My Quiet Wife Is An Elite Genius

Chapter 5 5

Word Count: 514 | Released on: 07/02/2026

an skyline spread out behind him like a conquer

, shifting his weight fr

Francisco asked wi

ived an email from Madam

d. "Representation? How can sh

d it herself. The formatting i

nned the document. It was short. Brutal.

y desk. "She's playing hard to get. She thinks

ck to the window. "Tell her I'm fully book

sitated. "She cleare

er supplementary cards. Freeze any joint

." Arthur

or of The Velvet Lounge, Iris sat at

n named Marco, crossed his arms.

keys. For a second, she clo

a jazz arrangement of Radiohead's "No Surprises." The c

slowly ki

w patrons turned their heads. The music fille

pped once. "You're hired. Fifty an

said. "But I

"Whatever. Adds

from Arthur. Mr. Zimmerman's schedul

uckle. "Full schedule," she mutte

I can wait. But I

e mask. Her fingers flew across the keys. S

sent drinks to the pi

ndred and forty dollars in cash. The

t heavier than the Black Amex Franc

, silent. He walked into the bedroom. The empty space on the

tion. He pulled out his p

e Coucou. Invite Muller. We ne

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."”