His Unwanted Wife Is A Secret Genius

Carla glanced at the minimalist clock on the wall. Four p.m. Three hours until their third wedding anniversary dinner. Three hours until she had to pretend everything was fine.

Her phone screen lit up beside her, a notification from a celebrity news app. She didn't mean to look, but the headline snagged her attention, pulling it into focus with brutal efficiency.

"Billionaire Darien Carlisle's First Love Returns."

Her heart felt like it had been plunged into ice water. Below the text was a photo. Her husband,Darien was standing in a high-end jewelry store, his posture relaxed, a gentle smile on his lips she hadn't seen in years. He was fastening a glittering diamond necklace around the throat of Everleigh Wade, his supposed childhood friend. The look in his eyes-a soft, focused tenderness-was a look he had never once given her. It was a physical blow, knocking the breath out of her again.

Her thumb trembled as she tapped the article. It was a gushing piece about their "rekindled flame," detailing their shared history and dropping heavy-handed hints that Mrs. Carlisle's position was precarious.

The cramp in her stomach twisted into a vicious knot. She scrambled off the sofa and ran to the bathroom, her body heaving over the toilet. Nothing came up but bitter saliva. She gripped the cold porcelain, her knuckles white.

She looked up, meeting her own reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with a pain that wasn't just physical. A dry, humorless laugh escaped her lips. Three years. Three years of trying, of hoping, of swallowing her pride, and it was all a joke. Her marriage was a punchline she was just now hearing.

Forcing a deep breath, she straightened up, pulling a mask of composure over her features. She needed to hear his voice. She needed to hear him lie to her one more time. She found his name in her contacts and pressed call.

The phone rang for a long time, each tone stretching her nerves thinner. Finally, he answered.

"What is it?" His voice was the same as always-cold, clipped, impatient.

"Do you know what day it is?" Carla asked, her own voice sounding hollow and distant to her ears.

They were in a marriage for three years. Apart from having physiological needs once a month as a routine, the two of them rarely saw each other.

Today is their wedding anniversary, and it’s also the day when he should go home.

Last month, in bed, he promised that he would definitely be with her.

There was a pause on his end. She could almost hear him mentally scanning his calendar for some forgotten business meeting. "I'm busy. We'll talk tonight."

Before she could respond, another voice bled through the line, high and cloying. "Dari, don't you think this one is pretty?"

It was Everleigh.

The line went dead. Darien had hung up on her. Carla stood frozen, the phone still pressed to her ear, the silence screaming louder than any words he could have said.

Her marriage to Darien was, from the start, a reluctant one.

She remembered their wedding day three years ago, an arrangement orchestrated by the Carlisle family patriarch. Darien had treated it like a business merger, and she was just an asset to be acquired.

When the marriage proposal was made to her, she didn’t refuse. In fact, she was secretly delighted. No one knew that she had liked Darien for many years.

Only after getting married did she find out that Darien had a first love named Everleigh. Darien’s family disapproved of Everleigh’s family background, so they used her as a scapegoat.

Darien was too angry to admit their relationship, so for three years, they remained in a de facto marriage. Everyone was aware of their relationship, though.

She had been naive, believing that three years of devotion could melt the ice around his heart. Instead, she had only frozen herself.

Now that Verleigh has appeared, she realizes just how stupid she was.

Her heart felt like a dead weight in her chest, but her body moved on autopilot. She walked into the massive walk-in closet, the rows of designer clothes a testament to a life she was living but not a part of. She pulled out the dress she had planned to wear-a simple, elegant silk sheath.

She sat at her vanity and began applying makeup, her hands steady despite the tremor deep inside her. She carefully concealed the dark circles under her eyes, painted her lips a defiant red. It was her last shred of dignity.

She told herself that it would only be once. For both her and Darien, this was their last chance.

At nine p.m., he finally came home. The scent of a floral perfume, one that wasn't hers, clung to him like a second skin. He had clearly forgotten their dinner reservation. He walked straight past her into the bedroom, loosening his tie.

"Come here," he commanded, his back to her.

She obeyed, her feet moving silently across the plush carpet. Her hands went to his jacket, sliding it off his broad shoulders. Her touch was mechanical, devoid of the warmth she once tried so desperately to convey.

He turned and pushed her onto the bed. His movements were rough, detached, as if he were performing a tedious chore. He was fulfilling an obligation, nothing more.

Carla closed her eyes, enduring the physical discomfort and the crushing weight of her humiliation. In a final, desperate act, she reached up and kissed him, trying to find a spark, a flicker of the man she had once hoped he could be.

Darien’s gaze swept over her clothes, and his breath grew hot. “Is this why you wanted me to come back?”

Carla froze for a moment, then quickly laughed. “Yeah, I just came up with a new pose.”

Whenever they were together, it was always Carla who took the initiative.

She was willing to try anything—ovulation-inducing injections, tonics, or even various positions—as long as it could help her get pregnant.

Thinking that all of this was just for the sake of having a child, Darien lost interest. He pushed her away, got up, took a wet tissue from the nightstand, and carefully wiped his hands.

He wiped carefully, as if he had touched something dirty just now. He didn’t miss a single joint. After wiping, he tossed the tissue into the trash can and demanded coldly, “Is this really the reason you sent someone to follow Everleigh?”

Carla was momentarily stunned, taking a while to realize that he must be referring to the paparazzi who took photos of them.

He said it as a question, but in a definite tone.

So he came back just to denounce his wife.

Carla felt extremely hot all over. It was as though someone had poured a bucket of ice water on her, making her freeze from head to toe in an instant.

After remaining silent for a while, she sat up, pulled on her nightgown casually. Her delicate face now showed a cold expression, completely different from the passionate and playful little demon she had been in bed just moments ago.

Without any hesitation, she said, “Yeah, You treat your wife terribly, yet you give your mistress the best treatment possible. You also try to maintain complete secrecy about your affairs. You act like scumbags, yet expect to be regarded as respectable people! Not to mention the paparazzi, I even refrain from reporting you to the pornography crackdown team out of shame of being associated with you!”

Darien was taken aback. He was used to seeing Carla as obedient and sensible, so he hadn’t realized she could be so sharp-tongued when arguing.

Sure enough, it’s well-hidden.

Darien’s veins bulged on his forehead as he roughly pushed her away. “Stop trying to put your filthy thoughts on Everleigh. She’s not like you.”

In Darien’s eyes, she was always ruthless and utterly despicable, while Everleigh was always pure and innocent.

Three years wasted on him weren’t even worth one glance from Everleigh.

Carla really felt like she was blind to have liked him for all those years!

If such a scumbag had been around when she was young, she would have punched him every time!

She’s actually always treated him like a treasure.

He recoiled, turning his head away with a look of pure disgust. "Don't play games," he said, his voice a low growl.

Those three words shattered the last of her illusions.

When he was finished, he got up immediately and went into the bathroom, the sound of the shower a final, definitive barrier between them.

She lay on the cold sheets, the pain in her stomach returning with a vengeance. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a message from her best friend, Jenelle.

"You okay? I saw the news."

Carla stared at the ornate ceiling, a single tear finally escaping and tracing a silent path down her temple. An idea, cold and sharp and utterly resolute, began to form in the ashes of her heart.