The Neglected Wife Is A Hidden Genius

Iona's throat felt like sandpaper. She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she pressed the call button.

A nurse hurried in, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum. "Miss Crane? You're awake!"

"Water," Iona rasped. She kept her face pale, her eyes wide and vulnerable. The perfect victim.

The nurse held a cup with a straw to her lips. The cool water was a shock to her system. "I'll notify your family right away."

"No," Iona said quickly, her voice weak. "Please. My head... it hurts too much. Just let me rest."

The nurse nodded sympathetically, patting her hand. "I'll let them know you're awake but need quiet."

As soon as the nurse left, Iona reached for the phone on the nightstand. She didn't dial the Harmon estate. She didn't dial Eric's number. Her fingers moved from memory, punching in the number for the Vance family estate.

"Hello?" Eleanor Vance's voice was warm, rich with concern.

"Eleanor," Iona breathed. Her eyes stung. This was the only genuine emotion she had felt since waking up. "It's Iona."

"My dear girl! Are you alright? I heard about the accident-"

"I'm sorry," Iona interrupted, her voice catching perfectly. "I don't think I can make it to your gallery showing this weekend."

"Nonsense! I'm coming to you right now."

Thirty minutes later, the door swung open. Eleanor Vance swept in, wrapped in a fur coat, her assistant Arthur Finch trailing behind her. Eleanor rushed to the bed, grabbing Iona's cold hands in her warm ones.

"Look at you," Eleanor whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Where is your family? Why are you alone?"

"They're busy," Iona said softly. She looked down, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face.

Eleanor's jaw tightened. She wasn't stupid. She saw the neglect. She gently stroked Iona's hair back from her face, her expression a mixture of pity and fury. "That family... I never trusted them. To leave you like this, after what happened..." She took a deep breath, composing herself. "Arthur, wait outside."

Once the door clicked shut, Eleanor leaned closer. "Iona, listen to me. I know how they treat you. I've watched it for years. I won't let them discard you now that you're inconvenient for them. Your life is in danger here."

Iona's face remained a mask of weary resignation, but her thumb rubbed against her index finger, a tiny, secret motion of calculation. "What can I do? They control everything."

Eleanor's eyes hardened. "We take that control away. I have a proposal. It might sound crazy, and believe me, it is a last resort. But it could get you out of this hell."

Iona kept her face neutral. "What is it?"

"My grandson, Kevan. He needs a wife to secure his position at Vance Group. You need a fortress. A marriage of convenience."

Iona's heart hammered against her ribs. This was better than she had hoped. It was the ultimate shield.

"Kevan Sanders?" Iona widened her eyes, feigning shock. "But he's... I'm not..."

"You are a good person, Iona. That's all that matters to me. Kevan is a good man, he will respect you, and the Vance name will protect you from the Harmons."

Iona looked up, letting a single tear fall. "If Kevan agrees... I'll do it."

Eleanor smiled, pulling her into a hug. "Oh, my dear. You won't regret this."

The door pushed open. Arthur stepped back in, apologizing, but he wasn't alone.

A man stood in the doorway. He was tall, his shoulders filling the frame. His suit was cut perfectly, not a single wrinkle. His face was a mask of stone, his eyes dark and assessing. They swept over the room, landing on Iona like a physical weight.

Eleanor turned, beaming. "Iona, this is my grandson, Kevan Sanders."