I Was His Secret Genius, Now I’m His Biggest Regret Chapter 11

I Was His Secret Genius, Now I’m His Biggest Regret Chapter 11

Images flashed through his mind.

In the dead of winter, she had stood at the distillery entrance waiting for him, her face red from the cold, a small bottle of a new blend clutched in her hand to keep it warm.

At a family dinner, when Savannah had implied his latest marketing plan was too “common,” Ava had quietly lifted her glass and said, “A truly good whiskey should be enjoyed by everyone who loves it, not locked away in a few collectors’ cabinets.”

And that day in the cellar, when she walked with her head down past a group of whispering distillers, her shoulder still stained with the liquor someone had “accidentally” spilled on her.

There was nothing. Nothing at all.

Clayton forced himself to sleep, but no matter how he tossed and turned, his mind was full of Ava.

His stomach suddenly cramped violently, worse than before.

Only then did he remember that he had been too busy to eat dinner.

He got out of bed and went to the kitchen for water. As he passed the enormous mahogany dining table, he stopped.

On the table lay a kraft paper folder. Beside it was a sticky note.

It was Ava’s handwriting. Neat, calm, identical to the script in the Distiller’s Ledger.

His throat tightened. He unfolded the note. By the moonlight spilling through the windows, he read the single line.

“Clayton, take care of your brand and your children. I’m leaving. Don’t look for me.”

Clayton stared at the paper for a full minute.

His first reaction was: what new game was Ava playing?

He told himself that was all it was.

Leaving without a word, leaving this pretentious note—it was all to make him bow his head, to force him to admit her “value” in this marriage.

He knew her so well.

She loved him. He had known that since the day they were married.

All these years, she had revolved around him, around the children, around the Montgomery name.

She had no network of her own, no independent assets, no platform that could compare to Montgomery Distillery.

Where could she go? To some third-rate workshop in Tennessee to work as a distiller?

One month, at most.

Once she hit a wall and understood that without him, without this family, her golden palate was worthless, she would come back.

Besides, there were Beau and Daisy.

She could never leave the children.

Clayton looked at the reflection of the man in the window and tried to reassure himself.

It was fine. A cooling-off period would be good for both of them.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to dispel the heavy feeling in his chest.