The Unwanted Wife Is A Medical Genius

Elinor Perez sat perfectly still on the velvet sofa.

The wall clock in the Corbett penthouse ticked past midnight. The sound echoed in the massive, minimalist living room. Her back was straight. Her hands rested on her lap. She had been waiting for three hours.

The heavy mahogany door clicked open. The sound broke the dead silence of the penthouse.

Gavin Corbett stepped inside. His tailored charcoal suit was slightly damp from the New York drizzle. The cold air from the hallway followed him in.

Elinor stood up immediately. A habitual, warm smile formed on her face. It was the smile she had practiced and perfected over three years of marriage.

She stepped forward to take his coat. She reached out her hand, her fingers brushing the damp wool of his sleeve.

Gavin sharply sidesteps her touch.

The movement was fast. Brutal. His expression was entirely unreadable. His jaw was set in a hard, rigid line.

Elinor froze. Her hand hovered in mid-air. A sudden drop in temperature hit her skin. A flash of hurt crossed her eyes, but she quickly blinked it away.

Gavin didn't look at her. He pulled a thick manila envelope from his leather briefcase.

He tossed the envelope onto the glass coffee table. It landed with a heavy thud. The sound vibrated through the glass and straight into Elinor's chest.

Elinor stared at the envelope. A sudden chill ran down her spine. The fine hairs on her arms stood up. Her stomach contracted sharply.

Gavin unbuttoned his collar. His movements were precise. Mechanical. His voice was devoid of any warmth when he finally spoke.

"Our three-year arrangement has reached its conclusion."

Elinor felt the air leave her lungs. It was as if an invisible fist had punched her in the diaphragm. Her fingers trembled slightly at her sides. She curled them into fists to hide the shaking.

She slowly reached down. The glass table felt like ice against her knuckles. She slid the documents out of the envelope.

The bold words stared back at her: Divorce Settlement Agreement.

The black ink blurred for a fraction of a second. Elinor looked up. Her throat felt tight, lined with sandpaper. Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Why?"

Gavin met her gaze coldly. His dark eyes held no hesitation. No guilt.

"Bella has returned to the city."

The mention of Bella's name struck Elinor like a physical blow to the chest. She took a sharp step back. Her breathing hitched.

Gavin continued, his tone flat and businesslike. "I owe Bella. I need to fulfill my promise to her. You knew this was temporary, Elinor."

Elinor tightened her grip on the papers. The sharp edges of the thick paper dug into her palms. The sting grounded her. It kept her upright.

A faint scent drifted from his damp coat. It wasn't the smell of rain. It was a signature floral perfume. Bella's perfume.

She took a shaky breath. She forced the tears back down her throat. The lump in her airway felt like a swallowed stone. She refused to cry in front of him.

Gavin pointed to the financial clauses on the second page.

"The payout is generous. You won't have to worry about money for the rest of your life. The penthouse in Tribeca is yours. The liquid assets-"

Elinor ignored the numbers. She didn't look at the zeros. Her eyes scanned his face. She searched the hard lines of his jaw, the cold depth of his eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation. Any sign that the last three years meant something.

She found nothing. Only cold resolve.

A profound disillusionment settled over her. The frantic beating of her heart slowed down to a dull, heavy thud. The warmth drained from her body.

She picked up a silver pen resting on the table. The metal was heavy and cold.

Without reading a single financial term, she flipped to the last page. She signed her name on the dotted line. The ink flowed smoothly. Her signature was steady.

Gavin frowned slightly. A small crease appeared between his brows. He was surprised by her lack of resistance. He expected tears. He expected a negotiation. Her quick compliance threw him off balance.

Elinor dropped the pen. The metallic clink echoed in the quiet room.

"I will pack my things and leave by morning."

Her voice was steady now. The tremor was gone.

Elinor turned her back on him. She walked toward the master bedroom. Her spine was straight. She didn't look back.

Elinor walked from the hallway into the master bedroom.

She walked straight to the walk-in closet. She bypassed the rows of designer dresses and custom heels. She reached up and pulled a simple, worn suitcase from the top shelf.

She laid it open on the king-sized bed. She methodically folded her clothes. Plain sweaters. Denim jeans. Cotton shirts. Her movements were stiff and mechanical. Her joints felt rusted.

Gavin leaned against the doorframe. He watched her pack. The slight frown remained on his face.

He noted her selections. She was only taking her basic clothes. The items she brought with her three years ago. She was leaving all the designer bags, the jewelry, the expensive coats behind.

Gavin stepped into the room. The thick carpet absorbed the sound of his leather shoes.

"You don't have to do this tonight," he said. "Wait until morning. Dante can drive you."

Elinor zipped the suitcase shut. The harsh, grating sound of the metal zipper cut through his sentence.

She didn't turn around. "A clean break is best done immediately."

Her tone was utterly dismissive. It lacked the soft, accommodating cadence he was used to.

Gavin felt an unfamiliar pinch of irritation. His jaw clenched. He didn't like the way she dismissed him.

Elinor grabbed her wool coat from the bed. She gripped the handle of the suitcase and rolled it toward the bedroom door.

Gavin blocked her path instinctively. His tall, broad frame loomed over her, filling the doorway.

Elinor stopped. She tilted her head up. Her eyes met his. They were completely devoid of the warmth and adoration he had seen every day for three years. They looked like dark, still water.

"Please step aside, Mr. Corbett."

The formal title grated on Gavin's nerves. A muscle ticked in his cheek.

"Mr. Corbett?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave.

Elinor didn't blink. She just waited.

He stepped aside slowly. The friction in the air was palpable. He allowed her to pass into the hallway.

Elinor walked to the private elevator at the end of the hall. She pressed the down button. The red light illuminated her pale face.

Gavin followed her out. He stopped a few feet away.

"It's raining," he insisted, his tone hardening. "I'll call Dante."

Elinor stared at the changing elevator numbers. She completely ignored his offer. It was as if he wasn't even speaking.

The elevator chimes rang. The heavy silver doors slid open.

Elinor stepped inside. She turned around to face Gavin. She reached out and pressed the lobby button.

Gavin moved forward. He reached out and placed a large hand on the elevator door to stop it from closing. The sensor beeped in protest.

"Don't be stubborn, Elinor," he said. His tone carried a hint of a command. The CEO speaking to a subordinate.

Elinor looked down at his hand gripping the metal door. Then she looked back up into his eyes. Her gaze was piercing.

"Your concern is no longer appropriate," she said quietly. "Or necessary."

Gavin's hand faltered. The absolute rejection in her voice hit him unexpectedly. His grip on the door loosened in surprise.

The elevator doors slid shut. The metal panels seamlessly closed together, cutting off his view of her face.

Elinor let go of her suitcase. She leaned heavily against the cold metal wall of the elevator.

A single tear finally escaped. It tracked hot and fast down her cheek.

She quickly wiped the tear away with the back of her hand. She took a deep breath to steady herself. Suddenly, a wave of intense nausea hit her stomach. The elevator's descent made her head spin. She swallowed hard, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Upstairs, Gavin stood alone in the empty penthouse hallway. He stared at the closed elevator doors, a flicker of deep annoyance crossing his handsome features. He was entirely unaccustomed to his directives being so thoroughly ignored. The sudden silence of the apartment was merely an unfamiliar, irritating variable in his meticulously controlled environment.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out. The screen lit up with a text from Bella.

I missed you today. Can't wait to see you.

Gavin looked at Bella's name on the screen. He expected to feel the familiar sense of duty and relief. Instead, he felt a hollow emptiness expanding in his chest.

The next morning, the Manhattan rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and grey.

Elinor walked from the damp street into a warm, bustling cafe. The bell above the door chimed.

Farrah Merrill waved from a corner booth. Farrah's sharp eyes immediately noticed Elinor's pale complexion and the dark circles under her eyes.

Elinor walked over and sat down. She placed her small overnight bag on the floor by her feet.

"You look like hell," Farrah said bluntly.

Elinor didn't smile. She looked down at the wooden table. "Gavin initiated the divorce last night."

Farrah slammed her coffee cup down. The dark liquid splashed over the rim.

"That son of a bitch!" Farrah cursed loudly. Several heads turned toward their booth. "And that manipulative snake Bella. I knew she was back in town."

A waiter walked past their table carrying a tray of freshly roasted espresso.

The strong, bitter smell of roasting coffee beans suddenly overwhelmed Elinor's senses. It hit the back of her throat like a physical assault.

Elinor gagged. She slapped her hand over her mouth. Her face turned a sickly shade of green. Her stomach he heave violently.

Farrah quickly grabbed a stack of napkins. "Hey, hey, are you okay? Food poisoning?"

Elinor shook her head frantically, swallowing back the bile. She took a shallow breath through her mouth.

"I missed my period," Elinor whispered, her eyes wide with sudden realization. "By two weeks."

Farrah's eyes widened. The anger on her face vanished, replaced by clinical sharpness. She immediately stood up, grabbed Elinor's arm, and dragged her out of the cafe.

Farrah drove them straight to the nearby hospital clinic where she worked.

Elinor sat nervously in the sterile clinic waiting room. The smell of antiseptic made her stomach churn again, but she focused on the ticking clock on the wall.

A nurse called her name. She led Elinor into a back room for a blood test and a quick ultrasound.

Thirty minutes later, the doctor walked in. He handed Elinor the official lab results.

"Congratulations, Ms. Perez," the doctor said. "You are exactly six weeks pregnant."

Elinor stared at the paper. She looked at the supplementary rapid test attached to the file. Two stark pink lines.

Her mind raced. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She pressed a hand flat against her lower abdomen.

Farrah paced the small room. She stopped and looked at Elinor. "Are you going to tell Gavin about the baby?"

Elinor firmly shook her head. Her jaw set with absolute resolve.

"No. This baby is mine alone. He made his choice."

She folded the medical report. She stuffed it deep into the zippered pocket of her handbag, hiding the evidence completely.

Elinor looked at her watch. She realized she still had to drop off the supplementary notarized rejection forms her lawyer had rushed to prepare that morning. The standard divorce agreement she signed last night wasn't enough to permanently block the forced asset transfer; she needed to submit this specific, legally binding document directly to his corporate legal team to officially and permanently reject his money.

"I can drop that off for you," Farrah offered, pointing to the manila envelope sticking out of Elinor's bag.

"No," Elinor insisted. "I need to handle my own closure."

Elinor took a yellow cab from the hospital to the towering Corbett corporate headquarters in Midtown.

She walked through the heavy revolving glass doors. She stepped into the expansive marble lobby. The ceilings were impossibly high. The air was cold and smelled of expensive floor wax.

The receptionist, Janice, looked up. Her eyes widened in surprise to see Elinor arriving in a simple trench coat, her face pale and completely devoid of the usual flawless, radiant makeup she always wore as the poised Corbett matriarch.

Elinor approached the front desk. She pulled the signed waiver from her bag.

Before she could hand it over, a sharp, melodic voice called out from behind her.

"Elinor? Is that you?"

Elinor turned around. Her grip on the envelope tightened instantly.

Bella Fitzgerald stood there. She wore a pristine, designer beige trench coat. Her hair was perfectly styled. She was holding two cups of artisanal coffee.

Bella smiled sweetly. Her eyes quickly scanned Elinor's simple, non-designer outfit, a glint of triumph flashing in her pupils.

Bella stepped closer. The scent of her signature floral perfume hit Elinor's nose. It was identical to the scent on Gavin's coat the night before.