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The Cold CEO's Unwanted Genius Wife
I stood in the darkest corner of the Pierre Hotel’s ballroom, my cheap polyester dress itching against my skin while my wristband buzzed with a DARPA Priority Red alert. In front of the city’s elite, my fiancé Bryce Calloway took the stage, not to toast our future, but to publicly end our engagement and announce he was with my sister, Chloe. The room turned on me instantly, a hundred pairs of eyes pinning me down with pity and disgust as they physically backed away like I was contagious. When I returned home, my mother shattered a crystal vase at my feet, screaming that I was a humiliation and a "dropout" who didn't deserve a cent of the family fortune. Chloe and Bryce mocked me, laughing when I told them I had a mission with the National Security Agency, convinced I was either a pathological liar or a low-level criminal. They watched in horror as a black, unmarked military helicopter descended on our backyard to extract me, yet they still chose to believe I was being arrested for drug trafficking. They saw a pathetic girl who couldn't even parallel park, never realizing I was Dr. Nova Vance, the lead physicist behind the world's first successful fusion reactor. To secure funding for my research and gain a "fortress" of a name, I signed a thirty-day marriage contract with the arrogant billionaire Roman Knight. He treats me like a fraud, convinced I’m a gold-digger who failed out of college, while I quietly run global energy simulations from his guest bedroom. He has no idea that the "loser" he’s forced to live with is the same anonymous grandmaster who has been ruthlessly crushing him in online strategy games for months. "The contract is active," I told him, looking past his expensive suit. "But don't expect me to be your maid."Salisbury
April 1818
The second pint might have been a mistake.
Joseph Merton considered the stairs, which swayed a little. Yet it wasn’t every day a man discovered a fortune and the occasion demanded a celebration. He couldn’t wait to tell his wife.
A good woman, his wife. He’d thought himself lucky to get her. A humble bookseller’s assistant wouldn’t normally aspire to a pretty girl with a fine education and a knowledge of his trade. And then there had been the matter of her one thousand pounds. Enough to set him up in London. Certainly he had never expected any more.
Over dinner in the noisy tavern he raised a silent toast to Juliana, with a fondness undiluted by consideration of her more annoying traits. Her tendency to develop contrary opinions was forgotten in the prospect of a greater fortune coming his way.
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