His Unwanted Wife Is A Genius Healer

"Don't even think about getting comfortable."

The heavy mahogany door slammed open, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the massive master bedroom.

Elizbeth flinched. She sat on the edge of the massive bed, her fingers nervously rubbing the lace cuff of her wedding dress. The mattress beneath her was covered in a thick layer of red rose petals.

Carlton strode into the room. He brought a wave of freezing air with him. His dark eyes locked onto hers, devoid of any warmth.

Elizbeth stood up immediately. A hopeful smile stretched across her face, making her cheeks ache. She took a step toward him.

"Carlton," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "It's me. Do you remember what we talked about eight years ago? Under the rubble?"

Carlton stepped sideways, dodging her outstretched hand as if she carried a disease.

Elizbeth's hand froze in mid-air. The smile on her face stiffened. Her stomach dropped, a cold weight settling in her gut.

She quickly turned to the bedside table. Her hands shook as she picked up a glass of warm water. She held it out to him, desperate to ease the harsh lines of exhaustion on his face.

"You must be tired," she whispered.

Carlton let out a harsh breath. He swatted his hand through the air impatiently.

His knuckles struck the glass. It flew from her hands and shattered against the hardwood floor. The sharp crack of breaking glass made Elizbeth jump backward.

Water splashed onto the hem of her white gown. She stared at the jagged pieces on the floor, her vision blurring. The back of her throat burned.

Carlton didn't look at the mess. He yanked at his silk tie, loosening it with rough, jerky movements. His jaw clenched as his eyes swept over the bed covered in red roses.

He marched to the side of the bed. He grabbed the edge of the silk bedsheet and ripped it upward.

Hundreds of red petals flew into the air and rained down onto the floor, landing in the spilled water. He tossed the sheet aside, his upper lip curling in disgust.

Elizbeth bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. The tears she had been fighting finally pooled in her eyes.

Carlton walked over to the leather armchair and picked up his black briefcase. He snapped it open and pulled out two thick stacks of paper.

He threw them onto the glass coffee table. The heavy thud made Elizbeth flinch again.

"Sign them," Carlton ordered. His voice was flat, mechanical, and completely empty.

Elizbeth walked over on trembling legs. She picked up the top document. The bold black letters at the top read: Prenuptial Agreement and Non-Disclosure Agreement.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She flipped to the second page. Her eyes scanned the harsh clauses. Relinquishment of all rights to the Wilkinson family trust. Permanent ban from entering the West Wing of the estate.

She looked up at him, her chest tight. It felt like someone was squeezing her lungs.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice cracking. "I didn't come here for your money. We had a promise-"

Carlton let out a dark, humorless laugh. He stepped closer, his tall frame casting a shadow over her.

"Save the fairy tales," he interrupted, his tone dripping with venom. "You spun a pathetic little story about a rescue to get your hands on the Wilkinson trust. You think I don't know exactly what you are?"

The contempt in his eyes felt like a physical slap. A hot tear spilled over her eyelashes and tracked down her cheek.

Carlton didn't blink. He pulled a silver Montblanc pen from his inner jacket pocket and held it out to her. The pressure radiating from him was suffocating.

Elizbeth lifted her chin. She kept her hands firmly at her sides, refusing to take the pen. Her fingernails dug into her palms.

Carlton leaned in closer. He smelled like expensive cologne and cold anger.

"If your signature isn't on those papers in the next ten seconds," he said softly, "I will pull every cent of funding from your grandfather's clinic tomorrow morning. They will lock the doors by noon."

Elizbeth stopped breathing. The blood drained from her face, leaving her skin ice-cold.

Her grandfather's clinic was his life's work. It was the only thing she had left of him.

Her jaw trembled. She snatched the heavy pen from his fingers. She flipped to the signature lines and pressed the nib into the paper, signing her name so hard the paper nearly tore.

Carlton watched her. When she finished, he smoothly slid the documents out from under her hands. He checked the signatures, his face impassive, and put them back into his briefcase.

He turned his back to her and pointed a long finger toward the bedroom door.

"Get out," he commanded. "The guest room is down the hall."

Elizbeth's hands balled into tight fists. The humiliation burned in her chest like acid. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, swallowing the sob that threatened to break out.

She reached up and unpinned the heavy veil from her hair. She threw it onto the sofa, the white tulle looking like a discarded ghost.

She walked over to the corner and grabbed the handle of her battered suitcase. She dragged it toward the door, her heels clicking sharply against the floorboards.

When she reached the doorway, she stopped. She didn't turn around.

"You're going to regret this," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Carlton scoffed. He didn't even look in her direction as he unbuttoned his shirt and walked toward the master bathroom.

Elizbeth stepped out into the hallway. The heavy mahogany door slammed shut behind her, the click of the lock sealing away the last eight years of her foolish dreams.

Elizbeth dragged her suitcase down the long, freezing corridor of the Wilkinson estate. The wheels rattled loudly against the marble floor, the sound echoing off the high ceilings.

She reached the door at the very end of the hall. She pushed it open and dragged her bag inside.

The guest room was sparsely furnished. The air smelled stale, like a room that hadn't been breathed in for months.

Elizbeth let go of the suitcase handle. Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the edge of the stiff mattress and buried her face in her hands.

A ragged sob ripped from her throat. Her shoulders shook violently as the tears she had been holding back finally poured out. The silence of the room absorbed her pain, offering no comfort.

After a few minutes, her breathing slowed. She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. Her chest still ached, but her eyes hardened.

She unzipped the front pocket of her suitcase. Her fingers brushed against a worn, wooden picture frame. She pulled it out.

It was a photo of her and her grandfather standing in front of his clinic. He was smiling, his hand resting proudly on her shoulder.

Elizbeth traced his face through the glass. Her throat tightened. As long as the clinic is safe, she told herself. I can survive this.

She stood up and reached behind her back, struggling with the zipper of her wedding dress. She finally yanked it down, stepping out of the heavy fabric. She pulled a simple, faded cotton pajama set from her bag and slipped it on.

She pulled the thin blanket back and prepared to lie down.

A violent pounding on the door made her jump. The wood rattled in its frame.

Elizbeth's heart slammed against her ribs. She walked to the door on bare feet and slowly turned the handle.

Carlton stood in the hallway. His face was a mask of dark fury. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes wild and impatient.

Before Elizbeth could speak, his large hand shot out. His fingers clamped around her wrist like a steel vice.

"Ow!" Elizbeth gasped, trying to pull her arm back.

Carlton ignored her. He turned and yanked her out of the guest room.

Elizbeth stumbled forward, struggling to keep her balance. Her bare feet slapped against the freezing marble as he dragged her down the corridor.

As they rounded the corner, a woman in a crisp black uniform froze in her tracks. It was Judi Grimes, the head housekeeper. Her eyes widened as she stared at Carlton dragging his new bride down the hall.

Carlton stopped abruptly. He turned his head, his eyes narrowing into lethal slits as he glared at the housekeeper.

"Keep your mouth shut, Judi," he warned, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

Judi immediately dropped her gaze to the floor and scurried away down a side hallway.

Elizbeth's cheeks burned with intense heat. The humiliation of being dragged like a misbehaving child in front of the staff made her stomach churn.

Carlton didn't slow down. He pulled her all the way back to the master bedroom. He kicked the door open, dragged her inside, and threw her toward the center of the room.

Elizbeth crashed onto the velvet sofa. She scrambled to sit up, rubbing her red, throbbing wrist. She glared at him, her chest heaving.

Carlton marched into the massive walk-in closet. A second later, he walked out holding a sheer, black silk nightgown. He threw it directly at her face.

"Put it on," he ordered.

Elizbeth pulled the silk from her face. She looked at the tiny straps and the plunging neckline. Her face flushed a deep crimson.

"I'm not changing in front of you," she snapped, clutching the fabric to her chest.

Carlton let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Don't flatter yourself. There is absolutely nothing on your body that I want to look at."

He turned his back to her, crossing his arms over his chest.

Elizbeth's jaw tightened. Her fingers shook as she pulled her cotton shirt over her head. She stripped out of her pants and quickly slid the cold, slippery silk over her body. It clung to her skin, offering almost no coverage.

"I'm done," she muttered, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Carlton turned around. His dark eyes flicked to her bare shoulders. His gaze lingered there for exactly one second before he snapped his eyes back to her face.

He closed the distance between them in two long strides. He reached out and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look up at him.

"My grandfather is coming tomorrow morning for a surprise inspection," Carlton said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You will play the part of a devoted, happy wife. Do you understand?"

Elizbeth stared into his cold eyes. The reality of her situation crushed down on her. She gave a small, jerky nod.

Carlton released her chin as if her skin burned him. He pointed a finger at the velvet sofa.

"That is your bed," he stated coldly.

He turned and walked toward the massive king-sized bed. He climbed in and reached over to the bedside lamp. He clicked it off, plunging the room into darkness, leaving Elizbeth shivering on the couch.

The morning sun pierced through the gap in the heavy curtains, striking Elizbeth directly in the eyes.

She groaned and shifted on the narrow velvet sofa. Her neck was stiff, and a dull ache radiated down her spine.

She sat up, rubbing the back of her neck. The sound of running water echoed from the master bathroom.

A moment later, the bathroom door swung open. Carlton walked out. He had a white towel wrapped low around his waist. Droplets of water clung to his broad chest and slid down the deep ridges of his abs.

Elizbeth's breath hitched. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She quickly averted her eyes, staring hard at the floor, her heart suddenly beating entirely too fast.

A sharp knock sounded at the bedroom door.

"Sir," Judi's voice called out clearly from the hallway. "The elder Mr. Wilkinson is coming up the stairs."

Carlton's head snapped toward the door. Panic flashed in his dark eyes. He moved instantly.

He crossed the room in three massive strides and grabbed Elizbeth by the upper arm.

"Hey!" Elizbeth yelped as he hauled her off the sofa.

He practically threw her onto the center of the king-sized bed. She bounced against the mattress, completely disoriented.

Carlton jumped onto the bed next to her. He grabbed the thick duvet and yanked it up, covering them both up to their shoulders. He pulled her body flush against his bare, damp chest.

The double doors of the bedroom swung open.

Jacob Wilkinson stepped into the room. He leaned heavily on a silver-headed cane, his sharp, calculating eyes scanning the space.

The cold, ruthless expression on Carlton's face vanished instantly. It was replaced by a soft, affectionate smile.

Carlton wrapped his heavy arm around Elizbeth's waist, pulling her even closer. He rested his chin on the top of her head.

Elizbeth's entire body went rigid. Her muscles locked up.

Carlton's fingers dug into her waist under the covers, pinching her hard. It was a silent, painful warning.

Elizbeth gasped slightly from the pinch. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a shy smile. She looked at the old man.

"Good morning, Grandfather," she said, her voice tight.

Jacob's sharp eyes lingered on their tangled bodies. The tight lines around his mouth relaxed into a satisfied nod.

He walked slowly toward the side of the bed. "How did you both sleep?" he asked, his voice rough like sandpaper.

Carlton ducked his head. He pressed his warm lips against Elizbeth's forehead, letting them linger there.

"Everything was perfect, Grandfather," Carlton murmured, his voice thick with fake adoration.

The feel of his lips on her skin sent a violent shiver down Elizbeth's spine. A bitter, sour feeling rose in the back of her throat.

Jacob reached into his tweed jacket pocket. He pulled out a small, square velvet box and set it gently on the nightstand.

"Take good care of your wife, Carlton," Jacob instructed. He tapped his cane on the floor once, turned around, and walked out of the room.

The heavy doors closed. The loud click of the lock echoed in the quiet room.

The warmth vanished from Carlton's face in a fraction of a second. His eyes turned back to ice.

He let go of Elizbeth as if she were covered in acid. He threw the duvet off his body and rolled out of the bed, putting as much distance between them as possible.

The sudden loss of his body heat was a stark reminder of the act. The warmth had been a lie, and the cold that replaced it felt more honest, yet somehow more brutal. A bitter wave of humiliation washed over her, and she had to fight the sting in her eyes.

Carlton grabbed a dry towel and aggressively rubbed his wet hair. He glared at her.

"Clean yourself up," he ordered, his voice dripping with disdain. "And don't get used to the acting. Remember exactly why you're here."

Elizbeth clamped her teeth together. She pulled the duvet up to her chest, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the fabric. She refused to let a single tear fall while he was looking.

Carlton walked into the closet. He emerged a few minutes later wearing a perfectly tailored Armani suit. He didn't even glance at the velvet box on the nightstand.

He grabbed his watch from the dresser, strapped it to his wrist, and walked out of the bedroom without looking back.

After Carlton left, Elizbeth sat alone in the massive, empty bed. She reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the velvet box, her chest heavy with a suffocating weight. She knew she couldn't stay in this hostile room without the one thing that brought her comfort. Slipping out of the master bedroom, she hurried down the hall to the guest room.