My Quiet Wife Is An Elite Genius

Chapter 6 6

Word Count: 613 | Released on: 07/02/2026

the back room of The Velvet Lounge when Marco burst

pianist at Le Coucou just had his app

art of the beast. "Marco, no. I can't

tips there are triple what you get h

. She thought about the rent Chloe r

she said. "

of Le Coucou. She wore a long black dress provided by the restau

ed for intimacy and secrets.

to the VIP table, five

vered instantly, turning the mistake into a t

se. And a stern-l

er. Annalise sat facing him, whi

r man, Muller, said, sitting down. "A

Francisco said, waving a hand dismissive

iar, the posture... but the mask and the dim light threw

e. In. Out. She had to be per

ear about your wife's recent illness. I hope her sabbatical is provin

. taking a sabbatical. It plays well with the 'independent woman' narr

fingers hitting the keys hard

rbulent, angry. It was Rachman

ay to his mouth. "That pianis

turned. He looked

gh the eyeholes of the

uldn't play like this. Iris played simple sonatas at Christmas p

rancisco sneered, turni

aid. "I want to buy h

Muller happy. He snapped his fingers

o. "Miss? The gentleman at tab

ring by the kitchen door. He clasp

ood. She walked over to the table.

ul," Muller said,

s chair. He stared at her h

d. His voice was cold, authoritative. "

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."”