The Cold CEO's Unwanted Genius Wife

Nova turned the guest bedroom into a fortress within an hour.

She pushed the expensive bed against the wall. She set up three monitors on the antique desk. A server tower hummed in the closet.

She taped a piece of paper to the door: BIOHAZARD. DO NOT ENTER.

In his office across town, Roman's phone buzzed.

Silas burst in. "I found something!"

"Dirt on Nova?" Roman asked, hopeful.

"No. 'The Sage'," Silas said.

Roman sat up straighter. He was a Go fanatic. 'The Sage' was the anonymous grandmaster who had been crushing AI bots online for months. Roman idolized the strategy.

"The IP address pinged in New York," Silas said.

"Find him," Roman said. "I want a game. Name the price."

"Also," Silas said, his face falling. "Nova's college transcripts. MIT."

"Let me guess," Roman said. "Failed out?"

"Attendance record: Zero," Silas said. "She never went to a single class."

Roman laughed, a cold, satisfied sound. "I knew it. A complete fraud."

He didn't know that 'Zero Attendance' was the code for 'Honorary Professor / Classified Research Fellow'.

"And the signature?" Roman asked.

"No direct hits," Silas said. "But the glyph pattern has markers consistent with high-level cryptography signatures. It's not handwriting, Roman. It's an encryption key."

Roman went home early. He wanted to catch Nova doing something stupid.

He walked into the penthouse. It was quiet. He walked to the guest room door and saw the BIOHAZARD sign. He scoffed.

Inside, Nova was sitting at her monitors. She had a window open. An online Go board.

Her username was TheSage.

A notification popped up. Challenge Request from KnightKing.

Nova looked at the stats. "Aggressive opening. Weak mid-game. No patience."

She clicked Decline.

In the living room, Roman's phone pinged.

REJECTED.

"Dammit!" Roman shouted, throwing his phone onto the sofa. "He rejected me again!"

He glared at the guest room door. "And what is she doing in there? The power grid is spiking."

Officer Davies stood in the foyer of the Sterling estate, looking tired.

"Let me get this straight," he said, pen hovering over his notebook. "A military helicopter kidnapped your daughter."

"Yes!" Richard shouted. "Abducted!"

Davies sighed. He radioed dispatch. "Run a check on Nova Sterling. Status."

He waited. The radio crackled. A burst of static, then a clipped, coded response that made Davies' blood run cold.

Davies' face went pale. He looked at Richard.

"Mr. Sterling," Davies said, his voice now devoid of any familiarity, "there was no kidnapping. I strongly advise you to consider this matter closed."

"What are you talking about? Where is she?"

"I cannot disclose that information," Davies said, snapping his notebook shut. "And let me be clear. If you or anyone in this house contacts law enforcement regarding this individual again, it will be considered obstruction of a federal matter. Do you understand me?"

"That's impossible!" Victoria shrieked. "She's a dropout!"

Davies gave her a look that was pure ice. He turned and left without another word.

Chloe bit her nail. "She's in the mafia. That's it. She's a drug mule. She hacked the police database."

"Yes," Victoria agreed, desperate for it to be true. "She's a criminal."

At the penthouse, Roman kicked open the guest room door.

Nova's fingers flew. Alt-Tab.

The code on the screens vanished, replaced instantly by a Korean drama in 4K resolution.

Roman stood in the doorway. He saw the TV show. He saw the empty bags of chips (which were actually hiding circuit boards).

"This is it?" Roman asked, incredulous. "This is why my electric bill is up? You're streaming soap operas?"

Nova crunched a chip. "It's 4K. High bandwidth."

"I thought you were running trading algorithms," Roman muttered.

Nova's phone rang. She put it on speaker.

"You little witch!" Victoria's voice screamed. "How did you trick the police? Who did you pay off?"

Roman raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't trick anyone," Nova said calmly. "You're just an idiot."

"Don't think your mafia boyfriends scare us!" Victoria yelled.

Nova hung up.

Roman leaned against the doorframe. "Mafia? Federal matter? You have a colorful life for a shut-in."

Nova looked at him. "If I told you I was a national security asset, would you believe me?"

Roman laughed. It was a genuine, amused sound. "I'd believe you're a mafia mistress first. At least that requires some charisma."

He walked away. "Keep the volume down. I have work to do."

The coffee shop near Central Park was overpriced and crowded.

Nova sat opposite Victoria and Chloe.

Victoria slid a check across the table. "Ten thousand dollars. Leave Roman. Leave New York."

Chloe smirked. "He's only with you to annoy Grandpa. You know that, right?"

Nova didn't touch the check. "I'm busy. Is this all?"

"Busy doing what?" Victoria snapped. "You don't have a job. You don't have a degree."

Nova's eyes went cold. "Since you care so much about degrees."

She held up a finger. "One month. I will be on stage during the Columbia University commencement ceremony."

It was a trap. She was scheduled to receive an honorary doctorate from the physics department. But to them, it sounded like an impossible boast.

Chloe laughed so hard she choked on her latte. "You? On stage at graduation? You can't even get enrolled!"

"Bet on it," Nova said. "If I do it, you apologize publicly. To me. On camera."

"And if you lose?" Victoria asked, eyes gleaming.

"I disappear," Nova said. "Forever."

"Deal," Victoria hissed.

Nova walked out. She needed air. She walked into the park.

By the lake, a group of elderly people were practicing Tai Chi.

Nova stopped. She watched an old man with silver hair. His form was off.

"Knees bent," she said, walking over. "Center of gravity lower."

The man, Judge Reynolds, frowned. "Excuse me, young lady?"

She didn't want to draw attention—her survival depended on remaining a ghost—but the old man's terrible posture was an insult to the mechanics of the human body. She stepped next to him. She didn't perform a grand display; she simply adjusted his shoulders and shifted his hips with a feather-light touch. "Like this," she murmured. Instantly, his balance locked into place, grounding him with a sudden, immovable stability that defied his age.

The group stopped to watch. Judge Reynolds' mouth fell open.

"Who taught you that?" he asked.

"YouTube," Nova lied.

"Amateur hour," a voice sneered.

Roman and Silas jogged up the path, sweating in expensive gear. Roman looked at Nova with disdain.

"Judge," Roman said, nodding to the old man. "I see you've met my charity case."

Judge Reynolds looked from Roman to Nova. He saw the way she stood-balanced, ready, lethal.

"Charity case?" The Judge asked. "Roman, this woman is a master."

"She's a fraud, Judge," Roman said. "She's just dancing." But as he said it, his eyes betrayed him. He saw the perfect economy of motion, the coiled power in her stance. It wasn't the clumsy girl from the society pages; it was the discipline he'd seen in his grandfather's old special forces training films. A disturbing, impossible connection clicked in his mind.

Judge Reynolds looked at Roman. He looked at Nova. A slow smile spread across his face.

"Roman," the Judge said softly. "You really need to get your eyes checked, son."