His Unwanted Wife Is A Dying Genius

The Jeep didn't pull up to a standard hospital. Instead, it passed through three layers of heavily armed security gates before entering a hidden, ultra-exclusive villa complex on the outskirts of Los Angeles.

They parked in front of a modern building wrapped in bulletproof glass and sleek metal. On the surface, it looked like a billionaire's retreat. In reality, it was a cutting-edge private laboratory.

Kian unlocked the doors, walked around, and half-carried Aretha out of the passenger seat.

They walked up to the entrance. A red laser scanned Kian's iris, followed by a fingerprint verification. The heavy glass doors slid open, revealing a sterile, white corridor humming with the low frequency of massive servers.

Kian led her to the end of the hall and pushed open a heavy, airtight door.

They stepped into a massive room filled with holographic projectors and complex diagnostic machines.

In the center of the room sat an elderly man with stark white hair. He was strapped into a highly advanced, motorized wheelchair, paralyzed from the neck down.

A neural-link interface was attached to his temples. He was using his brainwaves to manipulate a massive, rotating holographic model of a complex molecular structure.

Hearing the door open, the old man spun his wheelchair around.

When his eyes landed on Aretha's face, a brilliant, sharp light exploded in his gaze.

It was Dr. Julian Cromwell-the absolute titan of global biotechnology.

Aretha gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. This was her former mentor at MIT. The man she had idolized her entire life.

Kian stood behind her, his voice low. "I know you gave up your PhD for that damn billionaire family. It was the biggest regret of your life."

Dr. Cromwell's voice came through a synthetic speaker mounted on his chair. It sounded mechanical, but the raw emotion was undeniable. "You wasted a once-in-a-century scientific mind, Aretha. It is a tragedy."

Aretha looked down at her shaking hands. "Doctor... I don't even have the strength to hold a pipette anymore. I'm dying."

Dr. Cromwell let out a harsh, synthetic scoff. He focused his eyes on the screen, and a highly classified file regarding a synthetic biological virus antibody slid across the monitor toward her.

"We hit a sequencing bottleneck," Dr. Cromwell said. "You are the only person on this planet who can crack the algorithm."

He looked at her intensely. "Join my team. In exchange, this facility will use every piece of technology we have to keep your vital organs functioning."

Aretha's eyes were drawn to the screen. She stared at the bizarre, twisted molecular structure of the synthetic virus. Something about it felt eerily familiar to the pain in her own gut.

Deep inside her deadened soul, the spark of a top-tier scientist ignited. The desire to solve the puzzle flared up, weak but undeniable.

Kian stepped up close behind her. He placed both hands firmly on her shoulders. "If you're going to die," he whispered, "die on your own battlefield. Not in the backyard of some arrogant billionaire."

Those words shattered her hesitation. A massive wave of purpose flooded her veins.

Aretha took a deep breath, ignoring the sharp pain in her stomach. She looked at Dr. Cromwell and gave a firm, decisive nod.

She walked forward and extended her trembling hand, shaking the paralyzed doctor's mechanical arm. A reunion six years in the making.

Dr. Cromwell immediately barked orders through his comms. "Get her to the VIP lab. Full cellular blood screening. Now."

Two nurses in crisp white coats appeared, placing Aretha in a wheelchair and rolling her into the adjacent sterile room.

As the needle pierced her vein and the dark red blood flowed into the vials, Aretha felt incredibly calm. She had a purpose again.

After the draw, the nurse instructed her to wait in the plush leather chairs of the hallway lounge while Kian stayed behind to discuss security protocols. Aretha leaned her head back against the leather, closing her eyes, her brain already running millions of genetic sequences.

Suddenly, Kian marched into the lounge, his laptop screen glowing. "You won't believe what I just intercepted from the Cedars-Sinai public hospital network," he said, his voice laced with disgust. The sound of a highly irritating, fake sobbing echoing from his speakers made Aretha physically nauseous. She slowly opened her eyes. The temperature in her gaze dropped to freezing. Even miles away from New York, the person she hated most was still playing her twisted games.