After exposing my genius identity, husband regretted divorcing

It began 1 year earlier, on our wedding night, when Keller Thorne placed a contract on the bed. The last guests had gone, but the champagne tower still glittered in the garden below. Keller had not even changed out of his tuxedo. "My grandfather's will requires me to remain married for 18 months before I inherit voting control of Thorne Group," he said. "Once the 18 months are up, we'll divorce, and you'll receive 20 million." He discussed our marriage the way he might have discussed an acquisition. "I don't want the money." Keller finally looked at me. One corner of his mouth lifted. "Not enough?" "I promised your grandfather I would look after Eleanor through her rehabilitation. When the 18 months are over, I'll leave on my own." He studied me for several seconds. He clearly did not believe a word of it. "Remember that. Helping one old woman through rehab doesn't earn you a place in the Thorne family." I did not bother explaining. Keller's grandfather had funded my mother's laboratory when she had been desperate to keep it open. Before he died, the person he worried about most was Eleanor, his daughter-in-law, who had lost much of her mobility after a stroke. I had also just completed a classified research project, and strict security restrictions still protected my identity. To me, 18 months did not seem long. After the wedding, Keller took the master bedroom on the second floor. I moved into the guest room at the opposite end of the hall. During our first week together, his assistant delivered a background report on me. "Her public record stops at high school," Keller said, flipping through the thin file. "No college. No job. Nothing worth putting on a résumé." He inspected the pages as though someone had handed him a defective product. I continued sorting Eleanor's medication. "The file might not be complete." "People with real talent don't need to hide behind games and false identities." Keller snapped the folder shut. "Keep a low profile and play the part of Mrs. Thorne. At least then you won't embarrass yourself." Embarrass myself? I had completed my doctoral dissertation before I turned 20. I simply had not published under my full name, Evelyn Gray. My papers appeared under Ada Gray—my middle name and surname. In the field of AI safety, I was better known by my initials. A.G. For 5 years, no photograph of me had appeared in public. My academic records remained sealed, and every mentoring session I conducted used voice modulation. It was no surprise that Keller's background check had found nothing. Over the next few months, I accompanied Eleanor to medical appointments and physical therapy. When we began, she could barely lift her right hand. Eventually, she could hold a cup without help. Keller saw none of that work. When he came home, all he noticed was a woman moving between the kitchen, the garden, and the therapy room. "You're better suited to looking after people than working in a lab," he remarked one afternoon from the doorway. I tightened the strap on Eleanor's wrist brace and did not turn around. That evening, Keller brought home an encrypted terminal, and security at the estate was raised to its highest level. He paused outside his study to adjust his cuff links. For once, I caught a trace of nerves in his eyes. "Don't disturb me tonight. I'm meeting a real genius." At 9:00 p.m., A.G.'s weekly mentoring session began. Keller entered his study. I returned to my room, locked the door, and opened a second encrypted terminal. 3 seconds after the voice filter came online, Keller's unusually restrained voice sounded in my headphones. "Good evening, Dr. Gray." "I've waited 3 years for this meeting."