Addicted To My Secret Genius Wife

Chloe Beaumont hadn't even stepped fully into the living room before her father's disgust hit her like a wall.

"Can't you ever dress respectably?" Cedric Beaumont raked his gaze over Chloe's faded band t-shirt and ripped jeans with blatant revulsion. "You look like a beggar who sneaked in from the gutter."

Beside him, her sister Olivia smoothed the pristine lapel of her white Chanel suit, her sky-blue eyes dancing with malicious glee.

"Oh, don't be so harsh on Chloe, Dad," Olivia cooed, her voice a syrupy imitation of sweet concern. "Living in the sticks for years must have ruined her sense of style. Though, sister... if you needed money for proper clothes, you could have just asked. Walking around looking like street trash reflects poorly on the family."

Cedric slid a forced marriage agreement across the mahogany table. "There's been a change. Olivia will be marrying Connor Sharpe in your place."

Olivia reached out, her manicured hand landing on Chloe's wrist, the million-dollar diamond engagement ring on her finger catching the light with blinding arrogance.

"Don't blame Dad, Chloe," Olivia whispered, her voice dripping with fake pity. "Connor insisted. He said he needed a polished lady for high society, not someone from the gutter. Besides, Dad found you another match-Julian Sharpe. The one in the wheelchair since his car crash? I hear he's an unhinged recluse, sister, but at least he's rich. You should be grateful."

Chloe flicked her wrist, brushing Olivia's hand away as if removing a pest. She didn't bother responding to the cheap taunt.

Looking at Olivia's euphoric, greedy face, a cold, silent amusement stirred deep within Chloe.

Let her celebrate. Olivia thought Connor was a prize, completely ignorant of the fact that Connor was merely a pawn currently being squeezed out of Apex Consolidated. Olivia thought she was stealing a kingdom, when in reality, she was taking Chloe's discarded garbage.

"Sign the agreement," Cedric commanded, slamming his hand on the table. "Or as Ethan's legal guardian, I will cut his private ICU funding today and transfer him to a state facility to rot."

Ethan.

The name didn't trigger panic; it triggered a swift, clinical calculation.

Cedric believed he was holding a hostage. In his desperate, short-sighted greed, he didn't realize he was handing Chloe a golden ticket straight into New York's highest power structure.

Chloe lifted her head, her gray-blue eyes radiating a cold, defeated anger on the outside, while her mind remained icy calm. She picked up the pen with lazy precision and slashed her signature onto the paper-a flawless performance of a cornered, rebellious daughter.

Chloe threw the pen onto the contract, the clatter making Olivia jump.

"From this day on," Chloe said, her voice dropping to a skin-crawling quiet, "I have no father."

She didn't waste another second, turning on her heel and walking out.

Behind her, Olivia snuggled against Cedric, giggling like a victor. "Now Connor is all mine, Daddy."

Enjoy your illusion, Chloe thought as the heavy front door closed behind her.

Outside in the cool New York air, Chloe pulled out her phone, staring at her brother's smiling face on the screen.

"Hang on, Ethan," she whispered, a cold, lethal smile touching her lips. "Cedric's guardianship is only a threat as long as he controls your hospital bills. The moment I use Sharpe's capital to lock your ICU trust independently, that old man's blackmail becomes worthless. And once I'm inside Columbia's labs... they won't even see the storm coming until it burns them to ash."

A black Lincoln town car glided to a silent stop in front of her. The window rolled down.

"Miss Beaumont. Please get in. Mr. Sharpe is waiting for you at City Hall."

Chloe pulled the door open and slid in.

The black Lincoln pulled up to the curb in front of New York's City Hall. The driver opened Chloe's door with a curt, professional gesture.

Chloe stepped out, her gaze lifting to the imposing stone building. She took a breath. This was just the first step. The beginning of her revenge.

She walked into the marriage bureau. She saw him immediately.

He was in a wheelchair, his back to her, looking out a tall window. Even sitting, his frame was large.

He wore a perfectly tailored dark gray suit. His black hair was impeccably styled. A sliver of a Patek Philippe Calatrava peeked from beneath his cuff. Despite the wheelchair, the quiet elegance and detached air of the upper class clung to him like a second skin.

Chloe's steps faltered.

So this was him. Julian Sharpe. He had more presence than she expected. And he was, she reluctantly admitted, handsome.

Hearing her approach, he turned the wheelchair to face her.

His deep blue eyes, the color of a frozen lake, assessed her with a cold, detached curiosity.

Their gazes locked.

A sharp-looking man in a suit stepped forward, breaking the tension. "Miss Beaumont. I'm Zane Foster, Mr. Sharpe's assistant. All the paperwork is ready. If you'll follow me."

Chloe followed Zane, her face a blank mask. She sat at a small counter. Throughout the entire process, she and Julian exchanged no words, only signing where the clerk pointed.

When the clerk stamped the final document and announced, "You are now legally married," a wave of absurdity washed over Chloe. She was bound to a man she had met only minutes ago.

Julian didn't look up, his expression as flat as if he were reviewing a routine balance sheet.

They left City Hall in silence, Zane pushing Julian, Chloe trailing behind.

This time, they got into a long Cadillac Escalade. The interior was spacious, but the atmosphere was suffocating. Chloe and Julian sat on opposite ends of the leather bench seat, a vast distance between them.

To test her new 'husband' without raising Zane's suspicions, Chloe pulled a cheap astrology magazine from her bag-the perfect prop for an uneducated delinquent. She leaned back, using the mindless banter as a deliberate gauge of Julian's psychological baseline. "Let's see if our signs are compatible."

Julian didn't even look up from his copy of The Wall Street Journal.

Chloe ignored his cold shoulder. "Oh, I'm a Scorpio. You're... let me guess. A Capricorn? You look like a boring old stick-in-the-mud."

From the front seat, Zane's eyes flickered to her in the rearview mirror. "Mr. Sharpe is a Virgo."

Chloe gasped slapping the magazine against her thigh. "It's a disaster! Scorpio and Virgo. Astrologically catastrophic! The book says we'll torture each other until one of us ends up in a hospital and the other in jail."

Julian finally lowered his newspaper. His deep blue eyes met hers, cool and analytical. His voice was a low, rich baritone, laced with irony.

"It sounds like our marriage won't be boring, at least."

It was the first thing he'd said to her. Chloe read the warning in his eyes and returned it with a bright, fake smile.

"I'll make sure of it, Mr. Sharpe."

The car passed through massive iron gates, entering a sprawling estate. The main house was a grand Normandy-style castle, something out of a movie.

Zane pushed Julian from the car, and Chloe followed them inside. The interior was opulent, but as cold and impersonal as a museum.

A line of uniformed staff stood at attention, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and pity as they looked from Julian to her.

"Mrs. Sharpe and Mr. Connor had an important dinner engagement this evening," a woman who looked like the head housekeeper announced coolly. "They won't be seeing you."

Chloe sneered internally. She didn't care. It saved her the effort of acting.

"Miss Beaumont-forgive me, Mrs. Sharpe," Zane said. "I'll show you and Mr. Sharpe to your wing."

They walked down a long, echoing corridor to a remote wing of the estate. The scene here was a stark contrast to the grandeur of the main house.

Chloe stopped in her tracks.

The wing was frozen in a bygone era, dominated by heavy mahogany paneling and dense velvet drapes. There were no smart lights, no ambient screens, no digital pulse-only a heavy, sterile silence. The air was impeccably clean, disinfected, and as cold as a vault.

She glanced at Julian. His face remained perfectly calm, as if this was exactly what he expected.

Zane pushed open a heavy wooden door. "Mrs. Sharpe, this is your and Mr. Sharpe's bedroom."

Chloe's eyes landed on the single, solitary bed in the center of the room.

Chloe stood in the doorway, her gaze flicking from the single bed to Julian's impassive face.

She crossed her arms, breaking the silence with a voice laced with playful mockery. "One bedroom? Is the Sharpe family going bankrupt? Or did you actually think we'd be sleeping together like a happy couple?"

Zane Foster adjusted his glasses, his response robotic. "It was a rule set by Mr. Sharpe's grandfather. Sharpe couples are required to share a master bedroom, as a show of harmony."

"Harmony?" Chloe laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Look at this place. It feels less like a master suite and more like a high-end containment cell. Are you hiding from the world, or is the world hiding from you?"

"Mr. Sharpe requested this outdated wing himself, Mrs. Sharpe. It is the only place in the estate completely unequipped with modern smart-surveillance."

Ignoring Zane, she walked directly to Julian's wheelchair, looking down at him. The proximity was a deliberate act of provocation.

"Hey, Julian Sharpe," she began, her tone offensively casual. "Are you really paralyzed? Or is it just from the waist down?"

Zane's face went pale. "Mrs. Sharpe! Please, watch your language!"

But Julian raised a hand, silencing his assistant. He tilted his head back, his calm blue eyes meeting her challenging gaze without a flicker of emotion.

He spoke slowly, his voice steady and clear. "Loss of function in the lower extremities is called paraplegia. I would have thought someone so eager to provoke me would at least possess basic high school biology."

Chloe didn't flinch. Instead, a spark of genuine, dangerous amusement glinted in her eyes. Finally-a man in this city with a brain worth playing against.

Julian added dryly, "Your father described you as... 'lacking refinement.' It seems he was not mistaken." He stressed the word "refinement" with a biting sarcasm.

She leaned down, her face close to his, her voice a conspiratorial whisper only he could hear. "Since you know so much about me, Mr. Sharpe, then let's play the game. Stay out of my way, and I might just leave your empire standing."

Julian's body stiffened for a fraction of a second, a tiny frown creasing his brow.

Faced with her threat, Julian merely adjusted his position in the chair. "Is that so?" he said, his tone flat. "I'll look forward to it."

Zane stepped in smoothly. "Mrs. Sharpe, your luggage has arrived. If you require anything, please let me know. Mr. Sharpe needs to rest now." It was a polite dismissal.

Chloe pursed her lips, knowing she had pushed as far as she could for one day. She turned to her bags, deciding to regroup.

Zane pushed Julian's wheelchair toward an adjoining study.

Just before they entered, Julian glanced back at Chloe. Her back was slender but defiant as she wrestled a large canvas duffel bag into the walk-in closet.

A dark, silent focus passed through his deep blue eyes. The claws she hid beneath that ragged exterior were far sharper than anyone in New York realized.

Inside the study, Zane closed the door. "Sir, this woman is outrageous. She has no manners."

"Let her be," Julian said, his eyes on a computer screen displaying Chloe's file. "A fearless pawn is more useful than a spineless one. Keep an eye on her, but don't interfere."

"Yes, sir." Zane nodded, though his eyes were still filled with doubt.

Meanwhile, Chloe unpacked in the dilapidated closet. Besides a few worn-out clothes, there was the heavy canvas bag.

She carefully removed a sealed glass jar from it, filled with dark soil. She caressed the glass, her expression softening. It was from her hometown, Havenwood Creek.

From a hidden compartment, she pulled out a folder... Inside was her Columbia University acceptance letter and a perfect 1600 SAT score report. Let New York society believe Cedric's lie that she was an illiterate punk. The trashy makeup and wild temper were her ultimate armor-a smokescreen to keep the Sharpe family and the Beaumonts from realizing that the girl they just bought was coming for their blood.

In a second, deeper compartment-one no routine sweep would think to check-she hid a worn journal and a matte black USB drive. The journal's margins were crowded with molecular diagrams, neurotoxin pathways, and notes on viral mutations. The USB drive was encrypted with the same custom cipher she had used on Ethan's medical records.

This marriage to Julian Sharpe was her battlefield. The Sharpe family's vast wealth was her treasury to fund Ethan's independent medical trust, and Columbia was her gateway to the cure. Julian Sharpe was either an ally or a stepping stone-either way, she would use this house to win her brother's freedom, then find out the truth.

She glanced around the decaying room, her gaze sweeping over the heavy paneling with cold, clinical assessment. The dilapidated state of this wing wasn't a setback; it was an advantage-less eyes, less surveillance. Closing her suitcase, Chloe walked out of the closet, her expression smooth and unbothered. It was time to manage the logistics of her new living arrangement.