My Quiet Wife Is An Elite Genius

Chapter 2 2

Word Count: 725 | Released on: 07/02/2026

nating the dust motes dancing in the air. Iris was already dressed. She wore

heets, seeking the glass of water that was usually p

r sitting in the single armchair in the corner.

th sleep. "Where are you going dressed li

ce was steady, devoid of the soft l

uvet. "What kind of mood is this? Is this b

nded a piece of paper. "This is my resignation let

hed, a short, incredulous sound. "Resign

rmance bonus'," Iris said, watching his f

racted. The realization

ened into arrogance. "So? You think you're underpaid? Annalise brings bil

. Iris felt them puncture her chest

irts to you," she said. "And

icked up the canvas

et filled with seasons of couture. "You're taking that? Wh

ooking around the room as if she were a

ink diamond ring off her finger. It left a pale

e mahogany table. Clin

a vein pulsing in his neck. "You walk out that door, don't expe

shed through her mind-of this same man, unconscious and bleeding out as she worked frantically to save him. Th

man who was staring at her with a mixture of

aring a silk robe that cost more than Iris's entire college tuition

as bag, her eyebrows shooti

"I'm making space. I suggest you change the s

t no sound came out. The sh

nt. The butler, standing by the front door, looked at her with sad

closed behind her with a dull thud that v

ll figure on the massive driveway. He lit a cigarette,

was cold, biting, and smelled of

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."”