My Delicate Wife Is A Medical Genius

"Sign it."

The thick stack of paper hit the mahogany desk with a sharp smack. It slid across the polished wood, stopping a fraction of an inch from Diana's fingertips.

Diana kept her eyes lowered. Her right thumb moved automatically, rubbing the rough edge of her cotton sleeve. The air in the study was heavy, smelling of expensive cigar smoke and the sharp tang of desperation.

"Don't just stand there looking stupid," Brenda said. She sat on the leather sofa, her manicured nails tapping a relentless rhythm against her porcelain teacup. "You marrying into the Vanderbilt family is a blessing you don't deserve. It saves us the trouble of looking at you."

Cornie hovered behind her mother's shoulder. She twisted the hem of her designer skirt, her eyes wide and shining with manufactured pity. "It's so sad that my sister has to marry a dying man. If only I could take her place."

Haskell slammed his palm flat against the desk. The gold pen rolled near the edge but stopped just short of falling. "Shut up, Cornie. Vanderbilt specifically asked for the legitimate daughter. It's for their PR image."

Diana stopped rubbing her sleeve. She raised her head slowly, looking directly into Haskell's bloodshot eyes.

"If I sign this," Diana said, her voice completely flat, "the Hutchinson Group gets the three hundred million dollar capital injection. Is that correct?"

Haskell's chest heaved. He leaned forward, planting his knuckles on the desk. "Yes. And I'll make sure you get a decent dowry out of it."

Diana ignored the gold pen on the desk and pulled a cheap pen from her own pocket, holding it poised over the paper. The message was clear: she played by her own rules. A drop of black ink gathered at the tip, hovering just above the paper.

She didn't lower it.

"I have one condition," Diana said.

Haskell's neck turned a mottled red. The veins at his temples pulsed. "We don't have time for your games. Vanderbilt is waiting."

"Don't push your luck, you little backwoods nobody," Brenda snapped, the teacup rattling against its saucer.

Diana placed the pen down on the desk. The soft click echoed in the silent room.

"My condition is absolute," Diana said. "If you refuse, I will walk into the nearest courthouse and file a public lawsuit detailing exactly how you 'found' me. I imagine the Hutchinson stock will tank before the market even opens."

The room went dead silent. Cornie took a rapid step backward, her grip on her skirt tightening until her knuckles turned white.

Diana smoothed the front of her cheap jacket. She turned her body toward the heavy oak door. "If we have no deal, I'll go pack my bags."

Her hand closed over the cold brass doorknob.

"Stop." The word tore out of Haskell's throat, sounding like grinding stones.

Diana turned her head. She kept her hand on the knob. She didn't smile.

"What do you want?" Haskell forced the words out.

Diana raised three fingers. "First, the Vanderbilt funds must clear. Second, you will sign a strict Non-Disclosure Agreement. Third, you will sign a legal document severing all familial ties with me. Permanently."

Brenda gasped, spilling hot tea onto her lap. She didn't even flinch.

Haskell shot up from his chair. The heavy leather seat tipped backward and crashed to the floor. "You ungrateful bitch! You want to cut ties with your own blood?"

"You put a price tag on me first," Diana said, her tone as even as if she were discussing the weather. "A transaction requires fair terms."

Brenda stood up, her voice trembling. "We are your family, Diana. Blood is thicker than water."

Diana looked at Brenda. Her gaze was completely empty. "If Cornie were the one being sold to a dying man, would your blood still be this thick?"

Cornie shrank back, pressing herself against the bookshelf.

Haskell stared at Diana. His chest rose and fell in jagged breaths. He looked at the bankruptcy notices piled on the corner of his desk. He slowly bent down, righted his chair, and sat back heavily.

Diana walked back to the desk. She unzipped her worn canvas bag and pulled out a crisp, neatly folded stack of legal documents. She silently thanked the small-town lawyer she had paid with her last two hundred dollars to draft these before she ever set foot in New York. She slid them across the mahogany, right over the marriage agreement.

Haskell snatched up his gold pen. His hand shook so violently the tip scratched the paper before he even began writing. He pressed down hard, carving his signature into the severance document.

Diana picked up the signed paper. She folded it precisely along the creases and slid it into her inner jacket pocket. She patted the fabric once.

Then, she picked up her cheap pen. Without a second of hesitation, she signed her name on the Vanderbilt marriage intent agreement. The ink flowed smoothly.

"Get out," Haskell spat, his eyes fixed on the desk. "Once you walk through that door, you are dead to us."

Diana turned around. She walked to the door, pulled it open, and stepped out into the hallway.

Diana walked down the long corridor. The sharp click of her cheap heels against the marble floor echoed off the high ceilings. She didn't look back at the study.

She pushed open the heavy front doors. The crisp autumn wind of New York hit her face, carrying the scent of exhaust and dead leaves. She took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs.

Parked at the end of the circular driveway was a black Maybach. The vehicle sat under the streetlights like a massive, dormant beast. Its polished surface absorbed the light, making the Hutchinson family's flashy sports cars nearby look like cheap toys.

An elderly man in a perfectly tailored suit stood by the rear door. His hair was silver, his posture rigid. As Diana approached, he bowed slightly from the waist.

"Miss Hutchinson," Butler Hayes said. His voice was completely devoid of inflection.

"Just Diana," she said. "As of ten minutes ago, Hutchinson is just a name on a piece of paper I no longer answer to."

Hayes's eyes flicked to her face for a fraction of a second. He didn't say a word. He reached out and pulled the heavy car door open.

Diana ducked her head and slid into the backseat.

The door clicked shut behind her, instantly cutting off the sound of the wind. The interior of the car was warm. The air smelled of expensive leather and a faint, sharp scent of cedar and rain.

She turned her head.

A man sat on the far side of the spacious backseat.

Houston Vanderbilt had his head resting against the leather headrest. His eyes were closed. The passing streetlights cut across his face in rhythmic flashes, highlighting a jawline that looked carved from pale marble. His skin was translucent, almost sickly white, making the dark lashes resting on his cheekbones stand out sharply.

He wore a black suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His hands rested on his knees. His fingers were long, the knuckles pronounced, with faint blue veins mapping the back of his hands.

Diana's breath caught in her throat. Her heart gave a sudden, hard thump against her ribs. She had known he was sick, but no one had mentioned he looked like a fallen angel.

Houston's eyelids fluttered. He opened his eyes.

They were a deep, icy gray-blue. They locked onto Diana's face with the precision of a sniper's scope. There was no warmth in them, no curiosity. Just a cold, calculating assessment.

Diana felt the hairs on her arms stand up. She forced herself to keep her chin level.

"Are you ready?" Houston's voice was gravelly, low, scraping against the quiet interior of the car.

Diana straightened her spine. She looked right into those freezing eyes. "I'm ready. More ready than I've ever been."

Houston stared at her for a long moment. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He turned his head slightly toward the front. "Drive."

The Maybach pulled away from the curb so smoothly Diana barely felt the motion. The Hutchinson mansion disappeared into the darkness behind them.

The car was silent. Diana kept her hands folded in her lap, but her eyes kept darting to the side. Houston had closed his eyes again. His chest barely moved as he breathed.

"Do you know why I agreed to this marriage?" Diana asked. Her voice broke the silence, sounding louder than she intended.

Houston didn't open his eyes. "For the money. Or to escape that house."

"At first, yes," Diana said. She shifted on the leather seat, turning her body fully toward him. "But now, maybe for something else."

Houston's eyes snapped open. He turned his head. The icy blue pinned her in place. "What else?"

Diana smiled. It was a small, genuine curve of her lips. "For instance, my future legal husband is incredibly handsome."

Houston's entire body went rigid. His long fingers, resting on his knees, curled inward, digging into the fabric of his trousers. A faint, almost imperceptible flush of color crept up the side of his pale neck.

He jerked his head away, staring out the window at the passing city lights. "You have a terrible sense of humor." His voice was a degree colder than before.

Diana let out a soft laugh. "I'm serious. The marriage laws don't say I can't compliment my spouse."

Houston didn't answer. His jaw was locked tight. But his fingers remained curled into fists on his lap.

The car glided over a bridge, the Manhattan skyline rising before them in a sea of neon and glass.

"Do you regret it?" Houston asked suddenly. He didn't look at her.

Diana looked at the glowing city. "I never regret escaping a cage."

Houston slowly turned his head back to her. His gaze dropped to her profile, lingering on the curve of her cheek. The ice in his eyes seemed to crack, just a fraction.

"Good," he said softly.

Diana heard the word "Good." She didn't hesitate. She leaned across the wide leather seat, closing the distance between them.

She reached out and lightly pinched the cuff of Houston's dark suit jacket. She tilted her head up, looking directly into his face.

"I don't regret it," Diana said. "I'm glad. I left a terrible place, and now I have a husband who looks like you."

Houston looked down at her. As she leaned in impossibly close, he caught a subtle trace beneath the heavy cedar of the car interior-a faint scent of cheap soap and something clean, like crushed herbs, clinging to her skin. His pupils contracted.

He pulled his arm back instinctively. Diana didn't let go. Her fingers tightened on his sleeve, and her thumb brushed against the bare skin of his wrist.

Houston froze. The muscles in his arms turned to stone. His breathing stopped completely for a full second. No woman had ever touched him this casually, this fearlessly.

Diana acted as if she didn't notice his paralysis. "Since we are going to be legally married, we should fulfill our duties. Like taking care of each other."

She shifted her weight and rested her head gently against his shoulder. She looped her arm loosely through his.

Houston's back hit the leather seat hard. He could feel the heat of her body seeping through his suit jacket. A tight, unfamiliar knot formed in the center of his chest. He looked down at the top of her head resting against him. His pale lips pressed into a thin line. His Adam's apple bobbed once.

He didn't push her away.

Diana felt the rigid tension in his muscles. She smiled against his jacket and rubbed her cheek slightly against the expensive wool, settling in.

"Your shoulder is hard," she murmured. "But it feels safe. Safer than anywhere in the Hutchinson house."

At the word "Hutchinson," the air around Houston dropped ten degrees. A dark, violent shadow crossed his gray-blue eyes.

Slowly, the iron tension in his arm eased. He shifted his shoulder down just a fraction of an inch, angling his body so she could lean more comfortably.

The Maybach slowed down, pulling to a stop along a quiet street.

"Stop the car," Houston ordered.

Diana lifted her head, confused. She looked out the window. "Aren't we going to sign the prenuptial agreement first?"

Houston looked at the faint red mark the wool had left on her cheek. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, a movement so small it was almost invisible. "The agreement is here."

Butler Hayes opened the door from the outside. Houston stepped out into the night air. He turned back and held his hand out to Diana.

Diana looked at his large, pale hand. She placed her hand in his. His palm was cool, but his grip was absolute. His fingers closed around hers, locking them together.

They walked up the wide stone steps of City Hall. Houston's grip didn't loosen.

A man in a sharp gray suit stood at the top of the stairs, holding a leather folder. Aiden Foster's eyes widened to the size of saucers when he saw Houston Vanderbilt holding a woman's hand. He quickly snapped his jaw shut and bowed his head.

"Mr. Vanderbilt," Aiden said, holding out the folder. "The prenuptial agreement, drafted exactly to your specifications."

Diana took the folder with her free hand. She flipped it open. She scanned the dense legal text. Her eyes stopped on the asset division clauses. The document essentially transferred a massive portion of the Vanderbilt liquid assets and real estate into her name, effective immediately upon signing. The only condition was a strict non-disclosure clause regarding his health.

She looked up at Houston. "Is this a mistake? You're giving me everything. You get a wife who might just be a liability."

Houston stared down at her. His face was an unreadable mask. "My life isn't worth much. Buying your commitment with money is cheap."

Diana's chest tightened. She looked at his cold, beautiful face and saw the deep, isolating void beneath his words.

She closed the folder. She didn't read another word. She took the pen Aiden offered and signed her name at the bottom of the page. She shoved the folder back into Aiden's chest.

Houston watched her signature dry. A dark satisfaction settled in his eyes.

He pulled her hand, leading her through the heavy brass doors of City Hall.

The grand lobby was mostly empty at this hour. A few clerks looked up. When they recognized the man walking across the marble floor, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

Director Miller came rushing out of his glass office. He took one look at Houston, then at the woman holding his hand, and physically stumbled over his own feet. He grabbed the edge of a desk to steady himself, his face draining of color.

"Mr. Vanderbilt," Miller stammered, bowing so low his tie brushed the desk. "Right this way. Please."