His Unwanted Wife Is A Genius Scientist

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Peterson. The impact from the accident was too severe. We couldn't save the baby."

The doctor's words were flat. Clinical.

A roar filled Carly's ears, drowning out the sterile beeping of the machines around her. A cramp seized her abdomen, a vicious, twisting pain, but it was nothing compared to the invisible hand squeezing her heart, cutting off her breath.

Her blue eyes lost focus. "No... that's not possible. My baby..."

Her hand flew to her still-flat stomach, a useless, protective gesture.

The doctor pushed his glasses up his nose, his patience wearing thin. "We need to perform a D&C immediately to prevent hemorrhage and infection. Where is your husband? We have to prep you now."

Husband.

Carly's hand shot out, grabbing the sleeve of his white coat. A desperate light flickered in her eyes. Her lips trembled slightly as she maintained the last shred of dignity: "My husband might be busy with something. May I sign it myself?"

The doctor frowned, trying to pry her fingers away. "Sorry, not only did you suffer from a car accident, but you also had a mild concussion. After the curettage surgery, you need to stay in bed for observation, and we must have the family's signature present before we can proceed with the surgery."

Just then, two young nurses whispered as they passed the doorway. Their voices were low, but in the ringing silence of Carly's world, they were as clear as a bell.

"That Miss Sargent is so lucky. She drove a red Maserati and rear ended at the overpass this morning, causing some scratches. Mr. Carlisle hasn't left her side for a second."

Red Maserati. Miss Sargent.

Devon Sargent. The name of the woman who had rear-ended her car.

An icy dread washed over Carly, colder than the shock of the crash. Why was Julian with the person who caused the accident, instead of here, with her?

A strength she didn't know she possessed surged through her. She shoved the doctor away, ignoring his startled cry of, "Ma'am, you can't get up!"

She scrambled off the gurney, her bare feet hitting the cold linoleum floor. She stumbled out of the prep room and into the main corridor.

The hallway was empty, smelling of disinfectant. The chill of the floor tiles shot up her legs, a sharp sting that did little to clear the fog in her head.

She clung to the wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Where was he?

Then she heard it. A voice from a half-open door at the end of the hall. A voice she knew better than her own, now laced with a tenderness she had only ever dreamed of.

Carly froze. She held her breath, creeping toward the door like a thief.

Through the narrow gap, she saw him. Julian Carlisle. Her husband of three years.

His tall, powerful frame was bent over a blonde woman sitting on the edge of a hospital bed. He was stroking her back with a gentleness Carly had never received.

The woman was Devon Sargent, looking fragile and angelic in a pale blue hospital gown. Tears streamed down her perfect face.

"Julian, I was so scared," Devon sobbed, her fingers gripping his shirt tightly. "It hurts so much... my chest, my head... I thought I was going to die."

Julian leaned in closer, his voice low and laced with an agonizingly tender devotion-a tone Carly had never heard in their three years of marriage. "Shh, I'm here. You're safe now. I won't let anything happen to you."

Devon whimpered, "It hurts, Julian. Please don't leave me."

Julian lifted Devon's face, gently wiping her tears with his thumb. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmured, his voice a soft caress. "You being okay is all that matters."

Devon leaned into his chest, burying her face against him as she continued to cry softly, basking in his undivided attention.

In that instant, Carly's world didn't just crack. It shattered. Devon was crying over minor scratches, completely unaware of the devastation she had left in her wake, while Julian offered her his entire heart. The pain of the crash, the grief for her lost child-it was all pulverized into dust by this raw, naked betrayal. Her husband was comforting the very woman who had killed their baby.

She tried to back away, but her trembling hand accidentally bumped against the doorframe, causing a faint thud.

Hearing the noise, Devon paused her crying and peeked out from Julian's embrace. She caught a glimpse of Carly outside the door and blinked. "Julian," she asked, her voice tinged with innocent confusion, "isn't that the assistant you wanted to fire? Why did she follow you all the way to the hospital? Is she here to beg me for an autograph too?"

Julian's gaze finally shifted toward the hallway, landing on Carly's retreating back. But there was no flicker of emotion in his eyes. He looked at her as if she were a complete stranger, utterly indifferent and unbothered. With just a fleeting, apathetic glance, he withdrew his attention and let his tender gaze fall back onto the girl in his arms.

Carly stumbled backward, step by step, until her back hit the cold wall on the other side of the hall.

A metallic taste filled her mouth. She swallowed it down. The grief was so immense, so absolute, that no tears would come.

The doctor and a nurse found her there, a ghost haunting the hallway. Seeing her vacant expression, the doctor's tone softened slightly. "Mrs. Peterson, are you all right? Let's go back. We really can't delay the procedure."

Carly's eyes were empty. A puppet with its strings cut. She let them guide her, her body moving without her consent.

As they led her away, she took one last look back at the closed VIP door.

Inside was her husband's sanctuary. Outside was her personal hell.

She knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her bones, that her marriage, her love, had died in that cold hospital, right alongside her unborn child.

"Doctor," she said, her voice terrifyingly calm, yet incredibly fragile. "Please... let's do the surgery."

The doctor frowned in concern. "But we still need your husband's signature-"

"He won't come," Carly whispered, a single, bitter tear finally escaping her empty eyes. "My husband... is busy keeping someone else company."

As the words left her lips, the last thread holding her together snapped. The harsh fluorescent lights above blurred into a dizzying spin, and before the doctor could reach out to catch her, Carly's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed into the suffocating darkness of the hospital floor.

Carly woke to a sharp, white light overhead and a dull, throbbing ache in her lower abdomen. It wasn't a nightmare. It was real.

A doctor in a standard white coat stood by her bed. He adjusted his clipboard as her eyes fluttered open.

"Carly, you're awake," he said, his tone clinical and grave. "You suffered a massive hemorrhage. We had to perform an emergency dilation and curettage. The surgery was successful, but you're going to need time to recover."

His words held no warmth, no comfort.

She ignored him, her own voice a dry rasp. "My babies..." A tiny, foolish flicker of hope still lingered in the back of her mind.

The doctor sighed, closing the file. "I'm sorry. We couldn't save them. Your only job now is to rest." His words were a command, not a suggestion.

A young nurse came in to change her IV drip. Her eyes, full of pity, met Carly's.

While the doctor stepped out to take a call, the nurse leaned in close. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "To lose both of them at once, especially when they were already fully formed... it's just awful."

"Both?" Carly's pupils contracted. She grabbed the nurse's arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "What did you say? My previous checkups always said it was a single pregnancy!"

The nurse flinched, startled by her intensity. "Y-yes... the ultrasound showed a boy and a girl. Fraternal twins. Didn't you know?"

A boy and a girl.

She had lost two babies.

The knowledge hit her like a physical blow, a second, more brutal impact. The room spun, and she thought she might pass out from the sheer weight of the pain.

Yet, surprisingly, she did not shed a single tear. The grief was too profound, hollowing her out from the inside. Instead of crying, a terrifying calm settled over her.

She requested the remains of her children from the hospital. Carefully, she placed the tiny, formless tragedies into a small black urn.

With steady, numb hands, she wrapped the urn in exquisite gift paper, tying it with a ribbon so it looked exactly like a beautiful "present".

Just before she was discharged, her phone buzzed. It was Julian's father, Alistair Carlisle. His tone usual arrogant command.

"Come to the old estate," Alistair ordered, his voice cold and expectant. "The chef is off today. I want you to cook dinner, and my suits need ironing. Make sure the house is spotless. Don't keep us waiting."He hung up before she could reply.

Lying back against the pillows for a brief moment, Carly felt a chilling realization wash over her. She remembered how she had married Julian Carlisle while pregnant, bending over backward to please his family. She had endured their scorn, hoping to earn her place. But to them, she was never a daughter-in-law. She was just an unpaid maid.

She scanned the empty room. Julian wasn't there. He was still with Devon, she was sure of it.

Returning to the Carlisle manor, the head nanny immediately shoved a basket of fresh ingredients toward her. "Mr. Carlisle wants dinner ready by seven," the nanny said haughtily, fully expecting Carly to take on her usual servant role.

For the first time, Carly ignored her. She didn't even glance at the groceries, turning on her heel and walking straight upstairs. Behind her, she could hear the nanny indignantly dialing Julian's number to complain about her sudden insolence.

Inside the cold, empty master bedroom, Carly stood still. She fumbled for her phone in her pocket.

The screen lit up, showing a photo of her and Julian. She was smiling, her face radiant with a happiness that now seemed like a cruel joke.

She looked up at the large wedding portrait hanging on the wall-a heavily edited, composite photo because Julian hadn't even bothered to show up for the shoot. Then, she looked down at the "gift-wrapped" black urn resting in her arms.

She stared at it for a long moment, then let out a dry, humorless laugh.

Her fingers scrolled through her contacts, pausing on a single name.

After a long hesitation, she pressed the call button.

When the line connected, she summoned every ounce of strength she had left. "Hamza," she said, her voice clear and steady. "It's me, Carly. I'm ready... I want to go back."

"Carly," Hamza McKnight's voice came through the line, heavy with finality. "I have to tell you... the government aerospace classified project won't be reaching out to you anymore. You were so firm in your refusal back then, and with the news of your pregnancy out, they've already found someone else. Even your mentor won't bother you again. He said to just live your life in peace."

A long, hollow silence stretched on Carly's end. Memories washed over her-her college days as a secretly cultivated key scientific talent, co-founding the company with Hamza. Relying on her core technology, that company had successfully gone public in just one year, making her the major behind-the-scenes shareholder.

But she had fallen in love with Julian Carlisle. For him, she had discarded her bright future, pushed away countless research opportunities others could only dream of, all just to be a secretary at his company.

As for the child, it was a one night stand a few months ago when Julian's grandmother Eleanor exerted pressure on him for the child in her womb, forcing him to marry her.

Just as Hamza sighed, preparing to end the call, Carly suddenly spoke up. "Hamza... I want to join the government commercial aerospace classified project."

There was a stunned silence on the line. Hamza was completely caught off guard. After his repeated past persuasions were met with flat rejections, he secretly speculated that Carly was only doing this now to grab Julian's attention.

He didn't expose his guess. "Alright," he said, his tone turning professional. "I'll accept your application. But remember, this is a classified project. I need you to come in on Monday to sign the NDA."

After hanging up, Carly was filled with self-mockery. She had wasted nearly five years for a man who didn't love her, only to end up with absolutely nothing. She made up her mind: she would tell Julian the baby was gone, and end this marriage once and for all.

The doctor had told her she needed four months of rest to recover from the pregnancy loss. Standing in the hospital bathroom, she looked at her reflection. Her body was still swollen from the pregnancy. Her black puffer jacket was stained with dried blood, emitting a heavy, metallic stench. She methodically cleaned herself up and threw the bloody garments straight into the trash.

At dinner, the chef presented a specially prepared restorative soup. Carly didn't even glance at it. "Take it away," she told the maid, Brenda.

Brenda, the head maid who had always treated her with a thin veneer of respect, frowned. "Ma'am, Mr. Carlisle ordered this for you..."

"I said, take it away," Carly repeated, her voice low and sharp. The maid flinched at her tone and scurried away with the bowl.

Carly went up to the master suite she shared with Julian. The room was vast and empty, holding no trace of him.

She opened the walk-in closet and pulled out the small suitcase she had arrived with three years ago. She began to pack.

She took only her own clothes, a few professional textbooks, and an old laptop. The jewelry, the designer bags, the couture gowns Julian had bought her-she left them all behind.

She was zipping the suitcase when a knock came at the door. It was the nanny. "Ma'am, Mr. Carlisle is back. He's asking for you downstairs."

Carly felt a surge of surprise. As the head of the Carlisle family, Julian almost never set foot in this house; usually, she only had the chance to speak to him at the company. Her mind raced with speculations, assuming he had come because of the baby or the hospital incident.

However, when she went downstairs, what awaited her was not concern, but Julian's icy accusations.

"You don't have time for your prenatal checkups, but you have plenty of time to stalk me?" he demanded, his voice laced with disgust.

Carly's face turned deathly pale.

She had been on her way to the Carlisle-owned hospital for that very checkup when the car crash happened. Because Julian had continuously ignored her calls, her rescue was delayed, and she couldn't save the baby. She had even seen him with her own eyes at the hospital, meticulously caring for the instigator of her tragedy. And now, she was being slandered as a stalker.

A bitter sorrow filled her heart. She opened her mouth, desperately wanting to explain. "Julian, I-"

"Save it," he interrupted sharply, his eyes devoid of any warmth. "Put away your little schemes. Once the baby is born, we are getting a divorce."

His tone was absolute, the voice of a man used to total control. Without another glance, he turned and walked into his bathroom. The door clicked shut, a final, definitive sound separating their two worlds.