Too Late, Mr. CEO: I Am Unstoppable

The deafening silence was shattered by the violent crack of the judge's gavel. "All charges against Eleonora Beard are dismissed immediately," the judge barked, his face red with fury. Two court bailiffs lunged forward. They grabbed Chelsie by both arms, hauling her out of her seat. Chelsie thrashed wildly. Her expensive makeup smeared across her cheeks in dark, ugly streaks. Her tears soaked into the collar of her silk blouse. "Jaret!" Chelsie screamed, her voice cracking with pure terror as she twisted her neck to look at him. "Jaret, help me!" Jaret stood frozen. His muscles were locked tight. His eyes were wide, staring blankly at the paused video on the giant screen. The absolute control he always prided himself on crumbled into dust. Eleonora stood up from the wooden chair. She calmly smoothed out the invisible wrinkles on her beige trench coat. She didn't spare a single glance at Chelsie. She turned on her heel and walked straight toward the heavy oak doors. Jaret blinked hard, snapping out of his paralysis. He lunged forward, his long legs eating up the distance between them. He caught up to her in the marble hallway. His hand clamped down on her forearm. "Nora, wait," Jaret gasped. His chest heaved. "I didn't know. I swear to God, I had no idea she did that." Eleonora stopped. She looked down at his hand gripping her coat, her eyes as dead and cold as a winter graveyard. "Let go," she said. Her voice held zero temperature. Jaret flinched. The absolute desolation in her eyes physically stung him. His fingers went slack, dropping away from her arm. Eleonora turned her back to him. She pushed through the heavy glass doors of the courthouse. The crisp, biting wind of the Manhattan autumn hit her face, blowing away the suffocating stench of the courtroom. She stepped up to the curb, pulled out her phone, and opened a high-end car service app. Less than a minute later, a black Lincoln Town Car glided to the curb in front of her. The driver hopped out and opened the heavy door. Eleonora slid into the spacious leather backseat. The door slammed shut, sealing Jaret's pathetic, regretful face behind an inch of bulletproof glass. Eleonora leaned her head back against the headrest. She pinched the bridge of her nose, a dull ache throbbing behind her eyes. She pulled her phone from her purse and dialed the penthouse butler. "Have three large Rimowa suitcases brought to the master bedroom immediately," she ordered, her tone strictly business. The Lincoln glided smoothly down Fifth Avenue. The blur of luxury stores and rushing pedestrians reflected in her dark eyes. The car descended into the private underground garage of Jaret's ultra-luxury penthouse building. Eleonora stepped out. Her heels clicked sharply against the concrete as she walked to the private elevator. She pressed her thumb to the scanner. The doors slid open silently, whisking her up to the top floor. The doors parted again. She stepped into the sprawling, custom-designed home that now felt like a massive, empty tomb. Eleonora shrugged off her trench coat and tossed it onto the velvet sofa. She marched straight toward the master bedroom, where the three silver Rimowa suitcases were already waiting, to erase herself from this place.