Addicted To My Secret Genius Wife

Chloe Beaumont sauntered into the living room, the bubble of gum in her mouth snapping with a sharp pop.

The sound echoed in the cavernous space, a deliberate offense against the antique furniture and the heavy silence.

Her faded band t-shirt and ripped jeans were a world away from the suffocating luxury of the Beaumont townhouse.

Her father, Cedric Beaumont, sat enthroned in a wingback chair.

Beside him, her stepsister Olivia, a picture of innocence in a Chanel suit, watched Chloe with undisguised glee dancing in her sky-blue eyes.

"Can't you ever dress respectably?" Cedric's voice was sharp, his gaze raking over Chloe's attire with disgust. "You look like you belong on the street."

Chloe blew another bubble, letting it pop loudly.

"My clothes won't change the content of this conversation, will they?" she shot back, her tone dripping with insolence.

Cedric's patience snapped. "There's been a change to your engagement with the Sharpe family."

He didn't bother to soften the blow.

"Olivia will be marrying Connor Sharpe in your place."

The smirk on Chloe's face froze.

"What did you say?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Olivia reached out, her perfectly manicured hand landing on Chloe's arm. Her touch was cloying, her voice a syrupy imitation of sympathy. "Don't blame Dad, sister. The Sharpes specifically asked for me. There was nothing I could do." The small beauty mark just below her collarbone seemed to mock Chloe with every word.

Chloe snatched her hand away as if she'd been touched by a snake.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, her eyes turning to ice.

Cedric slid a document across the polished mahogany table. "This isn't a discussion. The Beaumont family needs this alliance, and the Sharpes want Olivia."

Chloe's eyes scanned the paper, the words blurring. "So what about me? Am I just the trash you throw away?"

"You still have your use," Cedric said, his voice devoid of any warmth. "The Sharpes have arranged another match for you."

He paused for effect.

"As 'compensation,' you will marry the eldest Sharpe son, Julian Sharpe."

Olivia chimed in, her voice laced with faux pity. "The one who had that car accident a few years ago. The one in the wheelchair. I hear he's become quite strange, sister. You'll have a difficult time."

Julian Sharpe. The former Wall Street prodigy, now a recluse, a cripple, the family's discarded heir.

"You have no choice." Cedric's voice was final. He leaned forward, delivering the final, killing blow. "Sign the agreement. 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 was a key turning in a lock deep inside her, stilling her rage and flooding her with ice-cold dread. Her little brother. Her only weakness. As long as Cedric held that legal guardianship, no amount of her own money or connections could stop him from signing Ethan's death warrant.

She lifted her head. Her gray-blue eyes were dry, all the tears burned away by a cold, simmering hatred.

She snatched the pen from the table.

Her signature was a violent slash of ink on the crisp paper.

Chloe threw the document back onto the table. The slap of paper against wood made Olivia jump.

She stood up, her spine ramrod straight. She looked at the two people who had just sold her life.

"From this day on," she said, her voice dropping to a skin-crawling quiet, "I have no father." She didn't waste another word, turning on her heel and walking out.

In the living room, Olivia snuggled against Cedric, picking up the agreement with a triumphant smile. "Now Connor is all mine, Daddy."

Cedric patted her hand, his eyes cold and calculating. "Keep Connor happy. The future of the Beaumonts in New York depends on you."

Chloe burst through the front door. The cool evening air of New York did nothing to quell the fire of betrayal burning in her gut.

She pulled out her phone. The screen lit up with the smiling face of a young boy. Her maternal half-brother, Ethan White. After their mother died, Cedric had dumped them in Havenwood Creek for years, only hauling Chloe back to New York when Olivia needed a sacrificial lamb.

"Ethan, I'm sorry," she murmured. "But I promise you. I will make them pay for this. Every last cent, with interest."

A black Lincoln town car glided to a silent stop in front of her.

The window rolled down, revealing the impassive face of a driver in a crisp uniform.

"Miss Beaumont," he said, his tone flat. "Please get in. We're going directly to City Hall."

Chloe took a deep, shuddering breath, shoving all her emotions into a locked box deep inside. She pulled the door open and slid in.

The car moved smoothly into the flow of traffic. Chloe watched the city lights blur past the window, knowing her life was being forced down a dark, unknown track.

She looked at the back of the driver's head.

"This Julian Sharpe," she asked, her voice cold. "Is he waiting for me at City Hall?"

The driver's eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. His expression was unreadable. "Yes, Miss. Mr. Sharpe is already there."

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's expression never changed. He looked as though he had just closed a minor business deal.

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 break the silence, to test the waters, Chloe pulled an astrology magazine from her bag.

She spoke loudly, deliberately. "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 dramatically, 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, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. 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 was still an unreadable mask, 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 paled. "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 froze for a split second.

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.

Chloe recovered quickly. She leaned down, her face close to his, her voice a conspiratorial whisper only he could hear. "Since you know so much about me, then you should also know I didn't come to New York to play the submissive victim," she whispered, her breath ghosting across his ear with the faint scent of mint. "We stay out of each other's way, or I'll make sure this arrangement burns us both down."

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."

For the first time, she felt a flicker of frustration with this man.

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, unreadable flicker 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 alongside a heavily annotated research binder on neurochemical degradation. Inside the folder was her Columbia University acceptance letter and an official SAT score report. A perfect score.

She looked at the items, her resolve hardening. Julian Sharpe, the Sharpe family... they were all just stepping stones. She had to establish a foothold here, then find out the truth.

She glanced around the decaying room and scowled. No, she couldn't live like this. She had to find a way to improve her circumstances.

Closing her suitcase, a calculating glint in her eyes, Chloe walked out of the closet and headed in the direction Zane had gone. She wasn't going to just accept her fate. She was going to fight for it.