The Billionaire's Neglected Wife Is A Genius

Ellyn woke to the sensation of her own heartbeat throbbing in her temples, a dull, rhythmic ache that matched the soreness radiating through her limbs. She reached out instinctively, her fingers grazing the Egyptian cotton sheets on the other side of the bed. The fabric was cold. Smooth, pristine, and empty. The sound of running water in the en-suite bathroom cut off abruptly. A moment later, the heavy oak door swung open. Hardy Burnett walked out, already fully dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit. He adjusted his silk tie with precise, stiff movements, his gaze fixed on the mirror above the dresser, avoiding the bed entirely. Ellyn pushed herself up, the duvet sliding down to her waist. The movement exposed the dark, mottled bruise on her collarbone-a mark left by his teeth only hours ago. "Hardy?" Her voice was a wreck, raspy from sleep and the cries she had stifled the night before. He didn't turn. He walked to the bedside table and picked up his platinum watch, fastening it around his wrist. The metal clicked shut. "I need to leave in ten minutes," he said. His voice was flat, devoid of the heat that had consumed him in the dark. It was his boardroom voice. Ellyn swallowed against the dryness in her throat. She looked at his back, broad and unyielding. "It's my ovulation week," she whispered, the words feeling heavy on her tongue. "The side effects from the medication... they're getting worse. Do I have to take it this time?" The air in the room seemed to freeze. Hardy stopped adjusting his cufflink. He turned slowly, his eyes sweeping over her bare shoulders and the messy tangle of her hair. There was no softness in his blue eyes, only a clinical assessment. He walked to the side of the bed and looked down at her. "Read the pre-nup again, Ellyn," he said. "The Burnett Trust cannot afford operational risks right now. A child is a variable I haven't factored into this quarter." Ellyn's fingers curled into the sheets, gripping the fabric until her knuckles turned white. It wasn't a marriage; it was a merger. And she was the liability. Hardy reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a small, silver foil packet. He tossed it onto the marble nightstand. Clatter. The sound was sharp, aggressive in the quiet room. "Take it," he said. "I have a morning briefing on Wall Street." He turned on his heel and walked out. He didn't look back. He didn't offer a goodbye kiss. The heavy bedroom door clicked shut, the latch engaging with a finality that made Ellyn flinch. She stared at the foil packet. The morning-after pill. Her stomach churned, a physical rejection of what she had to do. Last night, he had been desperate, his hands possessive, his breathing ragged against her neck. This morning, she was just a biological inconvenience. A soft knock sounded, and the housekeeper, Maria, entered with a glass of water on a silver tray. Maria didn't meet Ellyn's eyes. She knew. The whole staff knew the routine. Ellyn took the pill. She didn't drink the water. She swallowed it dry, the chalky bitterness scraping down her throat like sandpaper. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A notification from the bank: Deposit Received: Monthly Allowance. The number was astronomical. Enough to buy a house in the suburbs. It felt like hush money. She slid her legs out of bed and walked to the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She looked at the mark on her neck. She reached for her concealer and began to dab the beige liquid over the bruise, erasing the evidence of his passion, layer by layer. Her phone screen lit up again. A news alert. Burnett Heir Spotted at JFK Late Last Night: Mystery Blonde Reunion? Ellyn froze. The concealer stick snapped in her hand.