Hell Hath no fury like a billionaire's Ex
Chapter 153: I Can’t See Him Like That

Chapter 153: I Can’t See Him Like That

Diane’s POV

The new house still felt surreal, like I was living in someone else’s dream. Noah had thought of everything—the way the late afternoon light streamed through the large windows in the living room, the way the kitchen opened onto the garden where Dylan and Danielle could play safely, the way my home office faced the east so I could watch the sunrise while working. Every detail spoke of a man who had listened to my quiet wishes, my unspoken needs.

I was curled up on the oversized sectional sofa, watching Dylan stack blocks while Danielle dozed in her bouncy seat, when my phone buzzed. The name on the screen made my stomach clench: Richard Holbrook.

"Hello?" I answered cautiously.

"Diane, I hope I’m not disturbing you. I know you’re probably still settling into married life." His voice carried a weight that made me sit up straighter.

"No, you’re not disturbing me. What’s going on?"

"I need to see you. Tonight, if possible. It’s... it’s important. About Liam."

My first instinct was to hang up. I’d made it clear that I wanted nothing more to do with my ex-husband, that his name was not welcome in my new life. But something in Holbrook’s tone—a desperate urgency—made me pause.

"What about him?"

"I can’t discuss it over the phone. Could you send me your address? I promise I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t crucial."

I hesitated, glancing at Dylan, who was now trying to interest his sleeping sister in his block tower. These children had been through enough. Did I really want to invite more of Liam’s chaos into our peaceful evening?

"Diane, please. I saw him yesterday, and... he’s not well. This can’t wait."

Against my better judgment, I texted him the address. Twenty minutes later, as if on cue, the security system’s intercom crackled to life.

"Mrs. Hemsworth, there’s a Mr. Holbrook here to see you."

I pressed the button to let him through the gate, my heart already racing with anxiety. What could be so important that it couldn’t wait until morning?

When the doorbell rang, I opened it to find Holbrook looking older than I remembered, his usually immaculate appearance slightly disheveled. His tie was loose, his hair mussed, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Richard," I said, forcing a smile. "Please, come in."

"Thank you, Diane. I’m sorry to intrude on your evening."

As I led him into the living room, Noah appeared from his study, probably drawn by the sound of voices. He was wearing his reading glasses and holding a book, looking perfectly domestic and content.

"Holbrook," Noah said, extending his hand with genuine warmth. "This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?"

Holbrook shook Noah’s hand, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. "Congratulations on your marriage, both of you. I heard it was beautiful."

"Thank you," Noah replied, settling onto the couch beside me. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Water?"

"No, thank you. I won’t be staying long." Holbrook remained standing, his lawyer’s briefcase clutched in his hands. "I’m here because Liam sent me. He asked me to deliver something to Diane."

The peaceful atmosphere of our evening shattered like glass. I felt my entire body tense, and Noah’s hand instinctively found mine.

"I don’t want anything from Liam," I said quickly. "Whatever it is, you can take it back."

"Diane, please. Just hear me out." Holbrook’s voice was gentle but insistent. "When did you last see him?"

"A few weeks ago. At the prison. With the children." The memory of that visit—Liam’s desperate pleas, his broken appearance—flashed through my mind. "Why?"

"I was with him yesterday, and..." Holbrook paused, running a hand through his hair. "He’s not the same man you married, Diane. He’s not even the same man who was sentenced more than a year ago. He looks like someone who’s lost everything—his health, his spirit, his will to live."

"That’s not my concern anymore," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "He killed my sister, Richard. He destroyed my family. What more does he want from me?"

I could feel Noah’s eyes on me, could sense his internal struggle. Despite everything Liam had done, despite the betrayal and the violence, Noah still cared about his best friend. It was written all over his face—the sadness, the guilt, the wish that things could have been different.

"I understand," Holbrook said quietly. "But he’s not asking for forgiveness. He’s not asking for anything for himself."

He opened his briefcase and pulled out two sealed envelopes. "He gave me these yesterday. He said..." Holbrook’s voice cracked slightly. "He said it was his final confession, his last attempt to tell the truth about everything."

I stared at the envelopes as if they were venomous snakes. Even from across the room, I could see my name written in Liam’s careful handwriting on one of them.

"This one," Holbrook said, holding up the envelope without my name, "is for Dylan and Danielle. He specifically instructed me not to give it to them until they’re fifteen. He said they need to be old enough to understand but young enough that they might still have a chance to... to forgive him."

My heart clenched at the thought of my children, fifteen years from now, reading words from a father they barely remembered. "I don’t want them to have it," I whispered.

"I understand your hesitation," Holbrook said. "But these are his children too. They deserve to know their father’s final thoughts, even if those thoughts are difficult. I promise you, I’ll hold onto this letter. If anything happens to me, I’ll entrust it to another colleague to ensure they receive it when they’re ready."

He extended the other envelope toward me. "And this one, he wrote for you."

I made no move to take it, staring at it as if it might burst into flames. "I don’t want it."

"Diane," Holbrook said gently, "he also asked me to tell you about an account in the Cayman Islands. It contains approximately fifty million dollars—money from before your marriage that he never disclosed. He’s instructed me to hold it in trust for Dylan and Danielle, with you having full access to manage it as you see fit."

The number hit me like a physical blow. Fifty million dollars. Money that could secure my children’s future, pay for their education, give them opportunities.

"Furthermore," Holbrook continued, "when the court releases the frozen offshore accounts from the investigation, he wants you to take everything. All his remaining properties, all his assets, everything that belongs to him. He wants it all to go to his children."

I felt tears building in my eyes, though I couldn’t have said why. Anger? Grief? Confusion? All of the above?

"He also wanted me to warn you about Maxwell Richardson. He’s still out there, still dangerous. Liam wants to make sure i work alongside you to get him arrested for the safety of you and his children."

The tears were falling now, hot and unstoppable. Noah pulled me closer, his arm around my shoulders.

"Why is he doing this?" I whispered. "Why now?"

"Because he’s dying, Diane. Maybe not physically, but in every way that matters. He’s broken. Completely, utterly broken. And he knows it." Holbrook’s voice was thick with emotion. "Can you please visit him. Or at least call him? It’s very important you do, Diane."

"I can’t," I said, my voice barely audible. "I can’t see him like that. I can’t..."

"I understand," Holbrook said softly. He placed the letter on the coffee table between us, as if it were an offering. "But please, think about it. Whatever else he’s done, whatever else he’s become, he’s still the father of your children. And the Liam I saw... he’s not going to be with us much longer."

The weight of his words settled over the room like a heavy blanket. Even Dylan seemed to sense the change in atmosphere, abandoning his blocks to climb onto my lap.

"Mama?" he said, his small hand patting my wet cheek.

"Mama’s okay, sweetheart," I managed, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

After Holbrook left, the house felt different. The letter sat on the coffee table like an unexploded bomb, impossible to ignore but terrifying to approach. Noah had moved the children to the playroom, giving me space to process what had just happened.

"Are you okay?" he asked, returning to find me still staring at the envelope.

"I don’t know," I admitted. "I thought I was done with him. I thought I could move on and never look back."

Noah sat beside me, pulling me into his arms. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do," he whispered against my hair. "But maybe... maybe there’s something you need to hear."

"What if it’s just more manipulation? What if he’s trying to make me feel guilty so I’ll forgive him?"

"Then you’ll know," Noah said simply. "But what if it’s not? What if it’s his way of finally taking responsibility?"

I looked up at him, seeing the conflict in his eyes. "You want me to read it."

"I want you to do whatever will give you peace," he said. "But I also think... I think if you don’t read it, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what it said."