Genius Twin: Hacking The Billionaire Father's Empire

"Sign it, Eleanor. At the end, I’ll promise you one billion dollars as compensation for giving birth to two heirs for the Sterling family."

Damien Sterling stood with his back to her, a towering silhouette against the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the glittering expanse of Manhattan. He hadn't looked at her once.

Immediately after, his assistant ，Arthur Foster slid a thick stack of papers across the polished mahogany desk.

Eleanor sat on the low leather sofa, her body still weak from childbirth. Her vision swam, and she had to blink several times to bring the bold letters on the top page into focus: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.

Perhaps it was hard to believe. She looked up and confirmed with Damien. Her voice was hesitant. “You want to… divorce me?”

Damien didn’t answer.

After two years of marriage to Damien, Eleanor has always fulfilled her duties as a wife.

But since she became pregnant, ten months have passed, and this is the first time he’s come back.

She gave birth to a pair of adorable twins for him.

In the delivery room, she was in extreme pain due to severe bleeding. Over a dozen bags of plasma were transfused into her body. There were several critical condition alerts issued during her treatment.

She had been on the verge of death, and had just come back to life. Yet, this man wanted to divorce her.

She loved this cold-hearted man for ten years.

Since childhood, she was raised by the Sterling family. Everyone told her that she was Damien’s future wife.

She learned the strict etiquettes of the Sterling family, striving to become a perfect his wife. For him, she gave everything she had.

Eleanor has always felt inferior deep down. She had a large birthmark on her face, which made her what others considered the “ugly daughter-in-law” of the Sterling family. To be worthy of Damien, she gave everything she had. Out of love for him, she became so humble as to seem like she belonged to the dust beneath their feet.

What he got in return was a divorce agreement?

Eleanor wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t manage to do so.

Arthur placed the heavy, custom-made pen next to the documents. “After the contract is signed, one billion dollars will be transferred to the account you specify.”

A billion dollars. Enough to buy a small country. Enough to erase a person from existence.

Eleanor's hand, resting on her knee, clenched into a fist. Her nails dug into her palm, the sharp, grounding pain cutting through the fog in her head.

She didn't reach for the pen.

"No," she said. Her voice was a dry rasp, unfamiliar to her own ears.

Damien finally turned. His jaw was a hard, sharp line, and a flicker of annoyance crossed his deep-set eyes. It wasn't anger. It was the irritation of a king whose decree had been questioned by a peasant.

He moved toward her, stopped directly in front of her, forcing her to crane her neck to look up at him. He was a mountain, and she was a stone at its base.

"This was never a marriage, Eleanor," he said, his voice a low, chilling rumble. "It was a contract. A transaction. You have fulfilled your purpose. You were a vessel, and you performed admirably."

A vessel. The word echoed in the empty space where her children should have been.

She bit down hard on her lower lip, the coppery taste of blood flooding her mouth. The pain was a shield, something to hide behind. She forced herself to meet his cold, empty gaze.

"I don't want your money," she said, her voice gaining a sliver of strength. "I only want one of the two children."

Yes, two children, but she only wants one.

The request landed in the room like a grenade, shattering the cold, business-like atmosphere. Arthur Foster shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Damien let out a short, humorless huff of air that wasn't a laugh. His eyes narrowed, turning from cold to dangerous. He looked at her as if she were a prey animal that had forgotten its place.

He leaned down, placing his hands on the armrests of the sofa on either side of her, trapping her in his shadow. The scent of his expensive cologne, a scent she once found intoxicating, now felt suffocating.

"Absolutely not," he hissed, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "A Sterling heir will not be raised in obscurity by... you. The bloodline remains pure. It remains here."

A bitter, desperate laugh escaped her lips. "My bloodline, you mean."

She saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes, and it gave her a surge of desperate courage.

"You searched the entire world, Damien. You tested thousands of women. And in the end, there was only me. I am the only woman on this planet whose body won't reject the Sterling Bloodline Factor. The only one you've ever found who can give you a healthy heir."

Arthur Foster sucked in a sharp breath behind them. He took a half-step back, trying to melt into the shadows.

Damien's pupils contracted to pinpricks. The fingers of his right hand shot out, grabbing her chin, forcing her face up to his. His knuckles were white with the force of his grip.

He didn't deny it.

"Your genetic viability is your only value," he said, his words more brutal than any physical blow. "And that function has been served. Twice."

The pain in her jaw was excruciating. It sent sparks of light dancing behind her eyes, and tears pricked at their corners. She refused to let them fall. She would not give him the satisfaction of her tears.

He released her with a shove, her head hitting the back of the sofa with a soft thud. He stood up straight, pulling a silk pocket square from his suit jacket. He meticulously wiped his fingers, as if he had just touched something unclean.

He tossed the silk onto the table.

"This is your final offer, Eleanor. Sign the papers, take the money, and disappear. Or, you can refuse, and I will unleash the full legal and financial power of the Sterling Group upon you. I will bury you in lawsuits. I will ensure you can never work, never rent an apartment, never even open a bank account in this country again. You will cease to exist."

His words were not a threat; they were a statement of fact. A promise.

Her gaze fell to the billion-dollar check lying on the stack of papers. It was a cage, gilded and beautiful, but a cage nonetheless. She understood then. In his world, she didn't even have the right to fight. She only had the right to choose the manner of her surrender.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the heavy fountain pen. The cool metal felt like a weapon against her skin. The nib hovered over the signature line for three long, agonizing seconds. In her mind, she saw the faces of her newborn sons.

Then, she signed.

Eleanor Vance.

The name looked alien, the strokes of the pen twisted by a rage so profound it made her feel hollow.

Arthur moved forward instantly, retrieving the documents like a hawk snatching its prey. He checked the signature, then gave Damien a nearly imperceptible nod.

Damien adjusted his cufflinks, his expression unreadable. He didn't look at her again. He turned and walked toward the study door.

His hand was on the polished brass handle when he paused.

"Don't do anything foolish," he said, his back still to her. "There is nowhere on Earth you could hide from me."

The heavy door clicked shut, plunging the room back into silence. The only sound was Eleanor's own ragged, desperate breathing.

She collapsed back against the leather, every muscle in her body screaming with exhaustion. Her hand drifted down to her still-soft abdomen, a place that had been a home for nine months.

The emptiness in her eyes slowly, terrifyingly, receded. It was replaced by a cold, sharp light. A glint of terrifying calculation.

He was wrong.

There was one place she could hide. A place he would never think to look.