Too late to say I’m sorry

Ava Davis's POV:

I had just walked out of the abortion clinic when I got a call from John Williams' assistant.

"Ms. Davis, we've got a problem. Mr. Williams was photographed with four women at the same time, and the pictures are all over the internet. Reporters have blocked the company entrance."

I closed my eyes, feeling utterly exhausted.

My lower abdomen still ached, like something had been carved out of my body, but what hurt more was my heart—already battered and bruised by this marriage.

"Got it. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

After hanging up, I stuffed the medical records into my bag and walked out of the hospital. The sun outside was so bright I could barely open my eyes.

I raised my hand to shield them, suddenly remembering the first time I met John—the sun had been just as harsh that day.

I was only eighteen then, still a student, handing out flyers on the street when I got heatstroke. I was dizzy and about to collapse when John happened to pass by and caught me.

I remember his eyes—clear as lake water. His high cheekbones, thin lips pressed together with a hint of careless detachment.

In that moment, I fell. Like something had struck my heart, and from then on, there was no turning back.

Looking back now, I was pathetically stupid.

I'd been John's secretary for three years, helping him handle countless scandals. Few people knew that I'd actually been married to him for three years.

In our first year of marriage, he brought a female celebrity home for the night.

I remember sitting in the living room that night, waiting until 3 AM, hearing laughter from the bedroom.

I didn't push the door open. I just sat on the couch all night.

After that, it happened more and more, until I went numb.

So much so that today, fresh from an abortion, I could still rush over to clean up his mess without batting an eye.

The car stopped outside the Williams Group building. Reporters had already surrounded the main entrance.

I went in through the side door, changed into a clean business suit, and touched up my makeup in the mirror.

The woman in the mirror had reddened eyes. I patted my face, pushing those useless emotions back down.

As soon as I got out of the car, camera flashes went off in my face, nearly blinding me.

"Ms. Davis! How do you respond to the photos of Mr. Williams dating four women simultaneously?"

"One of these four is the famous actress Joanna, who hinted on social media last night that she's Mr. Williams' girlfriend. What's your take?"

"Why isn't Mr. Williams addressing this himself? Is he admitting to it?"

I looked at the sea of reporters below, took a deep breath, and answered calmly: "First, Mr. Williams is currently single. There's no such relationship. The photos were maliciously photoshopped."

"Second, regarding Joanna, that's her personal behavior and has nothing to do with Mr. Williams. No comment."

"Third, Mr. Williams has an important international meeting today and cannot attend. He's authorized me to handle this matter fully and reserves the right to pursue legal action against malicious rumor-mongers."

My answers were airtight. The reporters exchanged glances, looking at me with strange expressions.

Just then, a woman rushed out from the crowd.

I recognized her—it was Joanna.

She wore a red slip dress, makeup perfect, but her eyes were red—she'd clearly been crying.

"Ava!" She rushed up to me, her voice shrill and piercing. "Do you have no conscience? Lying for him every day! Are you his pet dog?"

As soon as she finished speaking, she threw the drink in her hand at me.

The cold liquid splashed on my face, dripping down my hair.

I didn't dodge or wipe it off. I just stood there, motionless.

Security rushed in and dragged Joanna out.

She struggled and shouted: "Ava! Stop pretending! All of New York knows you're a shameless mistress! If your mother knew what you were doing, she'd come back from the grave!"

My expression didn't change.

Mistress.

I'd heard that word for three years now.

John refused to make our marriage public, so I had to carry this label for him.

At first, I felt wronged. I'd cry alone at night. Later, I gradually got used to it.

A person's bottom line is such a strange thing. It keeps lowering, bit by bit, until even you find it frightening.

I looked down at my water-soaked shirt, then raised my head and said to the reporters: "Sorry, today's press conference ends here. Further statements will be released through official channels."

With that, I picked up my folder and turned to leave.

My assistant Kai ran over with tissues, looking guilty: "Ms. Davis, should we send Joanna a lawyer's letter?"

"No need." I wiped the water off my face and said flatly, "She can't cause much trouble. Check if there are any other photos leaked. If so, buy them all."

Kai nodded, looking at me with sympathy: "Ms. Davis, you've really been wronged..."

I patted her shoulder and smiled, my words loaded with meaning: "It's okay. I won't be helping him much longer anyway."

After handling everything, I drove home. When I opened the door, the living room light was still on.

I changed my shoes and walked in.

After just a few steps, I stepped on something.

Looking down, I saw a black lace bra, thrown in the hallway.

Scattered along the hallway were high heels, stockings, and a brightly colored red dress.

My heart sank. I'd lost count of how many times this had happened.

The bedroom door was ajar, and a woman's voice drifted out—moaning, flirtatious, intermittent.

I stood at the door without pushing it open. Instead, I turned around and picked up the clothes from the hallway one by one, folded them, and placed them on the couch.

After finishing, I sat on the living room couch and opened my laptop to work.

At 2 AM, the bedroom door finally opened.

A woman walked out wrapped in a bath towel, hair wet, barefoot on the floor.

Seeing me sitting on the couch, she jumped.

"You... how long have you been here?" she stammered, looking embarrassed.

I looked up, sizing her up.

A stranger's face—innocent-looking, full figure. John's type.

"Need a shower? The bathroom's at the end of the hall. There are clean towels." I spoke as naturally as if greeting a guest.

The woman froze, then shook her head awkwardly: "No... no need."

She clutched her towel and hurried away.

As she passed me, she muttered: "To put up with this... what a freak."

Freak.

I mulled over the word. She wasn't wrong.

I'd long since become an emotionless freak in this relationship.

After the woman left, the bedroom door opened again.

John came out, shirtless, hair messy.

Seeing me on the couch, he stretched lazily and asked casually: "You're here? Did you go to the hospital?"

I nodded, took out the abortion procedure form from my bag, and handed it to him.

John took it, glanced at it, and smiled with satisfaction.

He casually placed the paper on the table, walked over, and touched my face.

"That's right." His tone was gentle, but his eyes held no pity. "Kids... we can have them later. As long as you behave, I'll let you stay my wife."

I stood there, looking at him expressionlessly.

No sadness, no anger, no disappointment.

Those things had vanished completely when he told me to abort the baby.

After he left, I took out an agreement from the drawer.

It was the agreement I'd signed with his grandfather when I married John.

Kai had promised me that if I stayed married to John for three years, I could choose to divorce and receive twenty million dollars.

That money would be enough to find a new kidney for my sick sister.

Less than a month remained until the three years were up.

I gripped the paper, my knuckles turning white.

Just hold on a little longer.

I told myself.

In less than a month, I'd leave this house for good. Leave John.