My Delicate Wife Is A Medical Genius

Diana walked down the long corridor. The sharp click of her cheap heels against the marble floor echoed off the high ceilings. She didn't look back at the study.

She pushed open the heavy front doors. The crisp autumn wind of New York hit her face, carrying the scent of exhaust and dead leaves. She took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs.

Parked at the end of the circular driveway was a black Maybach. The vehicle sat under the streetlights like a massive, dormant beast. Its polished surface absorbed the light, making the Hutchinson family's flashy sports cars nearby look like cheap toys.

An elderly man in a perfectly tailored suit stood by the rear door. His hair was silver, his posture rigid. As Diana approached, he bowed slightly from the waist.

"Miss Hutchinson," Butler Hayes said. His voice was completely devoid of inflection.

"Just Diana," she said. "As of ten minutes ago, Hutchinson is just a name on a piece of paper I no longer answer to."

Hayes's eyes flicked to her face for a fraction of a second. He didn't say a word. He reached out and pulled the heavy car door open.

Diana ducked her head and slid into the backseat.

The door clicked shut behind her, instantly cutting off the sound of the wind. The interior of the car was warm. The air smelled of expensive leather and a faint, sharp scent of cedar and rain.

She turned her head.

A man sat on the far side of the spacious backseat.

Houston Vanderbilt had his head resting against the leather headrest. His eyes were closed. The passing streetlights cut across his face in rhythmic flashes, highlighting a jawline that looked carved from pale marble. His skin was translucent, almost sickly white, making the dark lashes resting on his cheekbones stand out sharply.

He wore a black suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His hands rested on his knees. His fingers were long, the knuckles pronounced, with faint blue veins mapping the back of his hands.

Diana's breath caught in her throat. Her heart gave a sudden, hard thump against her ribs. She had known he was sick, but no one had mentioned he looked like a fallen angel.

Houston's eyelids fluttered. He opened his eyes.

They were a deep, icy gray-blue. They locked onto Diana's face with the precision of a sniper's scope. There was no warmth in them, no curiosity. Just a cold, calculating assessment.

Diana felt the hairs on her arms stand up. She forced herself to keep her chin level.

"Are you ready?" Houston's voice was gravelly, low, scraping against the quiet interior of the car.

Diana straightened her spine. She looked right into those freezing eyes. "I'm ready. More ready than I've ever been."

Houston stared at her for a long moment. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He turned his head slightly toward the front. "Drive."

The Maybach pulled away from the curb so smoothly Diana barely felt the motion. The Hutchinson mansion disappeared into the darkness behind them.

The car was silent. Diana kept her hands folded in her lap, but her eyes kept darting to the side. Houston had closed his eyes again. His chest barely moved as he breathed.

"Do you know why I agreed to this marriage?" Diana asked. Her voice broke the silence, sounding louder than she intended.

Houston didn't open his eyes. "For the money. Or to escape that house."

"At first, yes," Diana said. She shifted on the leather seat, turning her body fully toward him. "But now, maybe for something else."

Houston's eyes snapped open. He turned his head. The icy blue pinned her in place. "What else?"

Diana smiled. It was a small, genuine curve of her lips. "For instance, my future legal husband is incredibly handsome."

Houston's entire body went rigid. His long fingers, resting on his knees, curled inward, digging into the fabric of his trousers. A faint, almost imperceptible flush of color crept up the side of his pale neck.

He jerked his head away, staring out the window at the passing city lights. "You have a terrible sense of humor." His voice was a degree colder than before.

Diana let out a soft laugh. "I'm serious. The marriage laws don't say I can't compliment my spouse."

Houston didn't answer. His jaw was locked tight. But his fingers remained curled into fists on his lap.

The car glided over a bridge, the Manhattan skyline rising before them in a sea of neon and glass.

"Do you regret it?" Houston asked suddenly. He didn't look at her.

Diana looked at the glowing city. "I never regret escaping a cage."

Houston slowly turned his head back to her. His gaze dropped to her profile, lingering on the curve of her cheek. The ice in his eyes seemed to crack, just a fraction.

"Good," he said softly.