beyond recognition. Fingers and toes severed. Eyes gouged out. The professional brutality of someone sending a very clear message.

I knew exactly who had sent that message.

My hands shook as the full horror of what I’d set in motion crashed over me. Yes, I had initially contacted Jackson about Sophie—in a moment of blind rage. I’d wanted to hurt sophie for betraying me in the most devastating way possible. And Diane I’d wanted her to feel the same powerlessness I was experiencing.

But then sanity had returned. Days later, when the red haze of fury had cleared, I’d tried to call Jackson back, tried to call it off. But could get a hold of him, so I turned to the only person who could help get rid of Jackson before he gets to Sophie and make a mess which will blow back to me.

I called Maxwell’s who had told me he would handle it and with a huge cost of course.

But it had been too late. Jackson was already in motion, already carrying out the contract I’d placed on my sister-in-law’s life. And when Sophie had fought back, when she’d exposed his face during their struggle in that nursery, Jackson had become a liability.

So Maxwell had done what he always did with liabilities—he’d eliminated the problem permanently and violently.

The shame and guilt crashed over me in waves. Another life destroyed by my selfishness. Another person I’d failed to protect. Sophie had died because of me, because in my rage I’d wanted to punish Diane and hadn’t cared about the collateral damage.

But it was worse than that, wasn’t it? Sophie hadn’t just been murdered—she’d died protecting Danielle. My daughter. The child who would grow up never knowing that her own father had ordered the hit that killed the aunt who’d saved her life.

I pushed back from the table, my chair scraping against the floor with a sound like a scream. Several inmates looked up, their expressions ranging from curious to hostile, but I didn’t care. I had to get out of there, had to find somewhere I could think, could process the magnitude of what I’d done.

My cell felt even smaller when I returned to it, the concrete walls pressing in on me like a tomb. I collapsed onto the narrow cot and buried my face in my hands, finally allowing the tears to come.

Sophie was dead. Beautiful, complicated, broken Sophie, who’d never been anything but a pawn in games played by people more ruthless than herself. She’d loved me, in her own twisted way, and I’d used that love as a weapon against the sister she’d always been jealous of.

And now she was gone, murdered by a man I’d hired, dying while protecting the child I should have been there to defend myself.

The grief was overwhelming, but it was mixed with something else—a crushing weight of guilt that threatened to suffocate me. How many lives had I destroyed in my quest for power and control? How many people had paid the price for my mistakes?

Diane. Noah. My children, who would grow up knowing their father as a criminal. And now Sophie, whose only crime had been falling for a man who was incapable of love.

I thought about that fifteen-year-old boy in the woods, humiliated and alone, making a promise to himself that he would never be that vulnerable again. I’d kept that promise, but at what cost? In building walls to protect myself, I’d become a monster. In refusing to let anyone hurt me, I’d hurt everyone who’d ever tried to get close.

The hours passed in a blur of memory and regret. I found myself thinking about college, about how I’d transformed myself from that broken, desperate kid into someone who commanded respect through fear and manipulation. I’d worked out obsessively, studied relentlessly, learned to project confidence even when I felt anything but fear.

And when Rebecca had shown up at State University my sophomore year, I’d been ready for her.

She’d recognized me immediately, despite the physical transformation. The thick glasses were gone, replaced by contacts. The scrawny frame had filled out with muscle. The nervous, stammering boy she’d humiliated was nowhere to be found.

"Liam?" she’d breathed, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Liam Ashton? Is that really you?" noveldrama

I’d smiled then, cold and calculating. "Hello, Rebecca. Fancy meeting you here."

The tables had turned completely. She was struggling in college, barely maintaining her grades, while I was at the top of every class. Her high school boyfriend was nowhere to be found—apparently, Jeffrey had peaked in high school and was now working at his father’s auto shop back home.

It had been almost too easy to seduce her. A few charming conversations, some carefully orchestrated study sessions, and she’d been putty in my hands. When I’d finally taken her to bed, I’d made sure she knew exactly who was in control.

The revenge had been sweet, but it hadn’t been enough. I’d moved on to other conquests, other ways to prove my power over the people who’d once looked down on me. Each woman I’d seduced and discarded had been another brick in the wall I’d built around my heart.

Until Diane.

God, Diane. Even now, even after everything that had happened between us, the memory of our first meeting could still take my breath away. She’d been giving a presentation at a charity gala, speaking about sustainable business practices with a passion and intelligence that had captivated the entire room. When she’d stepped down from the podium, I’d known I had to meet her.

For the first time in years, I’d felt something real. Something that went beyond the game of conquest and control I’d been playing with every other woman I’d met. Diane was different...brilliant, successful, completely secure in herself. She didn’t need me, didn’t fawn over me like so many others had. If anything, she’d seemed slightly annoyed by my attempts to charm her.

"I’m sorry," she’d said when I’d approached her after her speech, "but I’m not really interested in whatever you’re selling."

The dismissal had stung, but it had also intrigued me. Here was someone who couldn’t be easily manipulated, someone who saw through the facade I’d spent years perfecting. For the first time since high school, I’d felt genuinely challenged.

Winning her over had taken months of genuine effort. I’d had to become a better person just to keep up with her, to prove that I was worthy of her attention. And somewhere along the way, I’d actually fallen in love.

The early years of our marriage had been the happiest of my life. Diane had brought out something in me I’d thought was dead—the capacity for genuine emotion, for vulnerability, for love. For a while, I’d actually believed I could be the man she deserved.

But then the demands of her career had begun to consume more and more of her time. The late nights at the office, the business trips, the way she’d come home exhausted and distracted. I’d started to feel like I was losing her, like I was being replaced by spreadsheets and presentations and client meetings.

The old insecurities had crept back in. The fear of abandonment, of being found lacking, of being discarded for something more interesting. I’d tried to tell myself it was reasonable to want more attention from my wife, but deep down I’d known the truth—I was still that terrified fifteen-year-old, desperate for someone to choose him, to make him feel worth something.

When Diane had finally quit her job after I had asked her to on countless occassion to focus on our marriage, it should have been everything I’d wanted. But by then, the damage was already done. I’d already started the affair with Natasha, already begun the pattern of behavior that would ultimately destroy everything.

The worst part was that even though Diane had quitted her job on my request that I was doing well as a CEO and can take care of us, she never stopped loving me.

But I’d killed that love, hadn’t I? Slowly, methodically, with every betrayal and every cruel word. I’d taken the best thing in my life and poisoned it with my own toxicity.

A guard appeared at my cell door hours later, sliding an envelope through the slot. "Mail call, Ashton."

I stared at the envelope for a long moment before picking it up. There was no return address, but I recognized the initial written on the envelope as the sender. My hands shook as I tore it open, revealing a single sheet of paper with just a few words written on it:

"Pizza delivered. Hope you like it."

Maxwell’s casual euphemism for murder made my stomach turn. To him, eliminating Jackson had been nothing more than a routine task, a loose end to be tied up. The fact that Jackson had just murdered an innocent woman while carrying out my contract meant nothing to Maxwell...it was simply the cost of doing business.

I crumpled the letter in my fist, rage and grief warring in my chest. But underneath both emotions was something else—a bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to seep into my very soul. I was tired of the violence, tired of the manipulation, tired of being the kind of person who could order someone’s death with a phone call.

For the first time in my adult life, I felt the full weight of what I’d become. Not just a criminal or a cheater or a bully, but something far worse—a man who’d lost his humanity so completely that he barely recognized himself.

The tears came harder now, wracking my body with sobs that echoed off the concrete walls. I cried for Sophie, for the woman she could have been if she’d never met me. I cried for Diane, for the love I’d destroyed through my own selfishness. I cried for my children, who would grow up without a father because of choices I’d made.

And finally, I cried for that fifteen-year-old boy in the woods, who’d made a promise to himself that had ultimately led to this moment. If I could go back, if I could tell him anything, it would be this: the walls you build to protect yourself can become the very prison that destroys you.

When the tears finally stopped, I felt hollow but strangely clear-headed. For the first time in years, I could see myself without the layers of justification and self-deception I’d built up. What I saw wasn’t pleasant, but it was honest.

I was a man who’d hurt everyone he’d ever claimed to love. I was a father who would never hold his children. I was a husband who’d destroyed the best marriage he could have hoped for. I was a brother-in-law who’d orchestrated the murder of a woman who’d died protecting his child.

But maybe—just maybe—I could still be something else. Maybe it wasn’t too late to find some small piece of redemption, some way to make amends for the damage I’d caused.

I retrieved a piece of paper and a pencil from the small shelf in my cell. My hands were steady now, my purpose clear. If I was going to spend the next three years in this place, I might as well use the time to try to become the man I should have been all along.

The letter to Diane came slowly, each word carefully chosen

My dearest Diane,

I know I have no right to write to you, no right to ask for even a moment of your time or attention. I know that my words can never undo the pain I’ve caused you, never repair the trust I’ve shattered, never restore what we once had.

But I need you to know how sorry I am. Not just for the affairs, though those were unforgivable. Not just for the way I tried to destroy you financially and emotionally, though that was inexcusable. I’m sorry for something much deeper than that.

I’m sorry for not being the man you deserved. I’m sorry for taking your love and twisting it into something ugly. I’m sorry for letting my own fears and insecurities poison the best thing that ever happened to me.

You gave me everything—your heart, your trust, your dreams for our future. And I threw it all away because I was too much of a coward to believe I deserved it. I was so afraid of losing you that I destroyed our marriage with my own hands.

I’ve learned today that Sophie is gone. I know you’re probably feeling a complicated mix of emotions about that, and I want you to know that whatever you’re feeling is valid. Sophie was your sister, and despite everything that happened between us, she didn’t deserve to die. Her death is another tragedy in a chain of tragedies that began with my choices.

I’m not writing this letter to ask for forgiveness—I know I don’t deserve that. I’m not writing to ask you to visit me or to give me another chance. I can see now that Noah loves you in a way I never learned how to, and I’m genuinely glad you have someone in your life who will treat you with the respect and devotion you’ve always deserved.

I’m writing because I want you to know that you were right about everything. You were right to leave me. You were right to fight back. You were right to protect yourself and our children from the monster I’d become.

But most importantly, you were right to believe that you deserved better. You deserve a love that lifts you up instead of tearing you down. You deserve a partner who celebrates your success instead of feeling threatened by it. You deserve a man who sees your strength as something beautiful instead of something to be controlled.

Please tell Dylan and Danielle that their father loves them, even though he’ll never be able to show them properly. Tell them that they are the best things I ever helped create, and that every day I’ll try to become someone they could be proud of, even if they never know who I am.

I’ll keep writing to you, if you’ll let me. Not because I expect you to write back, but because I need you to know that I’m trying to change. That I’m trying to understand how I became someone so different from the man you fell in love with all those years ago.

I know it’s too late for us. I know I destroyed any chance we might have had at happiness. But maybe it’s not too late for me to find some small piece of redemption. Maybe it’s not too late for me to become someone who could make you proud to have once loved him.

Take care of yourself, Diane. Take care of our children. And please, try not to let what I did to you close your heart to the possibility of real love. You deserve all the happiness in the world.

With all my love and deepest regret,Liam

I folded the letter carefully and sealed it in an envelope, writing Diane’s name on the front in my best handwriting. Tomorrow, I’d find a way to mail it. And then I’d write another one, and another one, until either she told me to stop or I found the words to somehow make sense of the wreckage I’d created.

It wouldn’t bring Sophie back. It wouldn’t undo the pain I’d caused. But maybe, just maybe, it would be a first step toward becoming the man I should have been all along.

The man that broken fifteen-year-old in the woods had deserved to become.