Hell Hath no fury like a billionaire's Ex
Chapter 156: Final Goodbyes

Chapter 156: Final Goodbyes

Diane’s POV

When Maxwell finally confessed, the full scope of his crimes became clear. Drug trafficking, assassination, human trafficking.

He had been operating in the criminal underworld for decades and had built a network of corrupt officials and deadly operatives, using his position to commit crimes and then cover them up. The reason why he is always staying one step ahead of the law. The evidence against him was overwhelming.

He confessed that Liam had contacted him to connect him with Jackson, initially to shadow me. But later after Liam had ordered the hit on Sophie, he contacted me again, said Jackson was going rogue, that he was worried about his family’s safety. Asked me to handle it.

"Too little, too late," Maxwell had said with a cold smile during his confession. "Jackson was already in motion."

As I listened to this revelation, I remembered Liam’s desperate words during our last prison visit. I tried to stop him, Diane. I tried to save her.

At the time, I had been too angry, too hurt, to believe him. But now, with Maxwell’s confession, I understood what he had been trying to tell me.

I cried for hours after that, mourning not just for Liam but for the truth I had been too wounded to hear. He had tried to save Sophie. He had tried to undo the damage he had caused. And I had rejected his pleas.

Maxwell was sentenced to life imprisonment, the weight of his crimes finally catching up with him. But the victory felt hollow, tainted by the knowledge that Liam had died believing I hated him.

The morning of Liam’s funeral dawned gray and cold, as if the weather itself was mourning. I stood in front of my mirror, adjusting my black dress, trying to find the strength to face this final goodbye.

The funeral was small, just as I had wanted. Henry, Holbrook, Guerrero, my parents, a few close family members, and Sarah with Dylan and Danielle. We all wore black, a somber procession of people who had been touched by Liam’s life and death.

The cemetery was quiet, the only sounds the soft rustle of wind through the trees and the distant hum of traffic. Liam’s casket looked so small, so final, as it sat beside the open grave.

Noah was the first to speak, his voice strong despite the tears streaming down his face. For the first time since this nightmare began, he let himself truly grieve for the friend he had lost.

"Liam was my best friend," he said, his words carrying across the small gathering. "He was my closest companion, my brother in every way that mattered. He made mistakes...terrible, unforgivable mistakes...but he was also capable of love, of loyalty, of genuine remorse."

Noah’s voice broke, and he had to pause to compose himself. "I’m so sad that we had to be apart like this. I’m so sad that his pain won the final battle. I loved him, despite everything, and I will miss him for the rest of my life."

When it was my turn to speak, I walked to the front of the small group, Dylan and Danielle clinging to my sides. I looked down at their beautiful faces, so innocent, so trusting, and felt my heart shatter all over again.

I opened my mouth to speak, to say the words I had prepared, but nothing came out. My throat closed up, my eyes filled with tears, and I found myself sobbing uncontrollably.

"I’m sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I can’t..."

Joan was beside me in an instant, her arm around my shoulders. "You don’t have to say anything," she whispered. "He knows."

But I shook my head, forcing myself to speak through the tears. "He was their father," I managed to say, looking down at Dylan and Danielle again. "Whatever else he was, whatever else he did, he was their father. And he loved them. He loved them so much."

I knelt down, pulling my children close. "Your daddy loved you," I whispered to them. "Remember that, always. He loved you more than anything in the world."

As the funeral ended, we each placed a flower on the casket, white roses for innocence, red roses for love, lilies for peace. I was the last to approach, holding a single red rose that I had picked from my garden that morning.

"I forgive you," I whispered as I placed it on the polished wood. "I’m sorry I couldn’t say it while you were alive, but I forgive you. Rest in peace, Liam."

---

Three months later, as if the universe was trying to balance the scales of grief and joy, Joan and Henry’s wedding day dawned bright and beautiful.

Henry had come to my father weeks earlier, asking for his blessing to marry Joan. It was a sweet gesture, acknowledging the role my father had played in both of their lives.

My father had readily agreed to walk Joan down the aisle. "I already think of you as a daughter," he told them warmly. "You’ve been there for Diane through everything. That makes you family."

It was actually my father who had indirectly brought Joan and Henry together in the first place. During the divorce proceedings, Dad had asked Henry, a litigation attorney, to work with Joan to freeze Liam’s offshore accounts. They had spent countless hours working together, and somewhere between legal briefs they had fallen in love.

"The planning for the wedding been swift but beautiful, and I threw myself into helping Joan prepare, grateful for the distraction of cake tastings and flower arrangements.

The wedding was everything Joan had dreamed of, elegant but not elaborate, filled with laughter and tears of joy. I stood beside her as her maid of honor, watching as she and Henry exchanged vows that spoke of second chances and new beginnings.

When Henry promised to love and cherish her for the rest of his life, I found myself crying again. But these were different tears - tears of happiness for my dearest friend, tears of hope for the future. After so much loss and pain, it felt miraculous to witness something purely joyful.

The reception was held in the church’s garden, strung with lights and filled with flowers. As I watched Joan and Henry dance their first dance as husband and wife, I felt my father’s hand slip into mine.

"She’s beautiful," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"She is," I agreed. "And she’s happy. Really, truly happy."

"Like you will be again," he said, squeezing my hand. "Different than before, but happy."

I nodded, feeling the truth of his words settling into my heart. I would be happy again. It might take time, it might be complicated by grief and guilt and the weight of everything that had happened, but I would find my way back to joy.

As the evening progressed, I found myself laughing at Henry’s terrible jokes, dancing with Dylan and Danielle, sharing stories and memories with the other guests. For the first time since Liam’s death, I felt like myself again.

Joan found me later, still in her wedding dress but with her hair now loose around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said, pulling me into a hug. "For everything. For the planning, for being here, for being my family."

"Thank you for showing me that love can win," I replied, holding her tight. "That even after everything falls apart, beautiful things can still grow." fre.eweb novel\.c om

As the evening wound down, as the guests began to leave and the lights were dimmed, I gathered Dylan and Danielle close to me. They were tired but happy, their faces sticky with cake and their clothes wrinkled from playing.

"Did you have fun?" I asked them.

"Aunt Joan looked like a princess," Dylan said.

"Pretty," Danielle added, their vocabulary still limited but their meaning clear.

"Yes, she did," I agreed, kissing the tops of their heads. "And you were both so good today. So brave and beautiful."

As we drove home that night, the children asleep in the car, Noah reached over and took my hand.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

I considered the question, really thought about it. Was I okay? I was still grieving, still carrying the weight of loss and guilt and regret. But I was also surrounded by love, Noah’s love, my children’s love, my family’s love. I was building a life on the foundation of that love, and slowly, carefully, I was healing.

"I’m getting there," I said finally. "I think I’m getting there."

And as we pulled into our driveway, as I looked up at the warm lights of our home, I felt something I hadn’t felt in months...

Hope.

---

Even after the wedding, Joan continued to visit regularly, refusing to let marriage change our friendship. She would come over for dinner, help with the children, and listen when I needed to talk about Liam or Sophie or the complicated grief that seemed to ambush me at the most unexpected moments. f.re(e) w.e(b)nov el.c.om

"You know," she said one evening as we watched Dylan and Danielle play in the garden, "I think Liam would be proud of the mother you’ve become. Of how you’ve protected them while still honoring his memory."

I looked down at the wedding ring on my finger - Noah’s ring, symbolizing the new life we were building together.

"I hope so," I said softly. "I hope he’s at peace now. I hope they both are."

The past didn’t disappear just because we moved forward. It became part of us, shaping us into who we were meant to be.

My children were safe. My family was healing. Justice had been served. And somewhere, whatever comes after this life, I chose to believe I would continue to heal, to grow, to find my way back to the woman I was meant to be.

Not the woman I had been before Liam, not the woman I had been during our marriage, but someone new, someone stronger, someone who had learned that love and forgiveness were not signs of weakness but of incredible strength.

The road ahead was long, but I was no longer walking it alone. And that was enough.