Hell Hath no fury like a billionaire's Ex-Chapter 152: Valete

After hanging up, I returned to my cell and pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil. My hands shook as I began to write, but the words came easily now. I’d been thinking about what I needed to say for weeks.

My dearest Diane,

I know I have no right to write to you again, no right to ask for even a moment of your time or attention. But I need you to know some things before it’s too late.

First, I want you to know how deeply sorry I am for everything I’ve done. Not just the affairs, not just the financial manipulation, but for the fundamental way I failed you as a husband and as a man. You deserved so much better than what I gave you.

I need to tell you about Maxwell Richardson. He was the one who connected me with Jackson Torres, the man who killed Sophie. When I called Maxwell in my rage, wanting to hurt you through Sophie, he was the one who made it possible. And when Jackson became a liability after Sophie’s death, Maxwell was the one who had him killed.

I’m telling you this because Maxwell is still out there, still dangerous. He has connections throughout the criminal underworld, and he won’t hesitate to eliminate anyone who threatens him. Please be careful, Diane. Please protect our children.

I also need you to know that I’ve been keeping a secret from you. There’s an offshore account in the Cayman Islands that contains approximately $50.3 million. It’s money from before we were married, investments I made that I never told you about. The account information is with Richard Holbrook, and I’ve instructed him to transfer everything to you after he had taken his 20 percent from it.

Use this money for Dylan and Danielle. Give them the life they deserve, the education they need, the opportunities I’ll never be able to provide. And please, take some for yourself. You’ve sacrificed so much because of my mistakes, even though I know you have built your own success and your doing so well.

I tried to stay strong in here, tried to survive so I could at least maintain some connection with our children. But I can’t anymore, Diane. The weight of what I’ve done, the guilt over Sophie’s death, the knowledge that I’ll never be able to make amends—it’s too much.

I want you to know that you were the best thing that ever happened to me. Loving you, being loved by you, creating Dylan and Danielle with you—those were the only good things I ever did. And I destroyed all of it because I was too broken to accept that I deserved happiness.

Please tell our children that their father loved them, even if he couldn’t show it properly. Tell them that they are the most precious things in the world, and that every day they live good lives is a victory over the darkness I brought into this world.

I’m sorry, Diane. For everything. I hope someday you can forgive me, not for my sake, but for yours. You deserve to be free of the anger and pain I caused.

I came into this world innocent, and I want to leave it with no secrets. This is my final confession, my last attempt to tell the truth about everything.

Take care of yourself and our babies. You’re an amazing mother and an incredible woman. Noah is lucky to have you. Congratulations on your marriage, I wish you both all the best.

With all my love and deepest regret, Liam

I folded the letter carefully and set it aside, then picked up another piece of paper. This one was harder to write, but it was necessary.

My dear Dylan and Danielle,

By the time you read this, you’ll be old enough to understand what your father really was. Whatever bad things you hear about me—and you will hear bad things—please don’t argue with them. Don’t defend me. Don’t waste a single moment of your precious lives trying to find excuses for my actions. Everything they’ll tell you is true.

I was a terrible husband to your mother. I was a terrible man who hurt people because I was too selfish and too broken to be better.

I want you to know that none of this was your fault. You are perfect, beautiful, innocent children who deserve all the love and happiness in the world. The fact that you came from someone like me doesn’t change that.

Your mother is an incredible woman. She’s strong, smart, loving, and everything I never was. Whatever she tells you to do, you should do it without question, because she knows what’s best for you. She always has.

If she tells you to jump, you ask how high. If she tells you to study, you study harder than anyone else. If she tells you to be kind, you show kindness to everyone you meet. She would never do anything to hurt you the way I hurt everyone around me.

I know I don’t deserve to give you advice, but I’m going to anyway. Be better than me. Be the kind of people who lift others up instead of tearing them down. Be the kind of people who keep their promises and tell the truth. Be the kind of people who love without conditions and forgive without hesitation.

Take care of each other. Take care of your mother. Take care of Noah, who will be a better father to you than I ever could have been.

Don’t spend any minutes of your precious lives thinking about me. I don’t deserve your thoughts, your prayers, or your tears. I don’t deserve to be mourned or remembered fondly. I failed you in every way a father can fail his children.

Just know that in my final moments, I thought about you. I thought about how proud I was to be your father, even though I had no right to feel that pride. I thought about how much I loved you, even though I never learned how to show it properly.

Be happy. Be good. Be everything I never was.

I love you both more than words can express.

Daddy

I folded both letters and placed them in separate envelopes, then tucked them under my pillow. Tomorrow, when Holbrook came, I would give them to him along with the account information. And then...

Then I would finally be free.

The next day felt different from the moment I woke up. There was a strange sense of peace in my chest, a lightness I hadn’t felt in months. The other inmates seemed to sense the change in me—they kept their distance, watching me with wary eyes as I made my way through the daily routine.

When the call came that I had a visitor, I felt a flutter of nervousness. This was it. My last chance to do something right.

Holbrook was waiting in the same visiting room where I’d seen Diane and the children. He looked older than I remembered, his face more lined with stress. When he saw me, his expression shifted from professional detachment to genuine shock.

"Jesus, Liam," he breathed. "What have they done to you?"

I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the window behind him. My face was a map of bruises and healing cuts. My left eye was still swollen, and I’d lost enough weight that my prison uniform hung loosely on my frame.

"Nothing I didn’t deserve," I said, settling into the chair across from him.

He studied me for a long moment, his lawyer’s instincts clearly telling him that something fundamental had changed. The man sitting across from him wasn’t the arrogant CEO who’d destroyed his career. This was someone else entirely, someone broken and humbled and strangely peaceful.

"I’m sorry," I said quietly. "For everything. For the way I treated you, for the way I made you complicit in my crimes, for the way I destroyed your reputation. You were trying to help me, and I repaid you by making you look like a fool."

Holbrook’s expression softened slightly. "Liam, you don’t need to—"

"Yes, I do," I interrupted. "I need to apologize to everyone I hurt, and you’re at the top of a very long list. You were a good lawyer and a good man, and I used you. I’m sorry."

He nodded slowly, clearly moved by the sincerity in my voice. "Thank you. That... that means more than you know."

"I have something to tell you. You remember that account information with you, for Cayman Islands."

I want you to take twenty percent of the $50.3 million there."

His eyes widened. "Liam, I can’t—"

"You can and you will," I said firmly.

He’d been quiet for a long moment, his hands folded on the table between us. "And the rest?"

"Goes to my children. Everything I have left—the money, the remaining shares, any assets they can find. I want it all to go to Dylan and Danielle, to be held in trust until they’re adults."

"Not to Diane?"

"Diane doesn’t need my money," I’d said with a sad smile. "She’s built her own empire, found her own success. But I want her to have access to it, to use it for the children as she sees fit. She’s their mother. She’ll know what’s best."

"But twenty percent is too much?" He said sadly. Liam. I can’t accept that kind of money."

"You will," I repeated. "Consider it payment for all the cases you’ll never take again because of what I did to your reputation. Consider it compensation for the sleepless nights and the stress and the way I made you question your own integrity."

I could see him struggling with the decision, his professional ethics warring with the practical reality of his situation. Finally, he nodded.

"Alright," he said quietly. "I’ll take it. And I’ll make sure Diane and the children gets the rest."

I pulled out the two envelopes and placed them on the table between us. "These are letters. One for Diane, one for Dylan and Danielle. I need you to deliver the one for Diane today. The one for the children... wait until they’re fifteen. Old enough to understand but young enough that they might still have a chance to forgive me."

Holbrook picked up the envelopes, handling them with the care of someone who understood their significance. "Liam, what are you planning?"

I met his eyes and saw the fear there. He’d recognized something in my voice, something final and irreversible.

"I’m planning to finally take responsibility for my actions," I said simply. "I’m planning to stop being a burden on everyone I’ve ever claimed to love."

"If you’re thinking about..." He leaned forward, his voice urgent. "There are other ways. We can appeal your sentence, we can—"

"No," I said firmly. "No more appeals. No more legal maneuvering. No more trying to escape the consequences of my choices. I’m done running, Richard. I’m done hiding. I’m done pretending I’m anything other than what I am."

I could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes, and he was fighting hard to keep them from falling. This man, who’d once been so professional and composed, was genuinely moved by what he saw in me.

"Can I tell you something?" I asked. "About my children?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

"I held them," I said, my voice breaking with emotion. "When Diane brought them to see me, I actually held them. Dylan is so strong, so curious about everything. And Danielle... she’s got Diane’s eyes, but she’s got my stubbornness. She wouldn’t let go of my finger."

The tears I’d been holding back finally started to fall. "They’re beautiful, Richard. They’re perfect. And they’re better off without me."

"That’s not true," he said quietly. "Children need their fathers, even imperfect ones."

"Not this father," I said, wiping my eyes. "This father ordered the murder of their aunt. This father destroyed their mother’s life. This father chose his own pride over their well-being at every turn."

We sat in silence for a moment, both lost in our own thoughts. Finally, Holbrook spoke.

"Is there anything else you need me to do? Anyone else you need me to contact?"

I shook my head. "Just make sure Diane gets that money. Make sure she knows about Maxwell—he’s dangerous, and she needs to be careful. And make sure Dylan and Danielle know that their father loved them."

The visit ended with a handshake that felt like a goodbye. As I watched Holbrook walk away, carrying my letters and the key to my children’s future, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in months: hope.

Not hope for myself—that was gone. But hope that maybe, somehow, the people I’d hurt could find a way to heal. Hope that my children could grow up knowing their father had tried, in the end, to do something right.

I returned to my cell and lay down on my narrow cot, staring at the ceiling. The pain in my ribs had faded to a dull ache, and for the first time in weeks, I felt truly at peace.

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 thought about the man I’d become in pursuit of that promise—cold, calculating, willing to destroy anyone who threatened my carefully constructed world.

And I thought about the choice I had to make now. I could continue living in this concrete tomb, enduring daily beatings and humiliations until someone finally killed me. Or I could choose to leave on my own terms, with some small shred of dignity intact.

The decision was easier than I’d expected.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is fre𝒆w(e)bn(o)vel