I Was His Secret Genius, Now I’m His Biggest Regret Chapter 09

I Was His Secret Genius, Now I’m His Biggest Regret Chapter 09

I Was His Secret Genius Now I’m His Biggest Regret Chapter 09
When Clayton came out of the hospital, it was late.

Savannah had leaned against his shoulder, her eyes red, saying nightmares about the fire kept her from sleeping. She had insisted he stay with her. He had spent an entire day and night in the private ward, listening to her talk about her childhood until she finally fell asleep.

The cold late-autumn wind slipped into the collar of his suit, making him shiver.

Standing at the hospital entrance, Clayton hesitated. In the end, he didn’t call Ava’s private number. Instead, he called the head of HR. He just wanted to confirm that she had inspected the next batch of oak barrels, as she always did.

“Mr. Montgomery?” The sound of a keyboard clacking came from the other end. “Are you asking about Ms. Ava Chen?”

“Yes. Did she today…”

“Oh, she submitted her resignation this morning,” the manager said cautiously. “And she has already cleared all her personal belongings from the distilling lab.”

Clayton’s brow tightened. “Resignation? Who approved it?”

“She submitted the application herself. It was all in order. We thought… this had your approval.”

Clayton said nothing more and hung up.

He stood in the street, irritated, and tugged at his tie. Ava’s name glowed on his phone screen, but after a long moment, he still didn’t call.

She was just throwing a tantrum. That was all. Where could she go?

With that thought, he started the Bentley and drove toward the Montgomery estate.

He pushed open the heavy oak doors. The house was dark.

Clayton reached for the switch on the wall, and the crystal chandelier flooded the foyer with light.

The living room was the same: antique sofas, polished silver tea service, portraits of Montgomery ancestors on the walls. Everything was exactly as it had been when he left that morning.

And yet, something was different.

He stood in the doorway and sniffed.

The air held only the scent of expensive wood polish and furniture oil. The faint scent that always lingered in the house, the one that belonged to Ava—a mix of sweet fermenting malt and oak—was gone.

He rubbed his throbbing temples and took two steps inside.

“Ava.”

No one answered.

He paused, then raised his voice, a thread of irritation in his tone.

“Ava?”

Still no answer.

In the vast house, it was so quiet he could hear his own breathing.