Too Late, Mr. CEO: I Am Unstoppable

Jaret Burns's fingers dug into Eleonora's slender wrist like a steel vice.

He didn't just guide her; he dragged her through the heavy oak doors of the Manhattan District Court hearing room.

Eleonora's red-bottom heels caught on the polished marble floor. She stumbled, her shoulder jerking forward.

She didn't gasp. She didn't complain. She simply locked her knees, stabilized her stance, and ripped her wrist out of his grip with a sharp, violent pull.

Jaret's jaw tightened. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder and shoved her down into the wooden chair at the defendant's table. The force of it rattled her teeth.

A few feet away, in the front row of the gallery, Chelsie Gates sat with her shoulders hunched.

Chelsie dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a crumpled tissue. Her shoulders shook with perfectly timed, fragile sobs.

But as Chelsie lowered the tissue, her eyes locked onto Eleonora. A slow, triumphant smirk twisted her glossy lips.

Eleonora saw it. A violent wave of nausea crashed into her stomach, twisting her insides into a tight, agonizing knot.

Jaret leaned in close. The expensive, icy scent of his cedarwood cologne invaded her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

"Cocaine in the trunk of your car, Eleonora," Jaret hissed through clenched teeth, his breath hot against her ear. "You are a disgrace. You are dragging my family name through the mud because you couldn't handle your own jealousy."

Eleonora turned her head slowly. She stared directly into the eyes of the man she had loved for seven years.

There was no warmth left in his gaze. There was only blind arrogance and a desperate need to protect the woman crying in the gallery.

A literal, physical chill started at Eleonora's fingertips. The ice crawled up her arms, seeped into her chest, and wrapped around her beating heart until it went completely numb.

Seven years ago, she had given up a Supreme Court clerkship for this man. In this exact second, the ashes of that sacrifice blew away into nothingness.

The sharp crack of the judge's gavel echoed through the high-ceilinged room.

"Order in the court," the judge's voice boomed, heavy with authority.

The prosecutor stood up, adjusting his suit jacket. He loudly read the charges of illegal possession of a controlled substance against Eleonora Beard.

A low murmur rippled through the gallery. Dozens of eyes stabbed into Eleonora's back, judging the tech CEO's wife.

Jaret took a deliberate step back from her chair. He crossed his arms over his chest, his body language screaming to the room that he was distancing himself from this criminal.

Eleonora's defense attorney turned to her. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking for the final command.

Eleonora didn't hesitate. She gave him a single, ice-cold nod.

The attorney shot to his feet. "Objection, Your Honor. The defense has critical, time-stamped evidence to submit."

Jaret's crossed arms stiffened. A deep frown carved into his forehead.

In the gallery, Chelsie's fake sob caught in her throat. The color instantly drained from her face, leaving her looking like a ghost.

The court technician took the USB drive from the attorney. A massive screen descended behind the judge's bench.

The screen flickered to life. The high-definition footage showed the dim, concrete walls of the underground garage at Jaret's estate.

Eleonora straightened her spine. She kept her eyes locked on the screen, her face an unreadable mask as the ugly truth prepared to unfold.

On the screen, Chelsie sneaked into the frame. She looked over her shoulder, then used a spare key to unlock Eleonora's sedan.

Chelsie reached into her Birkin bag. She pulled out a sealed plastic bag filled with white powder.

The video paused, freezing on the exact frame where Chelsie shoved the drugs into the spare tire compartment.

The courtroom went dead silent.

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.

Eleonora slid open the massive glass doors of the walk-in closet. She stared blankly at the endless rows of haute couture.

She reached past the silk gowns and sequined dresses. She pulled out three basic, tailored business suits she had bought before the wedding, and a few soft cashmere sweaters.

The expensive evening gowns Jaret had purchased to parade her around at charity galas were shoved violently to the dark corner of the rack.

She folded her simple clothes with rapid, precise movements, dropping them into the silver suitcases.

She walked over to the vanity. She yanked the drawer open and grabbed her passport, her birth certificate, and her personal legal files.

Her eyes drifted to the velvet jewelry box sitting on the glass counter. It was stuffed with millions of dollars in diamonds and emeralds.

Her heart didn't skip a single beat. She didn't touch the diamonds. She only reached in and pulled out a cheap, tarnished silver necklace her grandmother had left her.

With the bags packed, Eleonora dragged the three heavy suitcases out to the living room, parking them next to the massive oak desk.

She reached into her leather tote bag and pulled out a thick stack of papers. It was an uncontested divorce agreement, drafted weeks ago.

She uncapped her fountain pen. She flipped to the last page and signed her name with sharp, aggressive strokes.

The scratching of the metal nib against the thick paper echoed loudly in the dead silence of the penthouse.

She dropped the pen. She lifted her left hand and stared at the three-carat diamond ring suffocating her ring finger.

She pinched the platinum band. She pulled hard. The ring slid over her knuckle, leaving a pale, indented physical scar on her skin.

She placed the heavy diamond dead center on top of her signature.

Eleonora grabbed the handles of her suitcases. She walked into the elevator without looking back once.

Downstairs, the doorman loaded her bags into the trunk of a yellow cab.

"The Plaza Hotel, please," Eleonora told the driver.

The cab merged into the chaotic Manhattan traffic. Eleonora stared out the window at the sun hitting the trees in Central Park. She dragged a deep, full breath into her lungs for the first time in years.

The cab pulled up to the iconic hotel. She used her own depleted savings account to book a luxury suite overlooking the park.

The bellhop brought her bags up. Eleonora handed him a twenty-dollar bill and locked the heavy door behind him.

She kicked off her heels. She walked barefoot across the plush carpet and let her body collapse into the deep leather sofa.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Brittany Marsh's name flashed on the screen.

Eleonora hit accept. Brittany's voice exploded through the speaker, cursing Jaret with every dirty word in the English language.

Eleonora let out a soft, genuine laugh. "I'm at the Plaza, Brittany. I just signed the papers."

There was a half-second of dead silence on the line. Then, Brittany screamed in pure joy.

"I'm coming over right now. Give me twenty minutes," Brittany yelled, and the line went dead.

Eleonora stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the vibrant city below.

Exactly eighteen minutes later, the suite doorbell chimed.

Eleonora pulled the door open. Brittany stood there in a chic trench coat, holding a freezing cold bottle of Dom Pérignon by the neck.

Brittany lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Eleonora in a bone-crushing hug. "Happy single life, you beautiful genius!"