2. 2
GO TO HELL - Clinton Kane
I ’m the kind of woman who can handle people in small doses—any longer and I’m already planning my exit. And if I’ve warmed up to you, sure, I’ll laugh at your jokes… but I won’t hesitate to throw a chair if I don’t like your tone. At least, that’s who I used to be.
Before I ended up here, following a long ribbon of asphalt through the dry, sun-scorched landscape, the weight of the past seven hours pressing harder with every kilometre I put between me and Sydney.
My knuckles tighten on the wheel, fighting the urge to turn back.
But there’s nowhere else to go now. Wattle Creek looms in the distance—a place I thought I’d never have to return to, filled with memories I’ve avoided for years.
The streets of Sydney were a symphony of chaos and life, each car horn and hurried step feeding the city’s endless hum.
I used to love that sound, the constant buzz of people going somewhere, doing something.
It matched my pace, my ambition. Or at least, it used to.
Lately, it had all felt like background noise to the hollow ache inside me.
I’d moved there at twenty-one, fresh-faced and determined to make something of myself.
A double degree in business management and marketing was my ticket out of the small-town monotony I’d left behind.
And I’d done it. Studied hard, landed a job, climbed the corporate ladder.
By my mid-twenties, I was managing a company and living the kind of life some people envied.
From the outside, anyway. Then came Liam. Liam De Luca.
My husband.
The perfect match on paper. He was a high-flying businessman, and we met at one of those glossy networking events, all overpriced champagne and fake smiles.
At twenty-six, with all my friends getting married, having babies, or announcing engagements, it felt like the universe was nudging me toward him.
I wasn’t desperate—God, no—but let’s be real, a woman can’t wait forever.
Liam was everything I thought I should want. He had the success and that maddening confidence that made me think, why not?
So, when he proposed, I said yes. Not because I was madly in love, but because saying no felt too difficult. Disappointing him? His family? My family? That wasn’t an option. Years of ingrained conditioning from my parents had made sure of that.
But five years in, the cracks weren’t just showing, they were splitting me wide open.
Liam didn’t know me. Not really. He knew the version of me that fit into his world perfectly— the smiling wife who played nice with his colleagues, kept the apartment running, and didn’t rock the boat.
But the real me? The one suffocating under his control and his sharp words, the one who learned to cover bruises with makeup and excuses?
That version of me didn’t exist to him.
I stayed. God help me, I stayed. For too long, I convinced myself I could fix it, fix us. I threw myself into my career, into money, into anything that made me feel in control. But no amount of success or money could fill the growing void inside me.
The night everything unravelled started like any other. I’d spent the day drowning in cocktails and laughter, letting my friends’ chatter pull me into their world of glossy distractions. By nine-thirty-ish, I’d called it a night, craving some quiet.
However, when I opened the door to my apartment, I walked straight into the moment that solidified every doubt I’d been trying to ignore. Because what I’d discovered was Liam, tangled in the sheets with his assistant.
In our bed. My own fucking bed.
I froze, every nerve in my body screaming at me to move, to yell, to do something. When my voice finally found me, it cut through the room like a whip. “What the fuck?”
Liam scrambled, dragging the sheet over himself like it could somehow shield him from what he’d done. Amanda—her name was—had the audacity to smirk, like she’d just won a game I didn’t even know I was playing.
“Zoe, fuck! It’s not what it looks like,” Liam stammered.
“Not what it looks like?” I snapped. “What does it look like then? Because to me, it looks like you’re fucking another woman. In my bed.”
“Zoe, just listen—”
“Don’t you dare ‘Zoe’ me,” I spat, my anger boiling over. “How long? How long has this been going on?”
“Not long,” he muttered, his face flushing like the coward he is. “It means nothing.”
“Nothing?” Amanda’s voice cut in, and the sound grated against my nerves, irritating the fuck out of me. “That’s not what you—”
“Not now!” Liam barked, his tone dismissive. Unbelievable. She had the nerve to pout, like she was the victim here.
“Oh, what’s wrong?” I sneered, my fury bubbling over. “Feeling hurt now?” I turned back to Liam, my voice icy. “Get her out of here. Now.”
Amanda didn’t need to be told twice. She scrambled out of the bed, grabbed her clothes, and bolted—a coward, just like my soon-to-be ex-husband. I didn’t watch her leave. I was already moving, pulling out a suitcase and throwing in whatever my shaking hands could find.
Liam’s voice followed me. “Zoe, stop! We need to talk.”
I didn’t answer him. Talk? Now he wanted to talk? As I continued my pursuit, he shoved the clothes out of my hands, backing me against the wardrobe door. His arm pressed into my chest, pinning me, and for a second, I saw red.
“I told you to stop. You’re not going anywhere,” he hissed, his face all twisted in anger.
“Get off me,” I gritted out.
“No. You’re going to let me explain,” he barked, inches from my face.
“Explain what?” I snarled. “That you’re a lying, cheating asshole? That you’ve been screwing your assistant while I’ve been busting my ass trying to keep this sham of a marriage alive? Save it, Liam. I’m done.”
His laugh was cold, bitter. “Done? You’re done?
Do you know what it’s been like living with you?
You’re never in the mood, never around. What was I supposed to do?
Just wait around while you ignore me?” His words hit like a slap, but I didn’t let it show.
Instead, I shoved past him, grabbing another handful of clothes.
“You think this is my fault?” I said, spinning to face him. “You think your pathetic excuses justify this? You’ve given me nothing, Liam. Nothing but neglect, control, and bruises I had to explain away to myself. You’re disgusting.”
“You’re not leaving,” he growled, gripping my arm again, so tight it bordered on pain. That time, I yanked it free with every ounce of strength I had left.
“Watch me,” I spat, venom dripping from every word. And I did. I walked out that door with my suitcase in hand, his voice roaring behind me like a desperate animal. The sound grated against my nerves, but I didn’t look back. Not once.
My gut twisted, anxiety clawing at me like a rabid beast. Liam wouldn’t just let this go. He wasn’t built for that. If he had any sense at all—which he clearly didn’t, given his inability to think beyond his dick—he’d know better.
But no. He’s too arrogant, too stupid, too predictable.
He won’t let me walk away quietly, not without trying to pull me back into his web.
I’d left without telling anyone, knowing they’d find out soon enough.
I knew I’d have to tell my best friends, Jeff and Dani, eventually—but what would I even say?
How do you casually explain that the life you’ve carefully built is burning to the ground?
That night, something inside me shattered. Not a crack. Not a chip. A complete and utter break. But it wasn’t the kind of break that leaves you in pieces on the floor. It was the kind that lets you see clearly for the first time. It was the kind that sets you free.
For the first time in years, I was done pretending. Done surviving. Done making excuses for a man who never deserved me. It was over. And I wasn’t just leaving Liam behind. I was leaving the version of myself I’d become—the woman who let him take everything until there was nothing left to give.
I’d jumped on the freeway and driven all night.
Eight hours straight. Pitch-black darkness, white lines blurring into a rhythm that barely kept me sane.
How I managed it, I’ll never know. But the adrenaline—the raw, clawing need to escape—kept my foot on the pedal.
At one point, I passed a rundown motel, but I kept going.
Sleep-deprived or not, I couldn’t shake the thought that if I stopped, Liam might be right behind me.
Irrational, maybe, but the worry gnawed at me all the same.
By the time morning broke, I was about thirty minutes out from Wattle Creek, running on fumes in every possible way. I pulled into a petrol station, dragged myself into the grimy bathroom, and stared at the stranger looking back at me in the mirror.
Eyes bloodshot, hair a mess. I didn’t have time to change before bolting—still in my dress and heels from dinner.
The heels that were supposed to make me feel powerful now just pinched my feet like a cruel reminder of the life I was running from.
I’d splashed cold water on my face and grabbed bottles of water at the counter.
No food. No appetite. Just enough to keep me moving.
The cashier didn’t even bother to hide her judgement, giving me that up-and-down glance.
A couple of truckies nearby paused mid-conversation, openly staring at the overdressed woman who looked like she’d been dragged through hell and back.
I didn’t flinch. Shoulders back, chin high, I walked out of there with as much dignity as my blistered feet could manage, heels clicking on the cracked tiles. Let them wonder.
They didn’t know me, and I didn’t owe them shit.