His Unwanted Wife Is A Tech Zillionaire

Christoper printed out the document and returned to the master bedroom. Edmund was already in bed, propped against the headboard, reading a financial report on his tablet. He seemed to have already dismissed her earlier exit.

Her gaze swept the room and landed on the nightstand beside her side of the bed.

A pink racing helmet sat there. On its side, in elegant script, were the initials 'JM'.

Janessa Miller's.

It was an object that did not belong. An invasion. A blatant disregard for Christoper's place in this house.

This was the last piece of data she needed.

There was no need to hesitate any longer.

She gripped the papers in her hand and walked to the bedside. Edmund sensed her approach, looking up from his report with an impatient sigh. "What now?"

She didn't speak. She simply placed the papers on the empty pillow beside him.

The words at the top of the page were stark under the soft lamplight: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.

Edmund's pupils contracted. His eyes shot from the document to her face, a mask of pure, unadulterated shock.

Christoper met his gaze. Her voice was steady, devoid of heat. "I've already signed it. My lawyer will be in contact with yours tomorrow."

Then, she turned her back on him and walked toward the cavernous walk-in closet.

Edmund snatched the papers from the pillow. He flipped through them, his movements jerky. When he reached the section on asset division, his shock curdled into a new, more confusing emotion: anger.

She was giving up almost everything contentious. The beach house in Malibu. The art collection they'd acquired together. It made no sense. He couldn't understand what she wanted.

Inside the closet, Christoper keyed a code into the wall safe. The heavy door swung open, revealing shelves glittering with seven years of gifts. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires. The jewelry of "Mrs. Hamilton".

Her eyes passed over them without interest.

Her hand reached past the necklaces and earrings, to the very back of the safe. She retrieved a man's wristwatch. The style was dated, the crystal face bearing a faint scratch.

It was the only valuable thing her father had left her. She had used the prize money from her first patented algorithm to buy it back from a pawn shop.

She fastened the old watch around her wrist. Then she closed the safe door, sealing away millions of dollars in jewels. She was taking the only thing that mattered—what belonged to Christoper.

She packed a few changes of clothes and her personal laptop into a small suitcase, then left the master suite through a second door in the closet that led directly to the garage.

Edmund finished reading through the terms of the divorce agreement. Jolted from his stupor, he stormed into the closet. It was empty. He ran through it, out to the garage, just in time to see the heavy door descending, sealing him inside. He slammed his fist against the wall, cursing, his chest heaving with rage.

Outside the estate gates, a nondescript black Toyota Camry was waiting at the curb. Christoper opened the back door, slid inside, and the car pulled silently into the pre-dawn darkness.

Inside, she took out her phone. A few quick taps.

First, she opened the family sharing settings. She disabled her location. Permanently.

Next, she went through her contacts. Edmund. Camilla. Every member of the Hamilton clan. She set their notifications to silent.

Finally, she switched the phone to airplane mode and tossed it onto the seat beside her.

Christoper watched the manicured lawns of Palo Alto blur past her window. Her expression was calm, resolute.

The driver's voice was low and respectful. "Miss Blackburn, to the penthouse in San Francisco?"

"Yes," Christoper said softly.

It was a property she had bought with her own money, years ago. A place Edmund didn't even know existed.

She was free. For now.

Back in the master bedroom, Edmund instinctively opened his phone to track her. A cold, gray notification box popped onto his screen.

"Christoper Blackburn has stopped sharing their location."

He gripped the phone, a strange, violent sense of lost control seizing him.

For the first time, he had no idea where his wife was. She had vanished from his map.

But he thought of his wife's former obedience and tenderness. He told himself it was just a game. A dramatic, childish ploy for attention. She would be back in a few days.

He dialed his chief of staff. "Find out every possible place Christoper might have gone. Friends' houses, her preferred hotels, the old Blackburn estate."