The Mind-Reading CEO Refuses To Divorce

Georgia Harrington gasped for air, her fingers clawing into the black silk sheets as a flood of foreign memories slammed into her skull. She had transmigrated. She was no longer in the real world, but trapped inside a trashy billionaire novel she had read before falling asleep. To make matters worse, she had become the billionaire's disposable contract wife, a tragic cannon fodder with the exact same name as her.

In the original plot, her husband Garrett Delacruz shared absolutely no affection with her. Later on, Garrett would fall madly in love with Danica, Georgia's recently found adopted sister. Danica appeared gentle and understanding on the surface, but in reality, she constantly sowed discord between Georgia and Garrett. Unable to endure her husband's coldness and the green tea sister's provocations, the original Georgia fought back, only to be framed by Danica for attempted murder. In a fit of rage for his true love, Garrett kicked Georgia out of the house, leaving her to die in severe depression.

Georgia squeezed her eyes shut, despair washing over her. When she read the book, she deeply sympathized with the original wife, but she never expected to become this poor soul. She knew she was no match for Garrett and Danica. As an ordinary office worker, she had zero interest in getting tangled up in their toxic love triangle. Since Garrett had no feelings for the original Georgia anyway, she decided to grab a massive fortune in alimony as compensation for the years of emotional neglect. Once Danica appeared, she would just take the money, leave quietly, and let the two of them be together. Now, her only goal was to grab a fortune in alimony and run far away from this toxic couple.

The heavy oak door swung open without a knock, banging against the stopper. Martha, the head housekeeper placed here by Georgia's mother-in-law Ivy to spy on her, stood in the doorway. Ivy despised Georgia's ordinary background and constantly pushed Garrett to divorce her and marry someone of equal status. Relying on Ivy's backing, Martha raised her chin, her eyes full of open contempt.

"Madam, Mr. Delacruz is waiting downstairs. Stop dragging your feet."

Georgia bit back the curse rising on her tongue, dropped her shoulders, and smoothed her face into a meek, submissive mask.

"I will be right down, Martha."

Martha let out a sharp snort and spun on her heel, her heels clicking loudly against the marble hallway floor.

Once alone, Georgia walked into the massive walk-in closet. Row after row of high-necked, shapeless dark suits hung on the racks. Georgia wrinkled her nose in disgust. To survive until the divorce payout, she had to play the part. Gritting her teeth, she yanked a baggy gray wool dress from the corner and pulled it over her head.

Stepping out into the second-floor hallway, she took a deep breath and clasped her hands neatly over her stomach. She walked down the spiral staircase at a measured pace, her gaze landing on the tall figure standing in the center of the living room.

Garrett Delacruz, the sole heir to the Delacruz investment empire and her husband of three years, stood with his back to her. His attitude toward her had always been icy and dismissive, treating her like an invisible ghost in his grand penthouse.

Georgia stopped three paces behind him, holding her breath so she would not make a sound.

"You are late," Garrett said without turning around, his long fingers swiping across the glass screen of his tablet.

Georgia dropped her chin to her chest, forcing a tremor into her voice. "I am sorry, Garrett. I did not sleep well last night."

He turned around slowly. His ice-blue eyes swept over her drab gray dress, a flash of irritation tightening his jaw. He stepped forward, his tall frame towering over her. Without warning, he reached out, his long, cold fingers gripping her chin to force her to look up at him.

"Do not try any new tricks to get my attention, Georgia," Garrett warned, his voice dripping with absolute indifference. "Our three-year contract is almost up. Keep your head down and sign the papers quietly when the time comes."

The exact second his skin touched hers, a loud, snappy female voice exploded inside Garrett's head.

("Who wants your attention, you narcissistic iceberg? I cannot wait to grab my alimony and run far away from you and my soon-to-be-found green-tea sister Danica! Just give me the money and I will disappear!")

Garrett froze, his spine locking up as his eyes darted around the room. He looked down at the meek woman in front of him. Her lips were tightly sealed, but the voice was crystal clear.

("Why is he staring at me like he has seen a ghost? Did he forget to take his meds? Hurry up and let go, my skin is crawling!")

A wave of sheer shock crashed through Garrett's mind. The submissive, boring wife who always agreed with him was actually cursing him out? He stared intensely at her tightly sealed lips. She was not moving her mouth at all. It could not possibly be that he was reading her mind, could it?

Had she secretly learned ventriloquism just to get his attention? He narrowed his eyes, a strange thought forming in his head. She must be playing hard to get. Knowing the contract was ending, she was using this bizarre trick to catch his interest.

Before he could speak, his chief assistant, Gorge Oliver, walked briskly through the front foyer carrying a thick leather folder.

"Sir, the final merger agreements are ready for your signature."

Garrett released Georgia's chin abruptly, his mind still reeling from the impossible voices. He took the fountain pen from Gorge and signed his name, treating Georgia like part of the furniture. Georgia stared at his Platinum Patek Philippe watch, her mind racing through numbers, calculating how many millions she could squeeze out of him in alimony.

"Tell Legal we are meeting at three," Garrett said, handing the folder back. "And have them draft a supplemental clause to my prenuptial agreement."

At the word prenuptial, Georgia's heart skipped a beat. She forced watery panic into her eyes and grabbed his sleeve, looking up at him pleadingly.

"You are changing the agreement? Did I do something wrong? Please, Garrett, do not do this."

Garrett looked down at her, his lip curling into a cold sneer.

"Drop the act, Georgia."

Georgia shrank back, letting her shoulders tremble. Inside, she was biting her cheek so hard it hurt, desperate to stop herself from grinning. ("Yes! Change it to give me more cash, you rich fool! I am so ready to sign!")

Martha walked over carrying a silver tray and slammed a cup of black coffee onto the glass table. Garrett picked up the cup and took a sip, his brows pulling together at the lukewarm temperature.

Georgia stepped forward immediately, reaching out for the porcelain cup.

"I will have the kitchen brew a fresh pot."

Garrett jerked his shoulder back, dodging her fingertips.

"Do not touch me."

Georgia's hand froze mid-air. Garrett set the cup down, adjusted his diamond cufflinks, and strode out the front door without looking back.

Watching the heavy doors close behind him, Georgia let the hurt expression drop from her face. Outside, in the backseat of his idling car, Garrett rubbed his throbbing temples. He was certain he had heard her thoughts, and he was determined to uncover exactly what kind of game his scheming wife was playing.

Once the black car glided down the driveway and disappeared into Manhattan traffic, Georgia let her stiff shoulders slump and blew out a long breath.

She turned and walked toward the kitchen, her hand flying to her stomach as a sharp cramp twisted her insides. Dark spots danced across her vision. The original Georgia had starved herself for years to maintain a size-zero figure for upper-crust galas, leaving this body with severe hypoglycemia.

Gripping the cold marble edge of the kitchen island, Georgia yanked open a cabinet looking for a piece of chocolate, only to find rows of organic, gluten-free oat bran. By the kitchen doorway, Martha folded her arms over her chest, watching Georgia's pale, sweating face without moving an inch to help.

Suddenly, the heavy front lock clicked, followed by the sound of brisk, heavy footsteps crossing the foyer. Garrett had forgotten a confidential file and come back. In truth, the file was just a convenient excuse. Ever since he left the house, his mind had been occupied by her outrageous inner voice. He was inexplicably drawn to it, secretly wanting to tease her and hear how she would mentally curse him out next.

Georgia pushed herself off the island and stumbled out of the kitchen into the front hall. Halfway across the marble floor, her knees buckled, and the room pitched sideways as she pitched forward.

Garrett had just stepped through the entryway when his meek wife collapsed straight toward him. On pure reflex, he lunged forward and caught her limp waist with one strong arm.

Georgia's forehead slammed hard against the solid wall of his chest, the crisp scent of cedarwood filling her nose. To steady herself, her hands instinctively grabbed his lapels, her fingers pressing into the hard, sculpted muscles of his chest.

The exact second her hands grasped his chest, the loud, snappy female voice exploded inside Garrett's head again.

("Wow, what a massive chest! The texture is incredible, it feels like solid marble! Is he secretly a fitness model in his spare time? He better write me a ten-million-dollar check for medical damages for bumping my head, though!")

Garrett froze, his spine locking up. Hearing her blatant praise, a sudden flush of heat rushed to his ears. A dangerous, unfamiliar impulse surged through his veins, pushing his strictly controlled neurological condition to the absolute edge of losing control. He felt his breathing grow heavy.

Oblivious to the danger she was in, Georgia thought her touch had gone unnoticed. Under the guise of steadying herself, she sneakily kneaded his firm muscles, her fingers pressing and rubbing with shameless curiosity.

As her small hands playfully massaged his chest, a strange, tantalizing tickle spread through Garrett's heart. Miraculously, his teetering sanity snapped back. The constant, agonizing chaos in his brain was instantly replaced by a profound, unprecedented peace. He found himself actually relaxing into her touch.

He looked down at the woman in his arms. Georgia's eyes were half-closed, her lips pale and parted, looking incredibly fragile.

("Why isn't Mr. Iceberg letting go? The muscle tone is great, but his personality is garbage. Control yourself, Gia, survive first! Once that divorce paper is signed and I am rich, I can hire as many young, obedient models as I want! Men who are much younger and far more docile than this arrogant jerk!")

The voice rang out again, crystal clear and dripping with greedy excitement.

Garrett's pupils shrank to pinpricks, his jaw clenching. His newfound peace shattered instantly. Younger and more docile men? He was absolutely furious.

However, before he could even utter a word of cold reprimand, Georgia's head suddenly lolled against his chest. Between her severe hypoglycemia and the sheer excitement of secretly feeling up his muscles, her fragile body had finally reached its limit. She passed out completely, her body going entirely limp in his arms.

Instantly, the noisy voice cut off, leaving the grand foyer dead silent.

Startled by her sudden collapse, Garrett instinctively tightened his hold, preventing her from slipping to the floor. He quickly checked her breathing. Realizing she had merely fainted, the intense anger in his chest was momentarily replaced by a flicker of unexpected concern. Yet deep down, despite his irritation, a hidden part of him was inexplicably left wanting more of her touch.

He gently lowered her onto the thick wool rug, taking a half-step back as his chest rose and fell fast. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his usual icy composure, but the tips of his ears were still slightly red.

Seeing her boss's pale face, Martha hurried forward, her voice tight with panic.

"Sir, should I call Dr. Middleton?"

Garrett dragged in a cold breath, shoving down the chaos in his chest.

"Get her upstairs. Do not let her die on my living room rug."

Martha quickly waved two maids over, and together they hauled the unconscious Georgia up the spiral staircase.

Garrett stood alone in the foyer, staring down at his chest where her hands had rested. His long fingers curled slowly into a fist. Turning sharply, he strode down the hall to his first-floor study, shoved the heavy walnut door open, and locked it behind him.

He did not reach for his medication. He loosened his silk tie and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Manhattan skyline. He touched his chest, the phantom sensation of her fingers lingering on his muscles. A low, muffled chuckle escaped his lips as he savored her secret praise and the lingering memory of that miraculous peace. He had to admit, this new, wild version of Georgia was completely different from the boring woman he had known for three years. She was utterly shameless, yet undeniably fascinating.

Upstairs in the guest bedroom, Georgia groaned and opened her eyes, rubbing the red mark on her forehead, completely unaware that she had just blown her cover. Down in the study, Garrett stared at his hand. He was already looking forward to their next interaction, eager to hear what other scandalous things she was hiding in that pretty little head of hers.

After lying on the guest bed for half an hour, the burning emptiness in Georgia's stomach became unbearable.

She kicked off the velvet duvet and planted her bare feet on the cold hardwood floor. Even if she had to chew on raw celery, she needed food now. Cracking the door open, she slipped out into the dim hallway, taking the back corridor to avoid running into Martha.

As she tiptoed past the dead-end corner near the service elevator, a heavy mechanical lock clicked loudly from a reinforced steel door set into the wall.

Georgia gasped, flattening her back against the wallpaper in the shadows as the steel door slid open. She recognized it immediately from the book. It was the entrance to Garrett's underground safe room, a private bunker filled with ice baths and medical restraints where he locked himself away to survive his violent intimacy addiction.

A wave of freezing air rolled into the hallway as Garrett stepped out. His black dress shirt was soaked and unbuttoned, clinging tightly to his broad chest. Cold water dripped from his dark hair. He looked dangerously alluring, his whole body radiating a raw, barely leashed savagery, his eyes dark and unfocused from the lingering torment of his condition.

Hidden in the dim corner, Georgia swallowed hard, her throat making an audible click. She quickly slapped both hands over her eyes, but deliberately left her fingers spread wide open. Peeking through the large gaps, her gaze was completely glued to his dripping wet figure, staring at him unblinkingly.

Garrett's head snapped toward the shadows. He was initially consumed by the violent, lingering aggression of his condition. However, seeing his usually timid wife practically drooling over him through her spread fingers, the storm in his mind miraculously quieted down. A bizarre, twisted sense of smugness bloomed in his chest. He was actually enjoying her blatant staring.

Realizing how absurd his reaction was, Garrett immediately suppressed that inappropriate satisfaction. Annoyed by his own lack of focus, he decided to turn his irritation on her to mask his shifting mindset. In three long strides, his dress shoes echoed against the floorboards, trapping her against the corner wall.

"Are you spying on me?"

His voice was gravelly and ragged. Georgia shrank back, shaking her head frantically.

"No! I was just starving and looking for the kitchen."

Garrett did not buy it for a second. His right hand shot out, his fingers clamping around her thin wrist like an iron cuff.

The moment his skin touched hers, her frantic voice blasted straight into his brain.

("What the hell! What was he doing down in the bunker? Oh right, the book said he locks himself in ice water whenever his freaky intimacy addiction flares up. No wonder he ends up doing all that kinky stuff with Danica later in the plot! This psycho is a total beast!")

Garrett's pupils contracted violently, his grip tightening. Nobody outside his personal physician knew about his neurological addiction or the bunker, and he had never heard the name Danica in his life.

He leaned down, his face inches from hers, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

"What else do you know?"

Terrified by the violent look in his eyes, Georgia forced tears into her eyes, her lower lip quivering.

"I do not know anything, I swear! I just got lost!"

("I should give myself an Oscar for this acting! I know all your dirty secrets backwards and forwards, but right now, all I care about is finding a cheeseburger! Let go of my arm, you lunatic!")

Hearing her silently brag about knowing all his secrets, a sharp spike of suspicion pierced Garrett's mind. Who exactly was she, and how did she know so much? Yet, realizing she actually cared more about a cheeseburger than the deadly danger she was in, his deep suspicion collided with sheer absurdity. His face darkened with annoyance. He flung her wrist away and stepped back, his broad chest heaving as he forced his breathing under control.

The instant their skin separated, the hallway went dead quiet again.

Staring at his palm, Garrett finally accepted the impossible truth. He was not hallucinating. He could hear every single thought in his wife's head whenever he touched her. He looked Georgia up and down. The contrast between her pitiful exterior and her arrogant, food-obsessed inner voice was strangely fascinating.

Rubbing her red wrist, Georgia edged toward the main corridor, ready to bolt.

"The kitchen is to the left. Stay out of this wing," Garrett said, letting out a short, cold laugh.

Georgia did not wait to be told twice. She spun around and sprinted down the hall. Garrett watched her retreating figure, a calculating gleam in his eyes. He was going to peel away her lies layer by layer, and he would start by finding out exactly who this Danica was.