I Was His Secret Genius, Now I’m His Biggest Regret Chapter 10

I Was His Secret Genius, Now I’m His Biggest Regret Chapter 10

A sharp pain stabbed through his stomach. Clayton instinctively pressed a hand to his abdomen and bent over slightly.

It was happening again. Too much stress, irregular meals.

Before, Ava would have noticed his tightened brow. Before he even had to ask, a cup of warm milk or a bowl of plain oatmeal would have appeared at his side. She always remembered what medicine he needed to take and would watch him, with a hint of undeniable concern in her voice, until he swallowed it.

He shook his head, trying to fling the useless thoughts away, and walked straight to the study.

He needed a drink.

He pushed open the heavy walnut door and opened the climate-controlled tasting cabinet. Rows of sample bottles with experimental labels glittered under the cold light like a silent army.

On the shelf beside the cabinet was a thick, leather-bound notebook.

Ava’s Distiller’s Ledger.

It was covered with colorful sticky notes, all in her neat, forceful handwriting.

“Rye content in this batch is too high. Spice overwhelms the sweetness. Recommend reducing by 5%.”

“Barrel No. 3, char level 4, shows remarkable notes of dark chocolate and leather. Reserve as a single-barrel candidate.”

“After switching to Kentucky No. 2 spring water, the body is noticeably softer. Monitor calcium and magnesium ion content.”

These notes were the real secrets of Montgomery Distillery, the source of all its award-winning formulas.

Clayton stared at the familiar handwriting for a long time. Finally, irritated, he slammed the notebook shut. He grabbed a bottle of last year’s Estate Reserve and poured himself a full glass.

The amber liquid swayed in the glass. He tilted his head back and took a large swallow. The familiar smoke and caramel slid down his throat, but he couldn’t taste anything deeper. The complex notes Ava could always identify so casually—roasted almonds, dried figs, a hint of a cigar box—were now just a vague, alcoholic burn on his tongue.

Holding the glass, he went to the master bedroom. Without turning on the light, he threw himself onto the bed.

His side of the covers was still in disarray from when he had left that morning.

The other side was smooth, the pillow perfectly placed, an emptiness that would never be filled.

He turned over and reached out an arm, a familiar habit, wanting to pull that warm body close.

His fingertips touched only cold, empty space.

He jerked his hand back as if burned.

He rolled onto his back, staring at the heavy shadows on the ceiling.

He suddenly caught a very faint fragrance.

It came from her pillow. A mix of her citrus shampoo and a hint of oak.

He had smelled it for more than ten years and never thought anything of it.

But tonight, in this house as empty as a tomb, it was like an invisible needle, striking the most fragile nerve in his body.

He closed his eyes and ordered himself to sleep. He had a tough board meeting tomorrow. He needed his energy.

But no matter how he tossed and turned, his mind was full of Ava.