Not Just A Nanny: The Genius Returns

"You have to come," Bret said, tossing a silver envelope onto Althea's lab bench.

"The Annual Bio-Tech Gala?" Althea wiped her hands on a towel. "Bret, no. I've been separated for a week. I'm not ready for a red carpet."

"Dr. Fuller is receiving the Lifetime Achievement Award. He specifically asked if his 'prodigy' would be there."

Althea froze. Dr. Fuller. The man who had taught her everything before she threw it all away for Easton.

"Fine," she sighed. "But I'm staying in the shadows."

"We'll see," Bret smirked.

Two hours later, Althea stood in front of a mirror in the Morrison private styling suite. The dress was gunmetal grey, liquid silk that pooled around her feet. It was backless, severe, and utterly commanding.

She didn't look like a wife. She looked like a weapon.

At the Harrington estate, Easton was staring at the divorce papers Georgina had given him. The handwritten demand for $10 million was circled in red ink.

"She's insane," he muttered, his rage fueled by Georgina's lies. "She thinks she can blackmail me? After everything I gave her?"

"She's desperate," Georgina said, adjusting his bow tie. "Forget her. Let's go to the gala. I hear Morrison is announcing a new heart drug. We need to get in on the IPO."

Easton nodded. "You're right. Business first."

The gala was held at the Met. The Great Hall was transformed into a glittering sea of black ties and diamonds.

Easton and Georgina made their entrance. Georgina waved at photographers, but the cameras were distracted. They were all pointed at the top of the stairs.

Bret Morrison was descending, looking like royalty. And on his arm was a woman.

Easton squinted. The woman was stunning. She held herself with a regal grace that made Georgina look frantic. Her hair was loose, cascading over one shoulder.

She turned her head to laugh at something Bret said.

Easton stopped walking. His heart hammered a strange, erratic rhythm against his ribs.

"Is that..." he started.

"Who?" Georgina asked, following his gaze. Her face paled. "No. It can't be."

It was Althea.

But not the Althea who fetched his slippers. This Althea radiated power. She moved through the crowd, and people parted for her. He saw the CEO of Pfizer shake her hand-not politely, but with genuine respect.

"What is she doing here?" Easton hissed. "Did she sneak in?"

"She must be crashing it," Georgina said quickly, her voice high. "Trying to find a rich old man to pay her bills."

Easton felt a surge of irrational anger. He grabbed a glass of champagne and downed it. "I'm going to throw her out."

Althea stood on the terrace, breathing in the cool air.

"Althea?"

She turned. Dr. Alonzo Fuller, frail but sharp-eyed, was smiling at her.

"Dr. Fuller," she whispered. Tears pricked her eyes. She took his hands.

"I heard you're back in the lab," the old man said. "Medicine has missed you, my dear. You were the brightest star I ever taught."

"I'm trying, sir."

"Althea!"

The barked name shattered the moment. Easton stormed onto the terrace, Georgina trailing behind him like a nervous shadow.

Easton marched up to her, ignoring Dr. Fuller. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Althea's expression didn't change. She looked at him with a cool detachment that infuriated him.

"Enjoying the evening, Easton. Unlike you, apparently."

"How did you get in?" He grabbed her arm. "Did you sleep with a guard? Or are you stalking me?"

"Let go of her," Dr. Fuller said, his voice surprisingly strong. "Young man, unhand her immediately."

Easton sneered at the old man. "Dr. Fuller, with all due respect, this is a private family matter. Stay out of it."

"Ex-wife," Althea corrected. She twisted her arm out of his grip with a sharp, practiced move. "And Dr. Fuller is the guest of honor. Show some respect."

Easton blinked. The guest of honor knew Althea? He had assumed she'd just latched onto the first important-looking person she saw.

"Easton, let's go," Georgina tugged at his sleeve, looking terrified. "People are watching."

"This isn't over," Easton pointed a finger at Althea. "You're playing a dangerous game."

Althea stepped closer to him. She leaned in, smelling not of vanilla, but of clean rain and ozone.

"I'm not playing, Easton," she whispered. "I'm working. Now get out of my way."

She turned back to Dr. Fuller, presenting her back to Easton. The dismissal was absolute.

Easton stood there, mouth agape, as his "boring" wife discussed enzyme inhibitors with the most famous doctor in the world.