My Quiet Wife Is An Elite Genius

Author: Edik Brandwein

Chapter 1 1

Word Count: 836 | Released on: 07/02/2026

towering mahogany double doors of the study, her heart beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with performance anxiety. She took a

ilence of the hallway. Then came the sound of Francisco's laughter. It was a low, ru

d her hand

woman's voice purred from inside. Annalise. "Are you

he sensation starting at her fingertips and rushing

voice was devoid of warmth, the same tone he used when discussing a merger or a hostile ta

short, cruel laugh. "You mean that fi

rected, his voice dry. "For a vase that o

the central air conditioning. The shirt in her hand felt suddenly heavy, like lead. One corner of

tallic tang of blood bloomed on her tongue, grounding he

b disposal expert handling a live wire. She picked up the shirt

om, placing the shirt on the bed. She walked into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror.

ed like

et drifted up from the floor

d. "Madam," Arthur's voice came

was brighter, sharper than it ha

ve perfume and old money. Francisco stood in the center of it all, a king in his court

through his. Under the expensive fabric of his suit,

ng her ear. "There are media here

ation. "Don't worry, darling," she said, her voice sweet as

king at her with a flicker of confusion, as if

leaned her head onto his shoulde

raised her champagne flu

eturn, looking straight through Ann

r tap and splashed her face, not caring about the mascara running down her cheeks. She

he had memorized but never truly read. The Prenuptial Agree

by the Party of the Second Part (Iris Potter), said Party shal

ould leave

en. She looked at her ru

s," she w

Chapter End

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My Quiet Wife Is An Elite Genius

Edik Brandwein Modern

“I was the ultimate trophy wife, a polished ornament in Francisco Zimmerman's billionaire empire. For three years, I perfected the "Zimmerman Wife Smile," playing the role of the devoted partner while smoothing the Egyptian cotton of his shirts. The illusion shattered when I stood outside his study and heard him laughing with his mistress, Annalise. "She's just a vase that only knows how to smile," Francisco's voice was cold, devoid of any warmth. "As long as I pay the maintenance fees on time, she stays obedient." I walked out that night with nothing but a canvas bag and the clothes on my back. But Francisco wasn't finished with his "asset." He froze my bank accounts and used his massive influence to blacklist me from every interior design firm in New York. He tracked my phone, watching me struggle from the shadows, waiting for me to starve so I would crawl back to his mansion. He even showed up at the dive bar where I was playing piano for rent money, mocking my desperation. "You have technique, but no heart," he sneered, tossing a silver coin into my tip jar as if I were a beggar. "You're hollow, Iris. Just like your pride." I couldn't believe this was the same man whose life I had saved during a bloody night in Macau. To him, I wasn't a wife; I was a stock price that needed stabilizing. The more I fought for my independence, the tighter he pulled the net, determined to break my spirit until I had no choice but to return to his gilded cage. Then, the morning sickness hit. I realized I wasn't just carrying my own life anymore-I was carrying his heir. If Francisco found out, he would never let us go; he would turn my child into another "performance bonus" for his brand. Looking at the sonogram, I knew a divorce would never be enough to escape a man who thought he owned the world. "I'm not going back," I whispered, staring at his yacht moored in the harbor. "To save this baby, Iris Potter has to die."”