His Unwanted Wife: The Hidden Genius

The glossy cover of the pamphlet felt cool and slippery under June's thumb. The Path to Parenthood. She'd been holding it for so long that the edges were starting to soften from the moisture in her palm.

Outside, the lights of Manhattan glittered, a silent, sprawling universe of a million other lives that felt nothing like hers. Here, sixty floors up in the cold, sterile air of their penthouse, there was only the sound of her own breathing and the frantic thump of her heart against her ribs.

She heard it then. The low, guttural growl of his car pulling into the private garage downstairs. The faint chime of the elevator. The quiet murmur of the housekeeper greeting him.

Augustus was home.

Her breath hitched. She quickly slid the pamphlet under her pillow, the slick paper catching on the thousand-thread-count cotton. She smoothed the duvet, her hands trembling slightly.

The bedroom door opened.

He walked in, not looking at her, his presence sucking the air from the room. He smelled of whiskey-the expensive kind he drank with clients-and a perfume that wasn't hers. It was floral and sweet, a cloying scent that clung to the fibers of his custom suit.

His tie was yanked loose, the silk knotted askew. He shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall onto a velvet armchair without a second glance. His movements were rough, impatient.

He went straight to the walk-in closet, his back to her. The clink of his cufflinks hitting a glass tray was loud in the silence.

June stood, her bare feet cold against the marble floor. She rubbed the pad of her thumb over her index finger, a nervous habit she couldn't break. "Augustus," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Can we talk?"

He glanced at her reflection in the closet's mirrored door. His eyes were cold, dismissive. "I'm not in the mood for your complaints tonight, June."

"It's not a complaint." The words felt thick in her throat, hard to push out. She took a step closer. "I was thinking... about us. About the future."

He didn't turn around. He was unbuttoning his shirt.

She forced herself to continue, to say the words she'd practiced in her head a hundred times. "I think... maybe it's time. For us to have a child."

His hands stopped.

For a full ten seconds, he didn't move. Then, he slowly turned around. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was a baring of teeth.

"A child?" he repeated, the words laced with a derision that made her stomach clench. He let out a short, sharp laugh. It wasn't a sound of amusement. It was a weapon.

"June," he said, stepping out of the closet and advancing on her. "What in God's name makes you think you are worthy of having a Pruitt heir?"

The question hit her like a physical blow. The air rushed from her lungs. Her face went numb, then cold.

He was