I Was His Secret Genius, Now I’m His Biggest Regret Chapter 29

I Was His Secret Genius, Now I’m His Biggest Regret Chapter 29

The window rose fully, shutting out Daisy’s heartbroken cries. Inside the cab, only the country music and the muffled drum of rain remained.

Ethan’s hand didn’t leave the center console. He looked ahead in silence, waiting for Ava’s instruction.

The pickup was a safe island in the storm-tossed night.

Ava’s gaze passed over her drenched daughter and landed on the stiff figure in the distance.

At last, Clayton moved.

He strode forward without an umbrella, straight into the pouring rain. His expensive suit was soaked through in seconds, clinging to him and outlining his wretched form.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

He hammered on the window beside Ava.

“Ava, let’s talk.” His voice came through the thick glass, hoarse and trembling.

Ava’s face held no expression. She didn’t even look at him. “Ethan, let’s go,” she said softly.

Ethan nodded. The pickup’s headlights shifted, and the engine gave a low growl, preparing to go around them.

At that moment, Clayton suddenly rushed in front of the truck and spread his arms wide, blocking their path.

Ethan slammed on the brakes.

Clayton stood there, letting the icy rain wash over him. His once-meticulous hair now clung to his forehead, water streaming down his handsome, distorted face. The Montgomery heir, always seen under spotlights, known for his elegance and control, now looked like a trapped animal.

He returned to Ava’s window, braced both hands against the door, and lowered his head, his shoulders shaking.

The man who had always stood so straight, who had never shown weakness in public, now seemed utterly broken.

“Ava, I was wrong.”

His voice came through the rain, squeezed from his chest, so hoarse it was almost inaudible.

“I know… I have no right to say this.” He pressed his forehead against the cold window. “But I have to. I’m sorry.”

A passing car slowed. The people inside seemed to recognize him, and a phone flash blinked in the dark.

The king of a bourbon dynasty, soaked to the bone, apologizing to a battered pickup truck.

Clayton didn’t care. He only looked at the blurred, unmoved silhouette inside the window.

“Will you forgive me?”

Ava looked at him.

She looked for a long, long time.

Long enough for Daisy to stop crying. Long enough for Beau to get out of the car in the distance and stare blankly at the scene.

Then she pressed the window button.

The glass lowered slowly, and cold, muddy air rushed in.

Clayton lifted his head, a humble hope in his eyes.

Ava smiled.

The smile was faint, light, yet carried a desolate, mocking understanding of everything.

“Clayton,” she said, her voice terrifyingly calm. “You don’t know you were wrong.”

He froze.

“You’re just not used to it.” Her tone was a blade quenched in ice, each word stabbing into his heart. “You’re not used to your unconditional source of creativity suddenly running dry. You’re not used to the person whose name you erased, the one who supported your entire empire, simply walking away.”