The Neglected Wife Is A Hidden Genius

One week later, Iona stood on the curb outside the hospital. A black Bentley idled at the curb. Kevan Sanders sat in the back seat, reading a document. He didn't look up as she approached.

Arthur Finch held the door open for her. She slid into the leather seat. The air inside the car was cold, smelling of expensive cologne and ozone. Kevan didn't say a word. He just continued reading.

Iona glanced at the front seat. Arthur was typing on his phone, his left hand resting on the steering wheel. The Roman signet ring caught the sunlight.

A cold finger traced down Iona's spine. She saw flashes of it-blood, smuggling routes, a body falling from a cliff. The ring was a beacon of bad luck. A cursed object that attracted disaster, specifically falls from heights.

She looked away, staring out the window. She would warn him. For Eleanor.

At City Hall, Kevan's lawyer handed her a thick stack of papers. The prenuptial agreement. It stated clearly: no claim on Vance assets, separate residences, a generous payout if they divorced.

Iona didn't read the details. She grabbed the pen and signed her name at the bottom. Iona Crane became Iona Sanders in less than ten minutes.

Outside the steps, Kevan stopped. "My apartment is on Central Park West. Arthur will take you. I have a meeting."

"Mr. Sanders," Iona called out.

He turned, his expression impatient.

Iona looked past him, focusing on Arthur. "Mr. Finch, take that ring off. Don't wear it anymore."

Arthur blinked, his hand instinctively touching the ring. "Excuse me?"

Kevan stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous chill. "What did you say?"

"I recognize the motif from my mentor's historical archives," Iona said evenly. "It was the sigil of a secret society. According to the records, several key members died in falls from great heights. From a historical and statistical perspective, the correlation is unusually high. I'd advise against wearing it, for safety's sake."

Arthur laughed nervously. "Mrs. Sanders, that's impossible. I bought this from a dealer-"

"Mind your own business," Kevan snapped. "I don't have time for your superstitions." He turned and got into a waiting town car, the door slamming shut.

Arthur gave her an awkward smile. "Shall we, Mrs. Sanders?"

Iona got into the car. She had delivered the warning. It was out of her hands.

Halfway to the apartment, Arthur's phone rang. He answered, his face draining of color. "What? The server room elevator dropped? Is the data compromised?"

Iona stared out the window, her face blank.

Arthur hung up, his hand trembling slightly. He glanced in the rearview mirror at Iona, then down at the ring on his finger. He looked terrified. He quickly typed out a text to Kevan.

Miles away in a boardroom, Kevan glanced at his phone. He read the message, his eyes narrowing. Coincidence, he told himself. He tossed the phone onto the table.