The Unwanted Wife Is A Genius Surgeon

Five years later, the morning sun of New York City streamed into a sleek, modern kitchen, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

Kennedy Dominguez sat at the island, the bitter taste of black coffee on her tongue. It was the taste of long flights and new beginnings.

She methodically sorted through a stack of thick medical files, her movements precise and efficient. She slid them into heavy manila envelopes, each one a testament to a life saved, a problem solved.

A contract from one of New York's top private hospitals lay slightly apart from the rest. The words 'Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery' were printed in stark, clear type. It was a world away from the woman who had left a penthouse with a single suitcase.

She pushed off the high stool, her bare feet silent on the cool hardwood floor as she walked down a hallway.

She twisted the cold metal handle of the children's bedroom door. The room was dark, the blackout curtains drawn tight against the day.

The only light came from the glow of three monitors, where her son, Aiden, sat hunched over a mechanical keyboard. His small fingers flew across the keys, a blur of motion, while lines of green code scrolled rapidly down the screens.

Her daughter, Ava, was perched on the back of his chair, a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie in her hand, her eyes wide with excitement as she stared at the center screen.

Kennedy's brow furrowed. She strode to the window and ripped open the curtains.

Sunlight flooded the room, harsh and unforgiving.

Aiden flinched, hissing as he was blinded by the sudden light. With a single keystroke, the three screens of complex code vanished, replaced instantly by a brightly colored cartoon.

Ava, startled, shoved the rest of the cookie into her mouth and turned to her mother with a wide, innocent, chocolate-smeared smile.

Kennedy crossed her arms, her gaze sweeping over her two precocious children. "What were you two doing?"

"Watching programming tutorials," Aiden replied calmly, pushing his blue-light-blocking glasses up the bridge of his nose. He met her gaze without blinking.

She was suspicious, but the pressure of her first day at the new job was a heavy weight on her shoulders. She didn't have the energy for an interrogation. "Just... don't get into any trouble," she said, turning to leave. "I have to finish preparing."

The moment the door clicked shut, Aiden hit another key. The cartoons vanished, and the hacking interface reappeared.

Kennedy returned to the living room, the image of her son's intense focus nagging at the back of her mind. She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the medical files, on the familiar territory of diagnoses and surgical plans.

Meanwhile, downtown, in a glass-walled conference room on the top floor of the Clements Global headquarters, the atmosphere was arctic.

Jackson Clements sat at the head of a long, polished table, his cold gaze sweeping over the silent, sweating members of his board.

He slapped a quarterly financial report onto the table. The sound cracked like a gunshot in the tense room.

"This," he said, his voice a low growl, "is not just a mistake. It's incompetence."

A balding board member, beads of sweat dotting his forehead, fumbled with the remote for the projector. "Mr. Clements, if I could just show you the new recovery projections..."

The massive screen behind Jackson whirred to life.

But instead of a PowerPoint presentation, the screen filled with a blizzard of digital snow, accompanied by a piercing static screech.

Jackson's jaw tightened. He shot a look at his executive assistant, Elias Yates, who stood rigidly by the wall.

Elias immediately raised a walkie-talkie to his lips, hissing at the IT department to fix the malfunction.

Then, the static vanished.

In its place, a giant, pixelated cartoon pig head filled the screen.

Beneath it, a line of blinking, bold text scrolled across the bottom: Jackson the Jerk.

A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room. Every board member froze, their eyes wide with terror as they stared at the man at the head of the table.

A distorted, high-pitched giggle, processed through a voice changer, erupted from the conference room speakers, echoing around the silent room.

Jackson's face, already stern, hardened into a mask of pure fury. He shot to his feet, the force of his movement sending his heavy leather chair sliding back on its casters.

His hands slammed down on the table, the veins on their backs standing out like cords. He stared at the insult on the screen, his gray eyes turning to chips of granite.

He turned to Elias, his voice dangerously low, each word laced with menace.

"Find them."

He bit out the words through clenched teeth.

"Find them now. I want an IP address in five minutes."

Ava tilted her head, a crumb of cookie still on her lip. "Why do we send him a piggy? Is he a super-duper bad man?" she asked, her eyes wide with the simple logic of a five-year-old.