Divorcing The CEO: The Hidden Genius Awakens

"Genevra, I'm in the middle of a cross-border merger meeting tonight. Stop making a scene."

Bryce Crosby's cold, impatient voice came through the phone receiver, competing with the torrential rain hammering against the shattered windshield.

Pinned tightly between the deployed airbag and the twisted steering column on the Manhattan overpass, Genevra Jensen gasped for air. Ahead of her in the rain, the taillights of a red supercar flashed and sped away from the crash site. A tearing pain ripped through her lower abdomen. Warm blood soaked through her coat.

Blood slid down her light brown hair to the corner of her eye. The calloused outer edge of her right index finger-formed from years of typing code-turned white as she gripped the phone. Five years ago, she had hidden her identity as the legendary programmer "Aro" to become Bryce's dutiful, secret wife and executive assistant. Now, she was bleeding out alone.

Before she could say a word about the crash, a soft, tearful female voice echoed from Bryce's end of the line.

"Bryce, my ankle hurts..."

The call disconnected into a dead tone.

Seconds later, passing emergency responders pried the crushed car door open with hydraulic tools. Freezing rain poured into the cabin. Genevra pressed her trembling hands over her barely visible baby bump, her voice barely a whisper as she begged the paramedics.

"Save my baby... please, save the baby first."

Twenty minutes later, a gurney raced through the emergency room lobby of NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital. The sharp smell of disinfectant filled her nose while a nurse shouted that they needed a family member's signature to authorize immediate surgery.

Lying on the gurney in the hallway, Genevra heard an overhead paging announcement directing a special medical team to the top-floor VIP wing for Mr. Crosby's guest. Her chest tightened. She ripped the IV needle from the back of her hand, braced herself against the cold wall, and stumbled into the elevator up to the VIP floor.

The elevator doors slid open. Dirk Castaneda, a slightly pudgy trust-fund heir with a dark rose tattoo on his neck who always trailed after Bryce, stepped sideways to block the corridor. He pressed his tongue against his back teeth and sneered.

"Well, isn't this Mrs. Crosby? Drenched like a stray dog to check up on your husband?"

Genevra ignored his mockery. Clutching her cramping stomach, she stepped around him. Her soaked cashmere coat dragged a dark red trail of blood across the polished marble floor.

Dirk's expression shifted slightly at the sight of the blood, but he raised an arm wearing a luxury watch to block her again.

"Bryce is inside comforting Aryanna right now. You're only going to embarrass yourself if you barge in."

Genevra raised her eyes. Her gray-blue irises held zero warmth, her hoarse voice sharp.

"Get out of my way."

She shoved open the slightly ajar double wooden doors of the VIP suite. Warm air mixed with expensive perfume hit her face, clashing with the smell of blood on her clothes.

In the center of the luxurious room, Aryanna Henderson-the celebrated Silicon Valley tech socialite with wavy blonde hair-sat on the hospital bed draped in Bryce's custom suit jacket, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. Standing beside the bed was Bryce. At six-foot-two in a black shirt, the head of the billionaire Crosby family held a glass of warm water, his gaze focused entirely on Aryanna.

The dull thud of the door hitting the wall broke the quiet atmosphere. Bryce frowned sharply and turned around, his dark gray eyes turning icy.

Seeing his blood-stained, disheveled wife, his first reaction was to step sideways to shield Aryanna's bed, pulling a custom silk handkerchief from his pocket to wipe a drop of water from his fingertips.

"Who gave you permission to follow me here?" Bryce's voice was freezing, filled with disgust. "Aryanna was just in a serious car accident and is in shock. Do you really have to pick a time like this to throw a tantrum?"

On the bed, Aryanna shrank back into the duvet, a flash of triumph crossing her ocean-blue eyes before she spoke in a pitiful tone.

"Genevra, don't pit women against each other... Bryce was just passing by to check on me."

Genevra bit down hard on her pale lower lip, her fingers digging into the wooden doorframe.

"Aryanna is in shock? Was the red supercar that illegally changed lanes on the Fifth Avenue overpass and rammed my car into the guardrail also in shock?"

Bryce's face darkened. Showing no concern for her injuries, he took two steps forward and looked down at her.

"Enough. I lent her that car. The legal team and the insurance company will handle the liability. You don't need to use it as an excuse to make trouble here."

A violent cramp suddenly seized Genevra's lower abdomen. Warm liquid completely soaked through the hem of her skirt. Her legs gave out, and she slid down the doorframe onto the floor.

Bryce instinctively reached out a hand to catch her, but when his gaze hit the pool of blood on the floor, he froze. He pulled his hand back mid-air.

"Playing the victim again?" He let out a cold laugh, adjusting his cuffs from above. "Genevra, resorting to tricks like this just to compete for my attention turns my stomach."

Genevra raised her head. Her gray-blue pupils reflected the ruthless face of the man she had loved for five years. Every bit of warmth left in her chest turned to ice.

She didn't shed a single tear. Pressing her blood-smeared right hand against the cold marble floor, she pushed herself back up and stood straight.

"Bryce Crosby," she said, her voice completely flat. "From this second on, we are strictly business."

Hearing her unusually calm tone, a strange irritation flickered in Bryce's chest. He tapped his index knuckle against the face of his wristwatch.

"Suit yourself. Go to the legal department tomorrow and sign a written apology."

Genevra braced a hand against the wall and turned around, walking out the door without looking back. Outside, Dirk stared at the blood pooling at her feet and opened his mouth to speak, but Genevra's freezing glare forced him half a step back.

She stepped into the descending elevator alone. The moment the metal doors slid shut, her vision went black, and she collapsed unconscious onto the cold elevator floor.