My Contract Wife Is A Hidden Genius

Chelsea Holmes POV:

I sat on the bay window seat of my bedroom, watching the sky turn from pitch black to a bruised, pale gray. I hadn't slept a single minute. Edmund's words echoed in my skull, a relentless loop of humiliation.

I pulled my laptop onto my knees. The bright screen illuminated my face in the dark room. I opened a browser and typed: Top divorce attorneys in New York.

I didn't need his love anymore. I needed my dignity.

I scrolled through the aggressive, corporate websites. I found a firm with a reputation for merciless settlements. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I drafted an email to their senior partner. Subject: Divorce Consultation.

I hit send.

A wave of exhaustion hit me so hard my vision blurred, but beneath it, a tiny spark of relief flared.

For the next week, Edmund was on the road with the team. The house was silent. I used the time to meet with my new lawyer, Camila, via video calls. I started packing my things. I realized how little of this life was actually mine. The designer dresses, the jewelry—they were costumes for Mrs. Avery. I left them in the closet.

On Tuesday night, the team returned from their road trip. I was sitting in the small study down the hall from the master bedroom, reading a book.

The door pushed open.

Edmund walked in. He smelled of airplane air, expensive leather, and the faint, sour tang of victory scotch.

He didn't say a word. He walked straight to my chair, reached over my shoulder, and yanked the book out of my hands. He tossed it onto the desk.

Then, he leaned down. His hand gripped my shoulder, and he aimed his mouth at my neck. This was our routine. The cold, mechanical fulfillment of his physical needs.

Before, I would have frozen and let him take what he wanted. Not tonight.

I jerked my head away. His lips brushed empty air. I heard his breath hitch in surprise.

"What?" His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. His fingers dug tighter into my shoulder, trying to force me to turn back to him.

"Don't touch me," I said. My voice was quiet, but it didn't shake.

Edmund froze. He slowly straightened up. He looked at me like I was a dog that had just bitten him.

"What game are you playing now, Chelsea?" he sneered.

I stood up. I pushed my chair back, putting a solid three feet of distance between us. I opened the top drawer of the desk, pulled out a thick manila folder, and dropped it on the polished wood between us.

"I want a divorce," I said, looking dead into his gray-blue eyes.

Edmund's gaze dropped to the folder. The bold letters DIVORCE AGREEMENT stared back at him. The lazy arrogance vanished from his face. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"What did you say?" His voice was dangerously soft.

"I want a divorce," I repeated. "Our four-year PR stunt is over. You're free."

I threw his own words right back at him. I watched a shadow of dark fury cross his eyes.

He let out a sharp, cruel laugh. "A divorce? Chelsea, did you forget who dragged you out of the gutter? Who turned the daughter of a bankrupt nobody into Mrs. Avery?"

My chest tightened.

"I never cared about the title," I said flatly.

"You didn't care?" He lunged forward. His large hand clamped around my wrist like a steel vice. The pressure was immediate and painful. "Then how are you going to survive? Going back to that pathetic excuse for a family?"

I tried to yank my arm back, but he held fast. "That is none of your business."

"It is my business." He leaned in, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over me. "You think the Avery name is a tag you can just rip off when you're bored?"

"Let go of me."

"You better think very carefully, Chelsea," he hissed, his eyes burning with rage. "Without me, the Avery family's resources will crush whatever is left of your family's little company overnight. You'll have nothing."

He thought he was terrifying me. He didn't realize he was just severing the last, frayed thread of my patience.

I stopped pulling. I looked at his handsome, furious face, and a laugh bubbled up in my throat.

"Fine," I said softly, my lips curving into a cold smile. "I'll wait and see. My lawyer will be waiting for your lawyer in the conference room at Camila Law Firm at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow. Don't be late."