<h4>Chapter 95: Rock Bottom</h4>


    Liam’s POV


    It had been a week since my desperate escape from the hospital...seven days of hiding in my own home like a wounded animal, fearful of the predator that had once been my wife.


    Dr. Jason had been nothing short of a godsend. After I’d called him that first night, he’d arrived within the hour, medical bag in hand, face professionally neutral despite the obvious questions my appearance must have raised.


    He’d treated my wounds without judgment, recing the hospital’s hasty bandages with proper dressings, prescribing painkillers that actually worked, and checking in daily to ensure infection hadn’t set in where my IV had been ripped out.


    "You’re healing remarkably well, he’d said this morning during his visit, examining the bruising around my ribs."


    I’d wanted to tell him that it wasn’t my body I was worried about. It was my mind that felt irreparably damaged, fractured by the realization that the woman I’d married...the woman I’d betrayed and humiliated, was capable of such cold, calcted violence. But I’d kept those thoughts to myself. Dr. Jason was here to treat my physical wounds, not the psychological ones that ran far deeper.


    I shifted ufortably on the couch. My ribs protested at even the slightest movement, a constant reminder of the beating I’d endured. The television droned on, some mindless reality show that I wasn’t really watching. It was just noise to fill the suffocating silence of the house.


    The front door opened, and I tensed instinctively, rxing only when Thomas appeared in the entryway. My driver had be something of a lifeline over the past week, running errands, bringing groceries, and checking in regrly to ensure I had everything I needed.


    Unlike the rest of my so-called friends who had disappeared the moment things got difficult, Thomas had remained steadfastly loyal.


    "Sir," he greeted me with a nod, setting a paper bag on the kitchen counter. "I’ve brought your prescriptions and some fresh fruits."


    "Thank you, Thomas," I said, genuinely grateful despite the formal nature of our rtionship. "I don’t know what I’d do without you these days."


    Thomas paused, his usually impassive face showing a flicker of emotion. He seemed to be weighing his words carefully.


    "Is something on your mind?" I prompted.


    He hesitated, then straightened his shoulders as ifing to a decision. "Permission to speak freely, Mr. Ashton?"


    The formality of the request surprised me. In all the years Thomas had worked for me, he’d never for once bodly asked permission to speak his mind. I nodded, curiosity momentarily overriding my generally dismissive attitude toward the opinions of those I employed.


    "I think you should reconsider your approach to this divorce situation, sir," he said, his voice steady but respectful. "This... vendetta against Mrs. Ashton is causing you nothing but harm."


    I stiffened. "Thomas..."


    "Please, sir," he held up a hand, "Allow me to finish."


    Something in his tone...a quiet authority I’d never noticed before...made me fall silent.


    "Mrs. Ashton was a good wife to you," he continued. "In the years I’ve worked for you, I’ve observed how she supported you, amodated your schedule, stood by you at countless events. I’ve also witnessed how you’ve treated her in return."


    My face burned with a mixture of anger and shame. "You don’t know anything about my marriage, Thomas."


    "I know enough," he replied evenly. "I know that family is the most important thing in the life of a responsible man. No man is an ind, Mr. Ashton. We all need people we can count on—people who will be there regardless of our sess or failure."


    I let out a bitterugh. "And what would you know about that?"


    "More than you might think," Thomas said, his expression unchanging despite my rudeness. "Before I came to work for you, I lost my wife and daughter in a car ident. I was driving."


    The revtion hit me like a physical blow. In five years, I’d never once asked Thomas about his personal life.


    "I was distracted, arguing with my wife about something so trivial I can’t even remember it now," he continued. "One moment of inattention cost me everything. I would give anything—anything—to have that moment back."


    He took a deep breath,posing himself. "All I’m saying, sir, is that it’s never toote to make amends. Family sticks together through everything. Maybe instead of trying to punish Mrs. Ashton, you should consider what role you yed in bringing things to this point."


    His words hung in the air between us, ufortable in their truth. For a moment, I actually considered the possibility...reaching out to Diane, attempting some kind of reconciliation. But then the memory of her voice in that hospital bathroom returned: "I need to finish him off before theye back." She was beyond reconciliation now. We both were.


    "I appreciate your concern, Thomas," I said stiffly, "but my situation isplicated in ways you couldn’t possibly understand."


    He nodded, epting the dismissal with characteristic dignity. "I’ll be back tomorrow morning, sir. Is there anything else you need before I go?"


    "No, that’s all. Thank you."


    After he left, his words continued to echo in my mind, unwee intrusions forcing me to confront truths I’d spent years avoiding. Had I ever truly loved Diane? Had I appreciated what I had when I had it? The questions were ufortable, pushing me toward self-reflection I wasn’t ready to face.


    I pushed it all aside, focusing instead on the transformation in Diane. How had she be so cold, so calcting? The woman who’d once flinched at killing spiders was now capable of torturing me without hesitation. It was as if I’d never known her at all...or maybe I’d never bothered to really see her beneath the perfect wife fa?ade I’d wanted her to maintain.


    The sound of the front door opening again yanked me from my thoughts. I hadn’t heard the security buzzer, which meant whoever had entered had the code. My heart rate elerated, panic wing at the edges of my consciousness. Had Dianee to finish what she’d started?


    "Hello?" I called out, my voice embarrassingly unsteady. "Who’s there?"


    A familiar figure appeared in the doorway to the living room, and relief washed over me. "Noah," I breathed. "You scared the hell out of me."


    Noah stood there, briefcase in one hand, phone in the other, regarding me with none of the warmth that had characterized our friendship for over a decade. His expression was detached, clinical almost, as he took in my bruised face and bandaged hand.


    "Liam," he greeted me coolly.


    Despite the chilly reception, a surge of gratitude rose within me. Noah hade to see me. After everything, my oldest friend had still shown up.


    "I didn’t know you wereing," I said, attempting to sit up straighter despite the pain in my ribs. "Would have cleaned the ce up a bit."


    Noah didn’t smile at the weak joke. "I’m not here for a social call. I left some files in the guest roomst time I stayed. I need them for a meeting tomorrow."


    The rejection stung more than I wanted to admit. "Oh," I managed. "Right."


    An awkward silence stretched between us, filled with all the things we weren’t saying. There had been a time when Noah and I couldmunicate volumes with just a look, when we’d finish each other’s sentences and know instinctively what the other was thinking. Now, we were like strangers inhabiting the same space, connected only by the fraying threads of a friendship I’d taken for granted.


    "How are you?" I finally asked, gesturing vaguely at my injuries. "As you can see, it’s been a rough week."


    Noah’s expression hardened. "I heard you fled the hospital. Dramatic as always."


    "Dramatic?" I repeated incredulously. "Noah, she was going to kill me. I heard her nning it on the phone."


    He raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched in every line of his face. "Because Diane is suddenly a murderer? Do you even hear yourself, Liam?"


    "You weren’t there," I snapped. "You didn’t hear what I heard."


    "No, I wasn’t," Noah agreed. "I was on a business trip, remember? Doing the job you should have been doing if you weren’t so busy destroying your marriage and dragging everyone down with you."


    The usation hit its mark with painful uracy.


    "Can I go get those files now?" he added, not waiting for a response to his previous statement.


    "Sure," I muttered. "You know where the guest room is."


    Noah nodded curtly, setting his briefcase and phone down on the coffee table.


    "And can I get your charger? My phone’s been acting up sincest night—refuses to power up."


    I gestured behind the couch.


    As soon as he sessfully plugged in his phone, he headed toward the stairs. As he disappeared from view, I leaned back against the couch, a hollow ache spreading through my chest...one that had nothing to do with my physical injuries.


    When had things gone so wrong? Noah had been my brother in all but blood since our college days. We’d survived the lean years, celebrated each milestone and achievement side by side. Now he could barely stand to be in the same room with me.


    A buzzing sound drew my attention to the coffee table where Noah had left his phone charging. I nced toward the stairs, but there was no sign of him returning yet. The phone chimed again, insistently.


    "Noah!" I called out. "Your phone’s ringing!"


    No response. He must have been deep in the guest room closet, searching for whatever file he’d left behind. The phone fell silent for a moment, then lit up again with what I assumed was a message notification.


    "Noah!" I tried again, louder this time, ignoring the stab of pain in my ribs. Still nothing.


    With a sigh, I pushed myself off the couch, intending to take the phone upstairs to him. I’d nearly reached it when the screen lit up again, and a preview of the message appeared.


    "Noah, I know it’ste and I understand if you don’t want to talk to me. But I miss you. I miss yourugh, your terrible jokes that somehow still make me smile, the way you always know what to say to make me feel better. I’m sorry for not being honest with you from the start. You deserved better than that. I hope someday you can forgive me." - Diane


    I reached for the phone with trembling hands, needing to see the rest of the message, to know the full extent of their betrayal. But before my fingers could touch the screen, I noticed the contact photo, Noah and Diane, their faces pressed close together, smiling. The kind of casual intimacy thates withfort and familiarity.


    The room seemed to tilt beneath me as blood rushed to my head. My legs gave way, and I found myself on the floor, staring at that phone as if it contained the secrets of the universe. A universe where my wife and my best friend were...what? Lovers? Conspirators? Both?