Losing My Genius Wife: The Billionaire's Regret

"Are you a mute? Or just stupid? No wonder Daddy Brody hates you!"

At the family funeral, my husband's first love's son pointed at my traumatized three-year-old daughter, cursing her viciously.

When I furiously tried to protect my child, my husband—whose paralyzed legs I had just spent three years curing—stormed in and shielded them. He glared at me with absolute disgust:

"Stop your pathetic lies! Why would a seven-year-old maliciously curse at her?! Must you embarrass us today?"

His first love stood there with red eyes, playing the perfect victim, while his entire elite family scolded me for being "unpresentable."

Watching him tenderly hand a handkerchief to his mistress, I finally realized that my three years of blood and sweat to pull him out of the abyss was nothing but a joke.

The next day, he audaciously handed over the biomedical division I had spent five years building to his mistress—a woman who couldn't even read a data chart.

"Celestia is more qualified than you," he said with sickening self-righteousness. "You are failing as a mother, so I'm doing this for your own good."

He even threatened to use a bribed doctor to declare me "mentally unstable" just to strip away my custody of my daughter!

He was certain I would cry and beg like I always did. Instead, I fired his corrupt doctor on the spot and locked down all the encrypted core data, leaving his precious mistress panicking like a complete idiot in front of the blank screens.

When he stormed home furiously to demand I fix it, I coldly pointed at the nightstand: "The signed divorce papers are right there. Sign them, and I'll see you in court."

Just as he froze in absolute shock, my phone lit up. It was a text from "The Ninth"—the legendary, untouchable specialist who had just miraculously saved my daughter, and the one omnipotent man my husband's billions could never buy.

"Your request has been approved. I am waiting for you."

——

On the day of Cordelia Carlisle’s funeral, the cathedral was packed with mourners today. Among them were political elites, business tycoons, and a swarm of media. Camera flashes flickered discreetly, their lenses focused entirely on the two figures standing near the altar.

"Is that the legendary Mrs. Carlisle? She looks stunning next to Mr. Carlisle, and the little boy with them is adorable," a guest whispered.

"Mrs. Carlisle rarely shows her face in public. Rumor had it she was unpresentable, but clearly, those were lies. Mr. Carlisle is just hiding his treasure! Look at the way they gaze at each other... the love is undeniable."

"That’s not Mrs. Carlisle," another socialite corrected with a soft scoff. "The one standing in front of the portrait is."

"Wait, what?"

"The woman next to Mr. Carlisle is Celestia Roman. She's his first love. She comes from old money, went abroad a few years ago, and just returned after starting her own company."

"I heard Alisha only managed to marry him because she used the old lady's favor to force Brody's hand, ruining his relationship with Celestia. Heartbroken, Celestia married someone else on a whim."

"So she’s just a homewrecker who forced her way in? No wonder she’s being treated like an outcast today..."

Alisha had been immersed in the grief of losing her grandmother-in-law, but the hushed whispers pierced her ears, striking her heart like a serrated blade.

She raised her head, meeting the countless gazes of disdain and mockery from the crowd. Her face paled instantly as her eyes shifted to the tall figure standing not far away.

Brody stood tall and immaculate in a tailored black suit and cashmere overcoat. He exuded a freezing, unapproachable aura. His handsome face was expressionless, save for a hint of sorrow in his striking eyes.

However, Celestia’s presence seemed to melt the ice in his demeanor, replacing it with a sickeningly gentle warmth.

Soon, Brody accompanied Celestia and her child to bow before the late Mrs. Carlisle’s portrait. Throughout the entire process, he didn't even spare a single glance at Alisha or their three-year-old daughter, Zoe.

A bitter taste flooded Alisha’s mouth.

It was true that her marriage to Brody was orchestrated by the late Cordelia Carlisle. Years ago, Brody was in a severe car accident that left his legs temporarily paralyzed. He became a broken, cynical man. Desperate to save her grandson, Cordelia hired Alisha to treat him.

Alisha poured her heart and soul into his recovery, pulling him out of the darkness. And under Cordelia’s strict orders, they were married.

Now, with Zoe already three years old, it was the first time Alisha had ever heard of this "first love."

While Alisha was lost in her devastating epiphany, Celestia finished her condolences and returned to the VIP seating.

Brody finally spared a fraction of his attention for his actual wife. He walked over to Alisha, his tall frame casting a cold shadow over her.

"There are a lot of media here today," Brody said, his voice low and devoid of any emotion. "Keep Zoe out of sight and behave yourself. I will not tolerate any embarrassments at my grandmother's funeral."

It was a reminder, but more so, a warning.

A minute ago, his eyes had been soft and tender for another woman. Now, looking at Alisha, they were nothing but a frozen wasteland.

Alisha felt a bone-deep chill seep into her veins. She looked at the man she had loved for years. The last, stubborn thread of hope inside her snapped, breaking with a silent, devastating finality.

She had questions, so many of them, but she swallowed them down. The love was dead. There was nothing left to ask.

Grandma Cordelia had been the only one who treated her well, and Alisha wanted the old lady to rest in peace. This was not the place for a scene.

Without a single word of argument, Alisha lowered her gaze, her expression turning as cold as his. She took Zoe’s hand and retreated toward the family lounge outside the main hall.

Brody frowned slightly at her silence, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face. But he didn't care enough to dwell on it. He turned right back to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Celestia.

Celestia’s eyes were red from crying, looking fragile and pitiful. Brody pulled out his personal handkerchief and handed it to her. In the middle of a funeral, the two of them shared an inappropriately sweet, intimate moment.

With everyone’s attention fixated on the dramatic couple, no one noticed that the little boy who had come with Celestia had quietly slipped away.

He peeked around the corridors, making his way toward the family lounge...