Too Late For His Love

Avery POV:

My first priority upon landing was the Prometheus Core. It was the heart of Davenport Dynamics, a quantum computing mainframe housed in a subterranean laboratory beneath our corporate headquarters. It held every line of code I had ever written, the culmination of my life' s work. Without it, the company was nothing more than an empty shell with a fancy logo.

Getting to it was the problem. Years ago, in a fit of what I then believed was romantic paranoia, Blake had insisted on a dual-authorization protocol for the lab' s entrance. A retinal scan and a palm print. From both of us. Simultaneously. "To protect our legacy," he' d said, cupping my face in his hands. "To make sure no one can ever take this away from us."

Now, his precaution had become my prison.

The jet landed with a soft bump. A black car was waiting on the tarmac. Blake' s assistant, a severe-looking man named Marcus, met us at the steps. He didn' t look at me, his gaze fixed on Blake, who was already striding towards the car.

"Wait here for Jagger," Blake commanded over his shoulder. "Take him back to the villa."

He got into the car without a backward glance and sped away, leaving me alone on the windy tarmac. An hour later, another car arrived with my son. Jagger ran into my arms, his small body still trembling.

I knelt down, brushing the hair from his forehead. "Jagger, honey, listen to me. Do you want to go on a big adventure? Just you and me?"

He looked up at me, his eyes wide and serious. They were Blake' s eyes, but they held none of Blake' s coldness. They held only a deep, unwavering trust in me.

"Are we leaving Daddy?" he asked, his voice a small whisper.

The question was a punch to the gut. I took a shaky breath. "Yes, baby. We are."

He nodded, a solemn, adult-like gesture that broke my heart. "Good," he said. "I don' t like him anymore. Marcus told me if I cried on the plane, Daddy would get angry and throw you out of the sky."

The casual cruelty of it stole my breath. I held him tighter, my own anger a burning coal in my chest. "He can' t hurt us anymore, Jagger. I promise. Now, are you with me?"

"Always, Mommy," he said, his small arms wrapping around my neck. "It' s you and me."

My resolve hardened into steel.

I took him to the company headquarters first, a gleaming tower of glass and steel that I had designed in my mind long before the first brick was laid. The security guards at the front desk greeted me with practiced smiles, but their eyes were wary. The news of Blake' s affair was an open secret.

As I expected, the elevator to the sub-level lab wouldn' t respond to my access card alone.

"Access denied," a sterile, computerized voice announced. "Secondary authorization required."

Jagger looked up at the scanner. "Daddy' s not here," he stated, his simple observation cutting deeper than any insult.

Of course he wasn' t. He was with Cassidy. I remembered the day he installed the system. He' d kissed my palm after the scanner recorded my print. "This way, we' ll always have to do it together," he' d said, his voice soft. "You' re stuck with me, Avery Wade." It had felt like a promise then. Now it felt like a cage.

Defeated for the moment, I took Jagger back to our old apartment, the one we' d lived in before the money and the fame. It was a small, two-bedroom walk-up I had kept, paying the rent every month like a secret insurance policy. A place to run to if the glass castle ever shattered.

The air inside was stale, smelling of dust and forgotten memories. Jagger and I moved through the small rooms, packing a single suitcase. Toys, clothes, a few books.

"Not that one, Mommy," he said, pointing to a blue stuffed bear. "Daddy gave me that one."

He went through his things with a chilling precision, creating two piles. Mine. His. There was no 'ours' anymore. Every gift from Blake, every item associated with him, was left behind. I watched him, a lump forming in my throat. He was only five, but he understood betrayal in a way no child should.

"It' s okay, Mommy," he said, seeing the tears welling in my eyes. He came over and patted my hand. "We don' t need him."

His strength was my anchor. On the wall in the living room was a painting-a childish, colorful depiction of our family. Blake had painted it with Jagger a year ago, during a rare weekend when he was fully present, when he was still a father and a husband. He' d framed it himself, hanging it with a flourish. "The Davenport legacy," he' d declared, laughing.

I stared at it, at the smiling stick figures holding hands under a lopsided sun. My hand trembled as I picked up a black marker from the desk. I drew a thick, angry line through Blake' s smiling face.

Jagger watched me for a moment, then picked up a red marker and scribbled over his own stick figure. "I' ll draw a new one, Mommy," he said, his voice firm. "Just you and me. And maybe Grant."

The mention of my old college friend, the one person who had remained steadfastly in my corner, brought a watery smile to my lips.

We were ruthless. Every trace of Blake was purged. The photos on the mantelpiece went into the trash. The clothes he' d left in the closet were bagged for donation. I even found a forgotten bottle of the expensive, custom-blended cologne he wore and poured it down the drain.

I painted over the wall where the picture had hung, the smell of fresh latex covering the scent of stale memories. In the bathroom, I found a box of his allergy medication. He was prone to severe, debilitating reactions to dust and pollen. Without thinking, I swept the box into the trash can. It was a petty act, but it felt like severing another tie.

Finally, it was done. The apartment was stripped bare, a clean slate. I held my son' s hand, our single suitcase by the door, and we returned to the gilded cage Blake called home.

He was waiting for us in the grand, marble-floored foyer. He looked disheveled, his hair unkempt, his shirt wrinkled. He reeked of alcohol and a cloyingly sweet perfume that wasn' t mine.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded, his eyes blazing with a possessive fire.

I pulled Jagger behind me, shielding him. "Don' t, Blake. Not in front of him."

Just then, a figure appeared on the sweeping staircase. It was Cassidy, wrapped in one of Blake' s silk robes, her face a mask of faux innocence.

"Blake, darling," she cooed, gliding down the stairs. "I was so worried. Please don' t send me away again. Mrs. Davenport… she scares me." She clutched his arm, pressing herself against him.

He looked down at her, his expression softening instantly. "It' s okay, little bird. I' m here." He ran a hand over her hair, then his eyes flickered to a faint scratch on her arm. "What' s this?"

Cassidy flinched, pulling the sleeve of the robe down. "It' s nothing. Just… some of the other interns have been saying things. Spreading rumors that Mrs. Davenport wants me gone. They' ve been… unkind." She looked up at him, her lower lip trembling. She was a master of her craft, a virtuoso of victimhood.

Blake' s face hardened as he looked at me. "You see what you' ve done? You and your jealousy. You couldn' t just leave her alone, could you?"

I didn' t answer. I just bent down and covered Jagger' s eyes with my hand. "It' s okay, baby. We' re just playing a game."

"I asked you to bring her back, Avery, not terrorize her," Blake continued, his voice rising.

Cassidy sank to her knees, a dramatic, theatrical gesture. "Please, Mr. Davenport, don' t blame your wife. It' s my fault. I' ll leave. I don' t want to cause any more trouble."

Blake scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. He held her against his chest, cradling her. He looked at me over her head, his eyes filled with a cold, terrifying menace.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice low and threatening. "In the study. Now."

Jagger tugged on my sleeve, his small voice a desperate whisper. "Mommy, when are we going on our adventure? When are we leaving him?"

I stroked his hair, my heart aching. "Soon, my love. Very soon."

My gaze drifted past Blake and Cassidy, towards the open doors of the living room. Through the gap, I could see them. Blake was whispering something to her, his lips brushing against her ear. She giggled, a high, tinkling sound that grated on my nerves. Then he kissed her, a deep, passionate kiss, right there in the heart of our home.

The world went silent. The blood drained from my face, and a hollow roar filled my ears. It was the sound of the last thread of hope finally snapping.