I Was His Secret Genius, Now I’m His Biggest Regret Chapter 01

I Was His Secret Genius, Now I’m His Biggest Regret Chapter 01

One month after her rebirth, the employees at Montgomery Distillery noticed that Ava, the owner’s wife, had changed.

She no longer went to the fermentation room at dawn to check on the yeast.

She no longer tasted comparison samples for her husband, Clayton, offering guidance from her famously golden palate.

Even when the blending for the Estate Reserve series—the line that would make or break the distillery’s next quarter—hit a dead end, she only told the COO to take it up with the CEO.

On a stormy Kentucky night, her husband, Clayton, pushed open the door, his voice laced with ice. “What’s gotten into you?”

Ava closed the whiskey magazine in her hands. “Nothing,” she said, her voice calm. “I’m just tired.”

The man’s brow furrowed.

He had married her for that palate, the one that could distinguish thousands of flavors and had won the Montgomery family countless awards.

He knew she cared more about the distillery’s reputation than anything.

But now, she had stopped making whiskey.

The bourbon dynasty he had built was about to lose its soul.

…

Rain beat against the study windows, a frantic rhythm behind Clayton’s cold voice.

He was about to say more when the low murmurs of old distillery workers drifted in from the porch.

“Mrs. Ava’s been like a different person lately. On her birthday before, we’d at least get to taste those bourbon cupcakes she made. But last week… nothin’.”

“You don’t know? It was her birthday last week, and Mr. Montgomery took the kids to the Kentucky Derby with Miss Savannah. Who’d feel good about that?”

Clayton’s brow tightened. He turned, ready to explain. “You know Savannah is the family’s new brand consultant. Her connections are essential.”

Ava only gave a soft “mm,” offering nothing more.

“You’re dismissing me,” Clayton said, his stare pinning her in place. “Ava, we’re husband and wife. If something’s wrong, tell me.”

Husband and wife?

Ava’s mind flashed to the thick Distiller’s Ledger locked away in a bank vault. That book was her only real possession, her only companion. This marriage was a pathetic joke.

A humorless smile touched her lips. “There’s really noth—”

Before she could finish, the study door was shoved open.

Their sixteen-year-old daughter, Daisy, stood there in a delicate riding habit, her pretty face flushed scarlet, her eyes blazing.

“Why didn’t you come to my awards ceremony? Aunt Savannah was there! Did I embarrass you or something?” She rushed forward, snatched *Whiskey Chemistry* from the table beside Ava, and hurled it to the floor. The heavy book landed with a dull thud, its pages spilling open across the hardwood.

Their eighteen-year-old son, Beau, stood behind her, hands shoved into the pockets of his tailored trousers. He wore the same look of disdain as his father—a quiet contempt for a mother who was merely a “craftswoman.”

Clayton frowned, about to reprimand his daughter for her outburst.

But Ava spoke first, her voice colder than the rain lashing against the glass. “Then go find your Savannah. She can teach you how to smile for high society instead of throwing a tantrum in here.”

The air froze.

Clayton’s fists clenched at his sides. “Do you mean that?”

Ava looked at the book lying broken on the floor. It was an out-of-print edition her mentor at UCLA had given her. “I do.”

Daisy froze, then burst into ragged sobs, crying that Ava was the worst mother in the world.

But even as the girl cried until she could barely breathe, Ava’s expression remained unchanged. There was no trace of her old panic, no flicker of heartache.

A hot spike of rage shot through Clayton’s chest. “Fine, Ava,” he said coldly. “You brought this on yourself.”

With that, he wrapped an arm around his still-sobbing daughter and strode away.

Beau paused at the door and looked back, glaring at her. “Why did you have to embarrass Dad like that?”

Ava lifted her eyes, her gaze sweeping over his young, accusing face.

“You should go, too.”

Beau stiffened, his voice thick with a wounded confusion. “You… you weren’t like this before.”

No, she wasn’t. The old Ava had poured every ounce of her passion into this family, only to be met with her husband’s entitlement and her children’s growing disdain.

Ava didn’t answer. She simply stood, walked to the study door, and closed it.

Soon, the roar of a car engine cut through the storm, then faded into silence.

Ava leaned against the massive floor-to-ceiling window, the glass cool against her skin. It reflected her exhausted face. She thought back to her previous life.

She’d been born into a middle-class family of artisans, but her astonishing gift for chemistry and flavor had made her a star in UCLA’s chemistry department. It was at an academic conference that Clayton Montgomery, visiting the university, had discovered her like an uncut gem.

He, the heir to Kentucky’s most prestigious bourbon family, needed a genius who could stabilize the distillery’s quality and create world-class new products to secure his precarious position as CEO. And she had the golden palate.

Everyone envied her for marrying into such a powerful family.

But on their wedding day, Clayton had told her, “I married you for your talent. Do what you were brought here to do. Be the hero behind the scenes at Montgomery Distillery, and don’t start dreaming about things that don’t belong to you.”

She had nodded, her face pale, yet still fallen hopelessly in love with the man who had opened up a whole new world to her.

After the wedding, desperate to make him see her as more, she gave him everything. She developed every award-winning bourbon the distillery had produced in the last decade. She personally tweaked the formula for every new batch. To study the subtle effects of the angel’s share during aging, she would spend entire days in the cold, damp rickhouse.

During her pregnancies, she endured violent morning sickness without medication, determined to keep her palate sharp. Later, when she developed a stomach condition, she quietly drank alkaline water to manage the pain herself. She thought her sacrifices would eventually earn his love.

Only on her deathbed did she realize how wrong she had been.

In her final moments, she lay in a hospital bed watching the live broadcast of the “Distillery of the Year” awards. Montgomery Distillery won, of course.

Under the spotlight, Clayton was as handsome as ever. He lifted the trophy and, for the first time, revealed a tender devotion on camera.

“Tonight, the person I want to thank most is my brand consultant, and my soul mate, Savannah Beaumont.”

“She is the light of my life. Everything I have achieved is because of her…”

In that moment, Ava’s world collapsed.

She clutched the hand of her daughter, Daisy, who sat beside her bed. “Did I… did I hear that wrong?” she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Daisy’s face was cold, impatient. She flung Ava’s hand away.

“You should have realized a long time ago. Dad and Aunt Savannah are the ones who belong together. Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to show up at school smelling like yeast all the time?”

Ava felt as if she’d been struck by lightning.

Beau and Daisy gave her one last, cold look before turning away. “We have to get to the celebration dinner.”

On the television, the banquet was being broadcast live. Ava watched Clayton and Savannah embrace, celebrating together, and she suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood that stained the white sheets crimson.

She closed her eyes in agony. Her only wish was that if she could do it all again, she would never live a life like this.

So, after she was reborn, she did two things.

First, she secretly applied for a personal business loan to start a brand that would belong only to her.

Second, on a morning when no one was looking, she moved the Distiller’s Ledger—containing over a decade of her formulas, inspirations, and experimental data—from the study safe to a bank vault downtown.

Now, the loan had been approved. In one week, the funds would be hers.

Soon, she would leave this family, just as they wished.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock.

The distillery’s director of operations stood in the doorway, his expression a mixture of awkwardness and pity.

“Ma’am… Mr. Montgomery has instructed us to have you clear out the main blending lab… so Miss Savannah can use it as the new Brand Image Center.” He paused, then added, “He said… you need to clear it out yourself.”

“I see.” Ava nodded calmly.

She wasted no time, returning to the space that had once been her sanctuary. She didn’t touch the samples labeled “Montgomery Reserve,” nor did she glance at the trophies on the wall she had won for the distillery. She took only a few out-of-print reference books and her personal laptop.

As she held the box and prepared to leave, a figure blocked her path.

It was Savannah Beaumont.

She wore the latest Chanel suit, her makeup flawless, a smug smile playing on her lips as she looked at Ava’s disheveled state.

“Moving out, Ava?”

Ava ignored her and tried to step around.

With a thud, Savannah deliberately bumped into Ava’s arm, sending the contents of the box scattering across the floor.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Savannah said, though her eyes were filled with triumph. “You’re still so hands-on, Ava. Doing everything yourself. Not like me. I just know how to spend Clayton’s money. Oh, that reminds me. He just ordered me the newest Ferrari to celebrate the new image I’m bringing to the brand.”

Ava said nothing. She just crouched down and began silently picking up her books.

Savannah tapped the toe of her stiletto against the polished floor. Then, with deliberate precision, she stepped on Ava’s open notebook—a private record of her flavor wheels.

“I hear you can’t even come up with a blending plan for the new product. What’s the difference between a distiller with no inspiration and a useless waste of space?”

Ava’s gaze turned sharp. She grabbed Savannah’s ankle and shoved.

“Ah!” Savannah cried out, stumbling backward—and was caught securely in the arms of Clayton, who had just arrived.

Beau and Daisy rushed over, hovering nervously around Savannah.

“Savannah! Are you all right?” Clayton’s voice was a low growl of concern and anger.

“I’m fine…” Savannah’s eyes welled with tears as she burrowed into Clayton’s arms, the picture of a wronged victim. “Clayton, maybe I should leave… Ava doesn’t seem to want me here…”

Clayton didn’t answer. He just lifted his head and fixed Ava with an icy glare.

Ava pulled her gaze away from her children and hid the red mark on the back of her hand. “I’ll leave right now.”

She had just picked up the box when Clayton blocked her path again.

“You want to leave that badly? You don’t even want these?” He pointed at a few scattered photos in the box. They were pictures of the four of them at an awards ceremony, along with the trophy from her first gold medal at the International Spirits Challenge.

“You told me to clear out the lab,” Ava said calmly, meeting his gaze. “I’m not the one abandoning them.”

“Then why don’t you put them back in the trophy room?” Clayton took a step closer, his presence overwhelming.

Ava pressed her lips together. “If you must have a reason, it’s because there’s too much, and I can’t carry it all by myself.”

Clayton’s face darkened.

Daisy noticed the photos and shrieked, “You’re throwing away our memories! Don’t you care about this family’s honor at all?”

Beau glared at her. “If you can’t learn Aunt Savannah’s taste, at least learn how she protects the family’s dignity!”

Before, those words would have felt like a knife to the heart.

Now, she just felt tired.

“Think whatever you want.”

She turned to leave, but two uniformed security guards stepped in front of her.

The director of operations appeared again, his face apologetic. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. Mr. Montgomery said you assaulted the brand consultant and are emotionally unstable. You need to calm down. Starting today, your access on the estate is restricted to the living quarters.”

House arrest.

The wind and rain howled outside. Ava didn’t say another word.

She lay on the cold bed in the guest room, listening to the storm, feeling as if she had fallen into a long, deep dream.

In the dream, Clayton promised her love and respect. He promised to make her the true queen of the bourbon world. But in the end, she was alone in a hospital bed, watching her husband kiss another woman on television.

At the end of the dream, she smiled through her tears and used all her strength to murmur, “If there is another life, I will never make whiskey for you again…”

The moment the words left her mouth, the guest room door was pushed open. Clayton barged in, bringing a chill with him from the hall.

His brow was low, his face dark. “Not make whiskey for me? Ava, say that again!”

Ava didn’t open her eyes. She could feel him drawing closer.

Clayton approached, smelling of alcohol and rage, only to find the woman on the bed had her eyes closed, her breathing even.

She had been talking in her sleep.

He let out an almost imperceptible breath of relief.

“Clayton, what are you doing?”

Savannah’s voice, pitched to a perfect note of innocence, came from the doorway. “Are you still worried about Ava? It’s all my fault. I made you two fight.”

Clayton’s expression flickered. When he turned, his voice had softened. “It has nothing to do with you.”

Savannah glanced at Ava on the bed, then deliberately looped her arm through Clayton’s. “By the way, darling,” she cooed, “that bourbon Ava blended, Morning Dew, the one we talked about naming after me. What do you think of Savannah’s Kiss?”

He soothed her in a low voice. “Of course. She won’t mind.”

On the bed, Ava, feigning sleep, felt a single, cold tear slide past her temple and disappear into the pillow.

Don’t worry. She wouldn’t mind.

Not for the rest of her life.