My Contract Wife Is A Hidden Genius

Chelsea Holmes POV:

I carried the freshly brewed chamomile tea down the hallway of the Avery estate. My bare feet sank into the thick Persian rug, making no sound. This was my existence for the past three years as the wife of Edmund Avery-quiet, invisible, and entirely ignorable.

Edmund's grandfather, Ethan, had been struggling with insomnia lately. The tea was for him. He was the only person in this massive, cold house who looked at me with anything resembling warmth.

I reached the heavy oak doors of the study. They were slightly ajar, spilling a slice of golden light into the dim corridor. I raised my hand to knock.

"Grandpa, can we drop the subject of her?" Edmund's voice bled through the crack. It was laced with exhaustion and deep irritation. "It's a three-year PR stunt. The morality clause is almost up. It's ending soon."

My lungs seized. The porcelain tray in my hands suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. My fingertips turned to ice, the chill seeping straight into my bones.

"Edmund!" Ethan's voice was raspy but sharp with reprimand. "How can you speak about Chelsea that way? She is a good girl."

Edmund let out a harsh laugh. The sound scraped against my eardrums like a serrated blade. "A good girl? A woman who used every trick in the book to marry a man who doesn't love her, just for money and status? Don't be naive, Grandpa."

My stomach violently churned. Acid rose in my throat. This was what he truly thought of me. Every quiet dinner, every forced smile for the cameras-he viewed my entire life as a calculated, desperate scam.

I sucked in a sharp breath. I dug my fingernails into my palms, pressing until the skin threatened to break. I forced my shaking knees to lock. The last pathetic shred of hope I had harbored-that maybe, just maybe, my husband felt something for me-evaporated.

The heavy oak door suddenly swung inward.

Edmund stood in the doorway. His massive frame, honed by years of dominating the NHL ice, blocked the light. He froze for a fraction of a second when he saw me.

Then, his handsome face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated disgust.

"Did you hear what you wanted to hear?" He stared down at me. "Or are you just plotting your next script to play the victim for Grandpa?"

I stared up at the man I had loved for three years. The legendary hockey captain. Right now, he was a cruel stranger.

"I wasn't..." My voice cracked. My throat was so dry it hurt to speak.

Ethan stepped up behind him. He saw my pale face and the tears pooling in my eyes. "Edmund! That is enough! Apologize to Chelsea right now."

"Apologize?" Edmund stepped closer to me. The sheer physical presence of a professional athlete bearing down on me made my chest tight. "Why would I apologize to a woman who is nothing but a walking lie?"

I tilted my chin up, forcing myself to meet his dead eyes. "What exactly am I to you?"

He leaned down. His face was inches from mine. I could smell the faint scent of his expensive cologne mixed with scotch.

"You are the worst mistake of my life," he whispered, his voice dropping so only I could hear. "A morality clause I had to stomach to keep the league and my sponsors off my back. Are you satisfied now?"

Every word was a physical blow to my ribs.

The strength drained from my arms. My fingers went numb.

The tray slipped.

Crash.

The porcelain shattered against the hardwood floor just past the edge of the rug. Hot tea splattered across my ankles. The noise was deafening in the quiet hallway.

Ethan gasped and reached out, grabbing my elbow to keep me from swaying.

Edmund didn't even flinch. He looked down at the broken pieces, then back up at me with utter boredom. He reached over and adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit jacket.

"I leave for a road trip tomorrow. Don't bother me with these cheap theatrics again."

He turned his back on me and walked away. His footsteps echoed down the hall, steady and completely unbothered.

"Oh, child. Don't cry," Ethan murmured, patting my back with a trembling hand. "I will talk to him."

I shook my head. I gently pulled my arm out of Ethan's grip. I dropped to my knees and began picking up the jagged pieces of porcelain.

A sharp edge sliced into my index finger. A bead of dark red blood welled up.

I didn't feel the pain.

I stared at the blood on my finger. The decision crystallized in my mind, sharp and absolute.

I stood up. I looked at Ethan and forced the corners of my mouth to lift. "I'm fine, Grandpa. Maybe... he's right."

It was time to end this. I was getting a divorce.

Chelsea Holmes POV:

I sat on the bay window seat of my bedroom, watching the sky turn from pitch black to a bruised, pale gray. I hadn't slept a single minute. Edmund's words echoed in my skull, a relentless loop of humiliation.

I pulled my laptop onto my knees. The bright screen illuminated my face in the dark room. I opened a browser and typed: Top divorce attorneys in New York.

I didn't need his love anymore. I needed my dignity.

I scrolled through the aggressive, corporate websites. I found a firm with a reputation for merciless settlements. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I drafted an email to their senior partner. Subject: Divorce Consultation.

I hit send.

A wave of exhaustion hit me so hard my vision blurred, but beneath it, a tiny spark of relief flared.

For the next week, Edmund was on the road with the team. The house was silent. I used the time to meet with my new lawyer, Camila, via video calls. I started packing my things. I realized how little of this life was actually mine. The designer dresses, the jewelry-they were costumes for Mrs. Avery. I left them in the closet.

On Tuesday night, the team returned from their road trip. I was sitting in the small study down the hall from the master bedroom, reading a book.

The door pushed open.

Edmund walked in. He smelled of airplane air, expensive leather, and the faint, sour tang of victory scotch.

He didn't say a word. He walked straight to my chair, reached over my shoulder, and yanked the book out of my hands. He tossed it onto the desk.

Then, he leaned down. His hand gripped my shoulder, and he aimed his mouth at my neck. This was our routine. The cold, mechanical fulfillment of his physical needs.

Before, I would have frozen and let him take what he wanted. Not tonight.

I jerked my head away. His lips brushed empty air. I heard his breath hitch in surprise.

"What?" His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. His fingers dug tighter into my shoulder, trying to force me to turn back to him.

"Don't touch me," I said. My voice was quiet, but it didn't shake.

Edmund froze. He slowly straightened up. He looked at me like I was a dog that had just bitten him.

"What game are you playing now, Chelsea?" he sneered.

I stood up. I pushed my chair back, putting a solid three feet of distance between us. I opened the top drawer of the desk, pulled out a thick manila folder, and dropped it on the polished wood between us.

"I want a divorce," I said, looking dead into his blue eyes.

Edmund's gaze dropped to the folder. The bold letters DIVORCE AGREEMENT stared back at him. The lazy arrogance vanished from his face. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"What did you say?" His voice was dangerously soft.

"I want a divorce," I repeated. "Our three-year PR stunt is over. You're free."

I threw his own words right back at him. I watched a shadow of dark fury cross his eyes.

He let out a sharp, cruel laugh. "A divorce? Chelsea, did you forget who dragged you out of the gutter? Who turned the daughter of a bankrupt nobody into Mrs. Avery?"

My chest tightened.

"I never cared about the title," I said flatly.

"You didn't care?" He lunged forward. His large hand clamped around my wrist like a steel vice. The pressure was immediate and painful. "Then how are you going to survive? Going back to that pathetic excuse for a family?"

I tried to yank my arm back, but he held fast. "That is none of your business."

"It is my business." He leaned in, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over me. "You think the Avery name is a tag you can just rip off when you're bored?"

"Let go of me."

"You better think very carefully, Chelsea," he hissed, his eyes burning with rage. "Without me, the Avery family's resources will crush whatever is left of your family's little company overnight. You'll have nothing."

He thought he was terrifying me. He didn't realize he was just severing the last, frayed thread of my patience.

I stopped pulling. I looked at his handsome, furious face, and a laugh bubbled up in my throat.

"Fine," I said softly, my lips curving into a cold smile. "I'll wait and see. My lawyer will be waiting for your lawyer in the conference room at Camila Law Firm at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow. Don't be late."

Chelsea Holmes POV:

My smile snapped whatever restraint Edmund had left.

He didn't speak. He yanked my wrist, pulling my body hard against his solid chest. His other hand tangled in the hair at the back of my head, locking me in place.

His mouth crashed down on mine.

It wasn't a kiss. It was an assault. His lips were punishing, his teeth bruising against mine. He forced my mouth open, tasting of scotch and pure, dominant aggression. He was trying to prove he owned me.

Panic and humiliation flared hot in my chest. I shoved both my hands against his chest, pushing with all my strength. He didn't move an inch.

Tears of pure frustration burned my eyes. I clamped my jaw shut and bit down hard on his lower lip.

The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.

Edmund let out a muffled groan and jerked his head back.

I shoved him away, stumbling back until my hips hit the edge of the desk. I dragged the back of my hand across my mouth, wiping away his blood and his taste, breathing heavily.

Edmund stood there, his chest heaving. He raised a thumb to his mouth and wiped the blood from his split lip. He stared at the red smear on his skin, his eyes darkening into something volatile.

"You are going to regret this, Chelsea," he said. The words were a low, venomous promise.

He turned on his heel and walked out. The door slammed shut with a force that rattled the picture frames on the wall.

The next morning, I put on a sharp, tailored black suit.

At 9:50 AM, I walked into the conference room of Camila's law firm.

By 10:30 AM, the leather chair across from me was still empty.

Camila checked her watch and dialed the opposing counsel again. She listened, frowned, and hung up. "Mr. Avery's lawyer says he had an unexpected scheduling conflict. He won't be coming."

My stomach dropped. He didn't just stand me up. He did it to remind me that my time, my demands, and my presence meant absolutely nothing to him.

I swallowed the bitter taste of humiliation. "Fine. Draft the motion to compel."

When I finally got into a taxi outside the building, the adrenaline crashed. I pulled out my phone and dialed Zuri,my friend.

"Zuri..." My voice broke on the first syllable.

"Chelsea? What's wrong? Are you crying?" Zuri's voice was sharp and instantly protective.

I pressed the phone hard against my ear and told her everything. The kiss, the blood, the empty chair in the conference room.

"That absolute bastard!" Zuri screamed through the speaker. "Who the hell does he think he is? The king of the NHL? I will personally key his stupid sports car!"

Her rage was like a warm blanket. My breathing slowed down.

"Don't waste your tears on him," Zuri commanded. "Listen to me. You need to get out of New York. You need your own life back."

"I haven't worked in three years, Zuri," I whispered, staring out the window at the gray city streets.

"Did you forget you're a brilliant writer?" she demanded. "Did you forget those scripts you wrote in college? The ones that won awards before you locked yourself in that mansion?"

The word 'writer' felt foreign on my tongue.

"I have an opportunity," Zuri continued, her pace quickening. "A production company in LA is looking for fresh voices. I sent them your portfolio anonymously last week."

My heart gave a sudden, hard thump. "You did what?"

"Stop doubting yourself. You just need to leave this mess behind and start over."

I ended the call and leaned my head against the cold glass of the taxi window.

LA. A new city.

I wasn't going to let Edmund break me.