Too Late For His Love

ar empire. For ten years, I was his secret weapon, the gho

-eyed intern, Cassidy, the m

nt of leverage to bend me to his will,

orchestrated events that left me on a medical table, my very be

l procedure against my will. I heard him give the order: "Keep her alive.

me, that I was just anoth

a genius always has

military helicopter lifted off with my son and me, I gave my final order:

ttle bird. I was tak

pte

ry

polished mahogany of his private jet. He didn't shout. He didn't even raise his voice. He just leaned across the table, h

is she,

o had become his obsession, to be sent away. A quiet transfer to a European subsidiary, a generous severance, a clean break.

s a

ke," I said, my own voice tre

d sharp. This wasn't the Blake I knew. The man I'd loved for ten years, the man I'd built an empire for fr

close I could smell the expensive whi

alked to the back of the cabin where our five-year-old son, Jagger, was s

stirring from his sleep

d dread, thick and suff

on the wall beside the emergency latch. The roar of the engines was a constant, deafening hum, but in that moment, the silence in the cabin was a physica

whispered, my

t pierced through the engine noise. He reached fo

he code I'd written, the empire we'd built, the billions in

begged, tears streaming

dangerously calm. "You have until we land to

tiny apartment, fueled by cheap coffee and love. I was the architect, the genius behind the code that would become

e one night, his arms wrapped around me as we looked o

his secret weapon, his ghost in the machine. "Davenport Dynamics," he'd announced at the first press conference

ve up my name, my recognition, my o

ke's fragile ego in a way my quiet competence never could. He called her his

rs. He was showing her a sketch, and she was looking up at him with wide, worshipful eyes. The intimacy

from his desk, replacing it with a sleek, minimalist sculpture. He claimed it was f

wo

and sharp. Jagger was screaming now, his small

he do this? How could he look at his own son, his ow

e!" I shrieked, my v

s words a death sentence to the love I once had

. "Tell me, and we can go back to how things were. You, me, Jag

to reason with the monster wearing my husband's face. He wouldn'

n't

hr

ved towards

s tearing from my throat. "I sent he

mile returned. He casually tossed a whimpering Ja

t, his voice crisp and authoritative

ceased to exist. I crawled over to my son, gathering his trembling body in

ife together. All of it erased in a single, terrifying mome

mpire, Avery. Everything I have is yours." But that empire was bui

bought her extravagant gifts, showered her with attention, treated her like a fragile doll. He indulged her every wh

number. It was a photo. Blake and Cassidy, laughing together in our bedr

d. I switched off the phone, a strange calm settling over me. I sat in the sterile airport lounge, waiting for m

self-worth, for the sake of a marriage that had become a prison. I had told mysel

s wr

ly constant the burning intelligence inside my own head. Blake was my first lo

m

hatch I never thought I'd need. It was an offer to join a top-secret government initiative, Project Chimera, a 20-year quantum computing project in a remot

n simple: if I ever activated th

y in my arms, his face stained with tears

avenport wanted his little bir

take every