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The Neglected Wife Is A Hidden Genius
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The Neglected Wife Is A Hidden Genius Novel Cover

The Neglected Wife Is A Hidden Genius

I woke up in the ICU, my lungs still burning from the freezing river water. Just outside the cracked door, I heard my adoptive family talking. That’s when the horrifying realization hit me: my drowning wasn't an accident. My adoptive mother had deliberately pried my fingers off the slippery rocks and pushed me in. "When is she going to wake up? This Rust Belt trash always finds a way to ruin our important moments." "If she's mentally unstable, we should just send her to that facility in the Hamptons and have her sign the inheritance waiver." My father and brothers coldly plotted my removal, while my fiancé, Eric, laughed flirtatiously with my younger sister. He had his arm around her waist, completely unbothered by the fact that I was fighting for my life after he had just scammed me out of half a million dollars. For ten years, I had smiled, obeyed, and shrunk myself to fit into their gilded cage, desperate for a sliver of their love. I couldn't understand how a decade of absolute devotion was met with calculated murder and such casual, cruel betrayal. But the pathetic, desperate Iona died in that icy water. As the suppressed memories of my true identity—"Silas", a master art restorer possessing centuries of dangerous, hidden knowledge—flooded my mind, my tears stopped. I picked up the phone, secured a marriage of convenience with the most powerful man in New York, and began my counterattack.
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Chapter 6

At the Harmon estate, Miranda Harmon hurled a Limoges vase at the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces.

"That little bitch!" Miranda shrieked. "She hung up on me! She blocked my number!"

Eric sat on the sofa, his face ashen. His lawyer had just called. Iona wasn't bluffing. She had filed a formal demand for the five hundred thousand.

"She's lost her mind," Preston snapped, yanking at his tie. He grabbed the phone. "Freeze her trust fund. Freeze all her accounts. Now."

"She's probably hiding with those hillbillies," Miranda sneered. "The Hollis family put her up to this."

Veronica leaned against Eric, playing with his cufflink. "Eric, you aren't really going to pay her back, are you? It was a gift."

"It was an investment," Eric lied, but sweat beaded on his forehead. He had spent that money on Veronica's Porsche. He didn't have it.

"I'll go get her," Eric said, standing up. "She's just throwing a tantrum. I'll talk some sense into her."

An hour later, Eric's Maserati rumbled into a working-class neighborhood in Queens. He parked in front of a modest, well-kept house. A few neighbors stopped to stare at the flashy car.

Eric smoothed his hair and knocked on the door.

Nathan Hollis opened it. He was built like a truck, his flannel shirt stretched across his shoulders. He looked down at Eric with pure disgust.

"Where's Iona?" Eric demanded, trying to look authoritative.

"She doesn't live here," Nathan said, blocking the doorway. "And she doesn't want to see you. Leave."

Eric bristled. "Look, I don't have time for this. Just tell her I'm here. This is between me and my fiancée."

Sean and Kyle Hollis stepped out from behind Nathan. Three massive men, eyes full of hatred.

"Fiancée?" Kyle scoffed. "You mean the woman you cheated on with that snake? Get the hell out of our neighborhood."

"You blue-collar thugs," Eric sneered, taking an involuntary step back. "Do you know who I am? My father could buy this entire block and have you all evicted by morning."

Nathan didn't move, but his sheer presence was a threat. He didn't need to raise his voice. "You're a cheating coward who hurt our sister. That's all we need to know. Now you have five seconds to get back in that ridiculous car before we help you."

Eric's face went white. The bravado evaporated. He scrambled back to the Maserati, his hands shaking so badly he could barely unlock the door. As he sped off, he heard the neighbors laughing.

He pulled out his phone. Iona wasn't playing. She was gone.

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