Losing My Genius Wife: The Billionaire's Regret

"Are you a mute? Or just stupid? No wonder Daddy Brody hates you!"

At the family funeral, my husband's first love's son pointed at my traumatized three-year-old daughter, cursing her viciously.

When I furiously tried to protect my child, my husband-whose paralyzed legs I had just spent three years curing-stormed in and shielded them. He glared at me with absolute disgust:

"Stop your pathetic lies! Why would a seven-year-old maliciously curse at her?! Must you embarrass us today?"

His first love stood there with red eyes, playing the perfect victim, while his entire elite family scolded me for being "unpresentable."

Watching him tenderly hand a handkerchief to his mistress, I finally realized that my three years of blood and sweat to pull him out of the abyss was nothing but a joke.

The next day, he audaciously handed over the biomedical division I had spent five years building to his mistress-a woman who couldn't even read a data chart.

"Celestia is more qualified than you," he said with sickening self-righteousness. "You are failing as a mother, so I'm doing this for your own good."

He even threatened to use a bribed doctor to declare me "mentally unstable" just to strip away my custody of my daughter!

He was certain I would cry and beg like I always did. Instead, I fired his corrupt doctor on the spot and locked down all the encrypted core data, leaving his precious mistress panicking like a complete idiot in front of the blank screens.

When he stormed home furiously to demand I fix it, I coldly pointed at the nightstand: "The signed divorce papers are right there. Sign them, and I'll see you in court."

Just as he froze in absolute shock, my phone lit up. It was a text from "The Ninth"-the legendary, untouchable specialist who had just miraculously saved my daughter, and the one omnipotent man my husband's billions could never buy.

"Your request has been approved. I am waiting for you."

--

On the day of Cordelia Carlisle's funeral, the cathedral was packed with mourners today. Among them were political elites, business tycoons, and a swarm of media. Camera flashes flickered discreetly, their lenses focused entirely on the two figures standing near the altar.

"Is that the legendary Mrs. Carlisle? She looks stunning next to Mr. Carlisle, and the little boy with them is adorable," a guest whispered.

"Mrs. Carlisle rarely shows her face in public. Rumor had it she was unpresentable, but clearly, those were lies. Mr. Carlisle is just hiding his treasure! Look at the way they gaze at each other... the love is undeniable."

"That's not Mrs. Carlisle," another socialite corrected with a soft scoff. "The one standing in front of the portrait is."

"Wait, what?"

"The woman next to Mr. Carlisle is Celestia Roman. She's his first love. She comes from old money, went abroad a few years ago, and just returned after starting her own company."

"I heard Alisha only managed to marry him because she used the old lady's favor to force Brody's hand, ruining his relationship with Celestia. Heartbroken, Celestia married someone else on a whim."

"So she's just a homewrecker who forced her way in? No wonder she's being treated like an outcast today..."

Alisha had been immersed in the grief of losing her grandmother-in-law, but the hushed whispers pierced her ears, striking her heart like a serrated blade.

She raised her head, meeting the countless gazes of disdain and mockery from the crowd. Her face paled instantly as her eyes shifted to the tall figure standing not far away.

Brody stood tall and immaculate in a tailored black suit and cashmere overcoat. He exuded a freezing, unapproachable aura. His handsome face was expressionless, save for a hint of sorrow in his striking eyes.

However, Celestia's presence seemed to melt the ice in his demeanor, replacing it with a sickeningly gentle warmth.

Soon, Brody accompanied Celestia and her child to bow before the late Mrs. Carlisle's portrait. Throughout the entire process, he didn't even spare a single glance at Alisha or their three-year-old daughter, Zoe.

A bitter taste flooded Alisha's mouth.

It was true that her marriage to Brody was orchestrated by the late Cordelia Carlisle. Years ago, Brody was in a severe car accident that left his legs temporarily paralyzed. He became a broken, cynical man. Desperate to save her grandson, Cordelia hired Alisha to treat him.

Alisha poured her heart and soul into his recovery, pulling him out of the darkness. And under Cordelia's strict orders, they were married.

Now, with Zoe already three years old, it was the first time Alisha had ever heard of this "first love."

While Alisha was lost in her devastating epiphany, Celestia finished her condolences and returned to the VIP seating.

Brody finally spared a fraction of his attention for his actual wife. He walked over to Alisha, his tall frame casting a cold shadow over her.

"There are a lot of media here today," Brody said, his voice low and devoid of any emotion. "Keep Zoe out of sight and behave yourself. I will not tolerate any embarrassments at my grandmother's funeral."

It was a reminder, but more so, a warning.

A minute ago, his eyes had been soft and tender for another woman. Now, looking at Alisha, they were nothing but a frozen wasteland.

Alisha felt a bone-deep chill seep into her veins. She looked at the man she had loved for years. The last, stubborn thread of hope inside her snapped, breaking with a silent, devastating finality.

She had questions, so many of them, but she swallowed them down. The love was dead. There was nothing left to ask.

Grandma Cordelia had been the only one who treated her well, and Alisha wanted the old lady to rest in peace. This was not the place for a scene.

Without a single word of argument, Alisha lowered her gaze, her expression turning as cold as his. She took Zoe's hand and retreated toward the family lounge outside the main hall.

Brody frowned slightly at her silence, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face. But he didn't care enough to dwell on it. He turned right back to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Celestia.

Celestia's eyes were red from crying, looking fragile and pitiful. Brody pulled out his personal handkerchief and handed it to her. In the middle of a funeral, the two of them shared an inappropriately sweet, intimate moment.

With everyone's attention fixated on the dramatic couple, no one noticed that the little boy who had come with Celestia had quietly slipped away.

He peeked around the corridors, making his way toward the family lounge...

The heavy oak door of the family lounge crashed open against the wall, the loud BANG shattering the room's fragile peace.

Zoe was sitting on a small sofa, completely absorbed in her own silent world. Her little hands clutched a sketchbook, and a small white funeral flower was pinned to her black dress.

Leo marched over, crossing his arms as he stared down at the three-year-old. He was a boy of about seven, with his mother Celestia's platinum hair and a swagger that spoke of unchecked entitlement. His eyes scanned the room and quickly locked onto the solitary, tiny figure huddled in the corner.

"You really don't talk, do you?" Leo sneered, his tone dripping with an arrogance he had clearly learned from the adults around him. "Are you a mute? Or just stupid? Maybe you're a psycho?"

Zoe didn't react. Her beautiful, glassy blue eyes remained fixed on her drawing, completely ignoring him.

Furious at being ignored, Leo's face twisted maliciously. "No wonder Daddy Brody and everyone else hates you!"

Without warning, his hand shot out and violently snatched the sketchbook from Zoe's lap.

Zoe gasped, a small, choked sound. She jumped to her feet, her tiny hands reaching out into the empty air, her mouth opening and closing without a sound. Panic flared in her eyes, and tears instantly welled up.

Alisha, who had just poured a cup of warm water, saw everything. A fierce, protective fire ignited in her chest. Driven by pure maternal instinct, she slammed the cup down and stormed over to the boy.

"Where are your manners? How can a child be so vicious?" Alisha scolded, her eyes blazing with anger.

Leo wasn't intimidated in the slightest. He lifted his chin defiantly. "Did I say something wrong? She is a little freak!"

"Get out of here right now!" Alisha had never thought she could be so enraged by a child. Fearing Zoe would be further traumatized by his toxic words, she reached out, grabbed Leo's arm, and forcefully pulled him toward the door.

"Ahhh! Let go of me!" Leo instantly dropped the sketchbook and erupted into a theatrical, ear-piercing wail. He kicked and thrashed, throwing a massive tantrum.

The commotion was so loud that it immediately attracted the attention of the media hovering near the main hall. A few reporters rushed over, aiming their camera lenses toward the cracked door of the lounge.

Suddenly, a tall figure moved swiftly, stepping into the room and slamming the door shut with a resounding thud, completely blocking the media's view.

It was Brody.

He looked down at Alisha with absolute disgust and barked, "Alisha, what the hell are you doing?! Laying your hands on a child? Let go of Leo right now!"

"He barged in here spewing nonsense! He was viciously cursing at Zoe, I just wanted to get him out-"

"Stop your pathetic lies!" Brody interrupted her, his voice a freezing blade. "Leo just returned from abroad. He met Zoe for the very first time today. Why would he maliciously curse at her?!"

"I didn't..." Alisha tried to argue.

But the icy contempt in the man's gaze was like a bucket of freezing water poured over her head. Her eyes dimmed instantly, and she let go of the brat's arm.

This man... will never believe me.

Realizing this, her heart plummeted into a sub-zero abyss. She turned her back on him and knelt down to tightly embrace her trembling daughter.

At that moment, the rest of the Carlisle family hurried into the lounge.

Brody's mother, Mrs. Carlisle, glared at Alisha with blatant disgust. "Alisha, must you cause a scene on the day of all days? Can't you let the old lady rest in peace? You truly are unpresentable!"

Pierce, Brody's younger brother who had always despised Alisha, chimed in with a smug sneer. "Wow, you're unbelievable, Alisha. Leo is Celestia's son. Who gave you the right to blindly accuse him? I think you're just jealous! Making such a fool of yourself at Grandma's funeral... If you can't behave, get out."

Facing the cold, mocking stares of the entire Carlisle family, a sharp, agonizing pain pierced Alisha's chest.

Not a single person believed her. Not one.

"Keep Zoe quiet and stay out of trouble. We have to thank the guests soon. Do not embarrass me any further," Brody ordered, his voice devoid of any warmth.

Alisha looked up, meeting her husband's eyes. A slow, bitterly sarcastic smile crept onto her pale lips.

"Embarrass you?" she whispered, her voice dangerously soft but laced with ice. "Has anyone in this room ever treated me as family? Other than Grandma, did any of you ever acknowledge me as a Carlisle?"

She stood up, holding Zoe tightly in her arms. Her gaze locked onto Brody, stripping away the last three years of unrequited love. "Another woman's child just brutally bullied your own daughter, yet you blindly shield him without asking a single question. Brody... do you even have a daughter in your heart?"

Her eyes were dead, filled with a haunting desolation. This place, this family... she couldn't stand it for another second.

She turned on her heel and walked toward the door. As her hand grasped the doorknob, she paused and left one final sentence hanging in the chilling air.

"Brody, you will pay for this."

Without looking back, Alisha walked out of the cathedral and into the flashing lights of the cameras. Her spine was straight, her head held high. For three long years, she had endured hell to warm a man's frozen heart.

But today, that naive Alisha died.

The Carlisle townhouse on the Upper East Side was a monument of limestone and silence.

The funeral had ended that afternoon, but Brody never came home.

Alisha drew a warm bath for Zoe, the scent of lavender filling the marble-clad bathroom. She helped her daughter change into soft pajamas and tucked her into bed. Even in sleep, Zoe clutched her sketchbook tightly to her chest.

Once Zoe was settled, Alisha's phone buzzed on the vanity. It was her best friend, Chastity Holland.

"I just heard from my mother who heard from Susan who heard from God-knows-who," Chastity's voice crackled, a rapid-fire assault of righteous indignation. "They're saying you caused a scene at the funeral! Those fucking bastards! Brody's family is slandering you to anyone who will listen!"

Alisha sank onto the silk ottoman, leaning her head against the cool wall. She closed her eyes and recounted the day's events, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

Chastity's string of curses on the other end was both vile and deeply comforting. "He's a blind, stupid fool, Alisha! And Celestia is a Grade-A bitch! What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, Chas," Alisha whispered, looking out the window at the glittering, indifferent skyline of Manhattan. "For Zoe... I just don't know."

Sleep didn't come. She lay in the vast, empty bed until the first grey light of dawn seeped through the windows.

She was jolted out of her daze by a persistent buzz from her phone. It wasn't a call. It was a Wall Street Journal news alert.

The headline felt like a punch to the gut. Her breath hitched.

Carlisle Foundation Announces Landmark Partnership, Taps Celestia Roman to Helm New Biomedical Division.

Her fingers trembled as she tapped the link. The screen filled with a photo of Brody and Celestia, standing side-by-side at a press conference. They were smiling, a handsome, powerful couple, radiating success.

The article quoted Brody extensively. He praised Celestia as a "visionary leader" with "unparalleled talent" who would bring "new energy" to the foundation.

The biomedical division.

Alisha's blood ran cold.

That was her division.

She had spent the last five years building it from the ground up, helping establish the lab protocols, vetting research proposals, shaping its mission.

It was her passion, the one part of her life in this gilded cage that was truly her own.

And now, he was handing it over to the woman he was sleeping with.

Slowly, Alisha lowered the phone. The screen went dark, and so did her eyes. The pain was sharp, but it quickly faded into a freezing, absolute numbness.

She walked into her study, opened her laptop, and typed a direct address.

The website for Stern & Associates, one of New York's most ruthless divorce law firms, loaded onto the screen. She found the consultation form and typed two words under the case description: Divorce. Custody.

She clicked submit. A profound, unnerving calm washed over her.

Hours passed. As evening fell, the sound of a heavy door opening echoed through the silent house.