Too Late For His Love

Avery POV:

The sight of Blake kissing Cassidy in our living room was like a physical blow. The air rushed out of my lungs, leaving a hollow ache in its place. I stood frozen, a silent spectator to the final, brutal dismantling of my life.

I gently guided Jagger upstairs to his room. "Stay here and play with your new space station, okay, baby? Mommy has to talk to Daddy for a little while."

He looked up at me, his small face etched with worry. "You promised we would leave. In three days."

"I promise," I whispered, kissing his forehead. "Three days. Just you and me."

I closed his door and walked back down the grand staircase, each step feeling heavier than the last. Blake was waiting for me at the entrance to the study. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh, and pulled me inside, slamming the door shut behind us.

The study, once our shared sanctuary, was now alien territory. My books on quantum mechanics and computational theory were gone from the shelves, replaced by fashion magazines and romance novels. A pink, fluffy throw blanket was draped over the leather armchair where I used to sit. The room smelled faintly of her sickly-sweet perfume.

This was where we started it all. This was where I' d sketched out the initial architecture for the Prometheus Core on a whiteboard, Blake watching me with a look of pure awe. "You' re a goddamn genius, Avery Wade," he' d breathed, kissing me until I was dizzy. "My genius." That memory, once a source of comfort, now felt like a cruel joke.

"What the hell is this?" he roared, throwing a file onto the desk. It was the transfer paperwork for Cassidy.

"I told you," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I was fixing your mess."

He stalked towards me, his face a mask of fury. "You think you can just dispose of her? Like she' s some kind of… inconvenience?" He pointed a finger at my face. "Let me be clear. You will not touch her. You will not speak to her. You will not even look at her. Is that understood?"

"And the divorce papers?" I asked, the words tasting like ash.

"There will be no divorce," he sneered. "You are Mrs. Blake Davenport. You will remain Mrs. Blake Davenport. You will play the part of the happy, supportive wife, and you will not cause any more trouble."

My resolve hardened. The Prometheus Core. I needed it. "Fine," I said, my voice flat. "But there' s a critical flaw in the latest data set. I need to get into the lab to run diagnostics. I need you for the authorization."

He looked at me, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. For a moment, I thought he' d refuse. But the thought of his precious company being at risk was a powerful motivator.

"Cassidy has a doctor' s appointment tomorrow morning. I' ll take her," he said, his priorities sickeningly clear. "I can be at the office by noon. You' ll wait."

He was already lost. He saw me as a jealous, vindictive shrew, and Cassidy as a helpless victim. He was blind to the truth, lost in a fantasy she had so expertly woven.

That night, I was jolted awake by a piercing scream. It was Cassidy.

Before I could even process what was happening, my bedroom door flew open and Blake stormed in. He grabbed me by the hair, dragging me out of bed and onto the cold floor.

"What did you do to her?" he bellowed, his face contorted with rage.

Jagger, woken by the commotion, ran out of his room. "Mommy!" he cried, trying to pull Blake' s hand away from my hair. Blake shoved him, sending our small son stumbling backward into the wall.

Pain and fury warred within me. I scrambled to my feet, positioning myself between Blake and Jagger. "Don' t you dare touch him!"

"I should have known," Blake spat, his eyes wild. "She' s too innocent. She would never do this to herself."

He dragged me down the hallway to the guest room where Cassidy was staying. The door was open. She was on the floor, her wrist bleeding onto the pristine white carpet. A shard of a broken water glass lay beside her. She was sobbing, a pathetic, theatrical wail.

"I' m sorry, Blake," she cried, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. "I just… I can' t take it anymore. She said… she said you would eventually get tired of me. That I should just end it all…"

I protected Jagger' s eyes, turning his face into my side so he couldn' t see the gruesome scene. But I saw it. I saw the shallow cut, the carefully placed glass shard, the crocodile tears. It was a performance, a perfectly executed piece of emotional blackmail.

And Blake bought every second of it.

He rushed to her side, gathering her into his arms. "It' s okay, little bird. I' ve got you." He glared at me over her shoulder, his eyes filled with pure hatred. "You did this."

He carried her out of the room, barking orders at the household staff to call an ambulance. A pair of his bodyguards flanked me, their expressions grim. I was a prisoner in my own home.

They escorted me to the hospital, Jagger clinging to my hand. The emergency room was a chaotic blur of noise and light. Blake was pacing back and forth, a distraught wreck, while Cassidy was whisked away by a team of doctors. He had bought her act so completely that he was genuinely terrified for her. It would have been laughable if it wasn' t so pathetic.

He finally stopped pacing and turned to me, his face a cold, hard mask.

"You' re enjoying this, aren' t you?" he said, his voice dripping with venom.

Before I could answer, he lunged at me. In the middle of the crowded hospital corridor, he grabbed the collar of my silk pajama top and ripped it open. Buttons scattered across the linoleum floor.

I gasped, instinctively trying to cover my exposed chest. He grabbed my wrists, holding them in a vice-like grip.

"Let everyone see," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "Let them see the ugly, jealous monster you' ve become."

"Blake, stop it," I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper. "People are watching."

The flash of cameras went off around us. The press, likely tipped off by his own PR team, had arrived. They swarmed us like vultures, their lenses hungry for my humiliation.

"Who am I?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low. "Say it."

Tears blurred my vision. "You're my husband," I choked out.

"And what do I do?"

"You protect me," I whispered, the words a hollow echo of a long-dead past.

With a final, brutal tug, he ripped my top completely off, leaving me bare from the waist up in the harsh, fluorescent light. The camera flashes were relentless, a blinding strobe of public degradation.

"I' m going to destroy you, Avery," he sneered, his voice a cold promise. "I' m going to strip you of everything. Your name, your dignity, your reputation. By the time I' m done, you' ll be nothing."

He used to trace the curve of my collarbone with his fingertips, his touch reverent. "Perfect," he' d murmur. "And all mine." He was obsessed with my body, possessive and territorial. Now, he was the one exposing it to the world, using it as a weapon against me. The irony was a bitter, burning acid in my throat.

I crumpled to the floor, shaking uncontrollably as I fumbled to pull the tattered remains of my shirt around me.

He leaned down, his voice a cold whisper in my ear. "The photos are already online. Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Davenport."

He straightened up and walked away without a backward glance, leaving me exposed and broken on the cold hospital floor. I managed a weak, rattling laugh that sounded more like a sob. I clutched my chest, a physical pain blooming there, sharp and unbearable. The man who had once sworn to protect me from the world had just thrown me to the wolves.