Liam’s POV
The mont Thomas dropped off at my mansion, I stord up the driveway, ignoring Marcus’s usual greeting from the security booth. The weight of humiliation pressed down on my shoulders as I punched the code to unlock the door. Imdiately the front door threw open.
Inside, the vast emptiness of the house echoed my footsteps. I yanked at my tie, loosening the knot that suddenly felt like it was choking . My fingers trembled with rage as I made my way directly to the bar in the living room, not bothering to turn on more than the ambient lights.
"Goddamn it!" I snarled, slamming my briefcase onto the marble countertop.
I grabbed a crystal tumbler and the bottle of whiskey, pouring myself three fingers without hesitation. The amber liquid burned down my throat, but I welcod the sensation. Anything to dull the edge of this day’s disaster.
I paced the living room, my Italian leather shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. With each step, my fury intensified. The phantom eting in Boston. The humiliation at the airport. The mocking laughter of strangers. All orchestrated by Diane.
My Diane. The woman who once looked at with adoration now dedicating herself to my destruction.
I drained my glass and poured another, my mind racing through possible countermoves. She thought she was clever, but she had no idea who she was dealing with. I hadn’t built Synergy Sphere by backing down from challenges. I hadn’t climbed to the top of New York’s business elite by showing rcy to opponents.
Holbrook’s warning echoed in my head: "Don’t retaliate. Be the reasonable one."
I scoffed at the mory. Reasonable? After what she’d done? She’d destroyed my car, humiliated in front of my employees, and now this elaborate sche—sending on a wild goose chase and turning into a public spectacle.
No. Being reasonable wasn’t going to cut it anymore.
I settled onto the leather couch, swirling the whiskey in my glass, and made a decision. If Diane wanted to play gas, I’d show her how they were really played. But I wouldn’t get my hands dirty. I needed information—ammunition I could use against her. I needed to know what she was planning next.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found Maxwell’s number. Maxwell wasn’t soone whose na appeared in my regular contacts. He wasn’t soone I invited to business dinners or charity galas. But he was soone who got things done when conventional thods wouldn’t suffice.
I hesitated for only a mont before pressing "call."
He answered on the second ring, his voice low and gravelly. "Mr. Ashton. It’s been a while."
"Maxwell," I said, keeping my tone even. "I need a favor."
"I assud as much. You don’t typically call for pleasant conversation."
I ignored his sarcasm. "I need soone discreet. Professional. Soone who can shadow a person without being noticed."
A pause. "Surveillance?"
"Exactly."
"Target?"
I took another sip of whiskey, steeling myself. "My wife. Soon-to-be ex-wife."
Another pause, longer this ti. "Divorce case?"
"Sothing like that."
"I’ll need details. Tiline. Locations."
"I’ll send what I know," I replied. "But I need soone on this imdiately. Today, if possible."
"It’ll cost you."
"Money isn’t an issue."
Maxwell chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "It never is with you, Mr. Ashton. I’ll see what I can do. Give an hour."
"Make it thirty minutes," I countered.
"Demanding as always," he muttered, but didn’t argue further. "I’ll be in touch."
The line went dead, and I tossed my phone onto the cushion beside , draining the last of my whiskey . The liquid courage had steadied my nerves, hardened my resolve. This wasn’t just about the divorce anymore. This was about winning. About showing Diane that she couldn’t beat at a ga I’d mastered long before she even knew the rules.
* * *
True to his word, Maxwell texted exactly twenty-eight minutes later.
*Contact: Jackson. 212-555-0187. Professional. Discrete. Available now.*
I didn’t waste ti. I dialed the number imdiately, standing up to fix myself another drink as it rang.
"Jackson," a clipped voice answered.
"This is Liam Ashton. Maxwell gave your number."
"Mr. Ashton." The voice remained neutral, professional. "Maxwell briefed . You need surveillance."
"That’s right," I confird, returning to the couch with my refreshed drink. "I need you to shadow soone. Keep track of their movents, their contacts. Report back to daily."
"Target?"
"My wife. Diane Ashton." The na felt strange on my tongue now, bitter. "She’s staying with a friend, Joan Winters. Upper East Side."
"I’ll need a photo."
"I’ll text it to you imdiately after this call."
"Any specific information you’re looking for?"
I considered this. What did I want to know about Diane? Everything. Who she was eting. What she was planning. Any weakness I could exploit.
"I want to know who she ets with. Particularly n." The thought of Diane with soone else made my blood boil, though I had no right to that anger. "I want to know if she’s visiting any law firms besides Joan’s. I want to know if she’s eting with anyone from Synergy Sphere or any competing companies."
"Understood." Jackson’s voice remained emotionless. "Any restrictions? Places I shouldn’t go?"
"Stay away from Joan’s house," I said firmly. "Joan is sharp, observant. She’ll notice if soone’s watching the house. Wait for Diane to leave, then follow her."
"Duration?"
"Indefinitely," I replied. "Until I tell you to stop."
"Paynt terms?"
"Weekly. Cash. Maxwell knows my rates."
"That works."
"One more thing," I added, my voice dropping lower. "This cannot be traced back to . Under any circumstances. I don’t know you. You don’t know . Maxwell never made this connection."
"That’s standard procedure, Mr. Ashton." A hint of amusent colored his tone. "Discretion is what you’re paying for."
"Good. Then we understand each other."
"I’ll begin tomorrow. Expect the first report tomorrow evening."
"Perfect."
I ended the call and imdiately searched through my phone’s gallery for a recent photo of Diane. I scrolled past countless images—business events, charity galas, vacation photos—until I found one. Diane at a gala night, stunning in a midnight blue gown, her black hair swept up elegantly, her smile radiant as she stood beside .
My finger hovered over the send button as an unexpected wave of nostalgia hit . She had been so beautiful that night. So proud to be on my arm.
I shook the thought away and sent the photo to Jackson with a brief ssage: "Diane Ashton. 5’7". Black hair. Early 30’s
With that done, I tossed my phone aside again and leaned back into the couch, letting the whiskey do its work. The tension in my shoulders began to ease slightly, replaced by a sense of regaining control. Yes, Diane had landed so blows. She had surprised with her cunning, her ruthlessness. But the ga was far from over.
I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, my phone was ringing loudly beside . I jolted awake, montarily disoriented. Night had fallen completely, the living room now shrouded in darkness save for the ambient glow from the kitchen. My head throbbed, a combination of jet lag, stress, and whiskey creating a perfect storm of misery.
I squinted at my phone screen: Guerrero.
Shit.
I cleared my throat and answered, trying to sound alert. "Mr. Guerrero, good evening."
"Liam," Guerrero’s gruff voice ca through, sounding distinctly unamused. "I’ve been trying to reach you for hours."
I glanced at the ti: 9:45 PM. I’d been asleep for over three hours.
"I apologize," I said, sitting up straighter. "I was... dealing with so issues related to the Boston trip."
"Ah yes, Boston." His tone sharpened. "I understand you’re back already. The board was expecting you tomorrow, after the contract signing. What happened?"
I pinched the bridge of my nose, the humiliation of the day washing over again. I couldn’t tell Guerrero the truth—that I’d been duped, sent on a wild goose chase by my vindictive soon-to-be ex-wife.
"There was a misunderstanding," I said carefully. "The eting wasn’t properly scheduled. Jas wasn’t actually in Boston."
"A misunderstanding?" Guerrero repeated, his skepticism evident. "Liam, you told you spoke to Jas personally. That he wanted to return the contract to Synergy Sphere."
"I thought I did," I replied, growing defensive. "It appears soone was impersonating him."
A long silence followed, thick with disapproval. When Guerrero spoke again, his voice had that dangerous calm that I knew preceded his worst outbursts.
"Liam, the board is growing concerned. First, your personal life becos front-page gossip Then. we lose the Reign contract. Now you’re chasing phantoms in Boston?"
"It’s not what it seems—"
"Do you know what this looks like?" he cut off. "It looks like you’re losing control. Of the company. Of yourself."
The accusation stung because it held a grain of truth. I was losing control, sothing I’d never tolerated in my life.
"I understand your concerns," I said, my voice tight. "But I assure you, I have everything under control. This was a minor setback. I’m already working on new strategies to—"
"Save it for the board eting next week," Guerrero interrupted again. "And Liam? I suggest you co prepared with sothing substantial. The patience of the board is wearing thin."
The threat was clear, even if unspoken. My position was no longer secure.
"I understand," I replied stiffly. "You’ll have my full attention at the eting."
"Good." His tone softened slightly. "And Liam... get your personal affairs in order. Quickly. The board doesn’t appreciate distractions."
The call ended, leaving sitting in the dark, the weight of Guerrero’s warning settling on my shoulders like a lead cloak. The board was losing confidence in . If I wasn’t careful, they could move to replace —the very company I’d built from nothing, taken from a two-person operation to a Wall Street darling.
I wouldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t.
I stood up, suddenly energized by determination, and moved to my ho office. Switching on the desk lamp, I pulled out a legal pad and began to write. Plans. Strategies. Counter-moves. By the ti I’d filled three pages, a new path forward had erged.
First, I needed to neutralize Diane. Once she was dealt with, I could focus fully on saving my position at Synergy Sphere. Jackson would provide the information I needed to anticipate her next move, maybe even find leverage to force a quick, quiet settlent.
Second, I needed to line up new deals—impressive ones that would restore the board’s confidence. I jotted down nas of potential targets, companies that had been on our radar but that we hadn’t pursued aggressively.
Third, I needed allies. The board wasn’t unanimous in their concern; I still had supporters who recognized my value to the company.
I needed to shore up those relationships, remind them why I was irreplaceable.
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