The Trophy Wife's Secret Chapter 1

Married into the Vanderbilt family for four years, my official title among the relatives was basically "The Family Mascot."

And honestly, I completely lived up to it.

I didn't work. I didn't network. Every day, my schedule consisted of exactly three things:

Spending money, hoarding shiny jewelry, and spending more money.

The Vanderbilt empire was built on high-end, bespoke security solutions. They guarded the personal vaults and private collections of half the billionaires in North America.

My mother-in-law loved to joke that I was just a black hole for water, electricity, and groceries.

My brother-in-law was more blunt. He said my only marketable skill was marrying into wealth.

I would just smile, say nothing, and go back to polishing my newly acquired tourmaline bracelets.

I couldn't be bothered to explain.

In my past life, I was a world-class jewel thief. Every single heist was a terrifying, near-death experience.

In this life? I just wanted to be a beautiful, useless trophy wife who collected shiny things.

That was, until last week.

A flawless ruby, custom-ordered by a Middle Eastern royal family, vanished into thin air the night before delivery. It evaporated directly out of the Vanderbilt headquarters' S-Tier vault.

Triple-iris biometric verification. Five redundant physical locking mechanisms. 24/7 blind-spot-free surveillance.

They reviewed the security tapes: Absolutely nothing.

My mother-in-law ran diagnostics on forty-eight hours of data logs: Not a single line of anomalous code.

The elite cybersecurity expert my brother-in-law flew in sat in the vault for an entire day, only to finally throw his hands up in defeat.

The royal family issued a devastating ultimatum: Produce the ruby in twenty-four hours, or pay $500 million in damages.

My husband, Ethan, sat in his home office, chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette.

As I walked past the open door, I happened to glance at the architectural blueprints spread across his desk.

My footsteps halted for half a second.

"That's so basic. You can get in right there."

* * *

Married into the Vanderbilt family for four years, my official title among the relatives was basically "The Family Mascot."

And honestly, I completely lived up to it.

I didn't work. I didn't network. Every day, my schedule consisted of exactly three things:

Spending money, hoarding shiny jewelry, and spending more money.

The Vanderbilt empire was built on high-end, bespoke security solutions. They guarded the personal vaults and private collections of half the billionaires in North America.

My mother-in-law loved to joke that I was just a black hole for water, electricity, and groceries.

My brother-in-law was more blunt. He said my only marketable skill was marrying into wealth.

I would just smile, say nothing, and go back to polishing my newly acquired tourmaline bracelets.

I couldn't be bothered to explain.

In my past life, I was a world-class jewel thief. Every single heist was a terrifying, near-death experience.

In this life? I just wanted to be a beautiful, useless trophy wife who collected shiny things.

That was, until last week.

A flawless ruby, custom-ordered by a Middle Eastern royal family, vanished into thin air the night before delivery. It evaporated directly out of the Vanderbilt headquarters' S-Tier vault.

Triple-iris biometric verification. Five redundant physical locking mechanisms. 24/7 blind-spot-free surveillance.

They reviewed the security tapes: Absolutely nothing.

My mother-in-law ran diagnostics on forty-eight hours of data logs: Not a single line of anomalous code.

The elite cybersecurity expert my brother-in-law flew in sat in the vault for an entire day, only to finally throw his hands up in defeat.

The royal family issued a devastating ultimatum: Produce the ruby in twenty-four hours, or pay $500 million in damages.

My husband, Ethan, sat in his home office, chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette.

As I walked past the open door, I happened to glance at the architectural blueprints spread across his desk.

My footsteps halted for half a second.

"That's so basic. You can get in right there."

...

I pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the staggeringly complex S-Tier vault schematic on the desk.

The air in the home office went dead silent for two seconds.

Every single person in the room slowly turned their heads to stare at me.

Arthur Vance pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose.

He was the highly sought-after, international security consultant the Vanderbilt family had brought in at an exorbitant hourly rate.

"Mrs. Vanderbilt, the point you are indicating is a secondary ventilation shaft. It is constructed with seamless, titanium-alloy welding and embedded with ultra-sensitive infrared thermal sensors."

His tone dripped with unconcealed, patronizing contempt.

"Forget a human being. If a fruit fly flew into that shaft, the system would immediately trigger a Level-1 lockdown."

I looked back down at the technical specifications printed on the blueprint.

Diameter: 14 inches.

The thermal sensor's blind spot was exactly three inches below the 90-degree elbow joint.

This was literally introductory-level physical infiltration theory.

"And what if, hypothetically, the infiltrator used liquid nitrogen to supercool the shaft before entering?"

I asked casually.

Arthur looked at me as if I had just told him the earth was flat.

He turned his head to look at Ethan, who was sitting rigidly in his leather executive chair.

"Mr. Vanderbilt, we are exactly twenty-two hours away from the royal family's deadline."

"We are measuring our timeline in seconds."

"If you intend to waste our time indulging your wife in a discussion about Hollywood sci-fi movie tropes, I highly suggest you retain different counsel."

Ethan's hand, holding his cigarette, paused.

He crushed the cigarette out in the heavy crystal ashtray.

His brow furrowed deeply.

"Maya."

His voice was raspy, heavy with the exhaustion of a sleepless night.

"Liam, take your sister-in-law back to her room."

Liam, Ethan's younger brother, awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

"Ethan, I mean, why not just hear her out? Just in case."

"In case of what?"

The voice belonged to Jax, who was aggressively typing at his laptop in the corner. He let out a cold scoff.

Jax was ranked in the top three private cybersecurity investigators in the country.

"I've spent forty-eight hours auditing the code. The Vanderbilt firewall doesn't have a vulnerability the size of a pinprick."

"Your wife probably doesn't even know what C++ is. You think she's going to visually identify a hacker's IP address on a piece of paper?"

It was true. I couldn't read C++.

But I could absolutely read the physical locking mechanisms on a blueprint.

And all the code in the world is just useless garbage in the face of brute-force physical destruction.

My mother-in-law, Eleanor, walked in carrying a small porcelain bowl of warm bird's nest soup.

Sensing the explosive tension in the room, she immediately ushered me toward the door.

"Oh, sweetheart, what are you doing in here?"

"Let the men give themselves a headache over this complicated nonsense."

She pressed the warm bowl into my hands.

"Look at the dark circles under your eyes! You must have stayed up way too late playing poker with the girls last night."

"Drink this and go get some beauty sleep."

I stood there holding the perfectly warm, incredibly expensive soup.

I felt a wave of resignation.

To them, I was just Maya. The beautiful, useless mascot whose only talents were buying Birkin bags, hosting card games, and obsessing over rare gems.

Ethan married me because it was a strategic alliance between our two prominent families.

He also married me because he needed a quiet, well-behaved wife who would absolutely never interfere with his corporate empire.

I played the role flawlessly.

But this ruby was different.

It was the "Blood Rose," a custom commission for the Crown Prince.

A $500 million breach-of-contract penalty would instantly annihilate Vanderbilt Security's cash flow.

But the fatal blow would be to their reputation.

In the ultra-elite asset protection industry, once your reputation is compromised, your family is permanently dead in the water.

Tariq, the royal family's proxy, sat silently in the shadows of the sofa.

"Mr. Vanderbilt, your domestic disputes are none of my concern."

Tariq took a slow sip from his teacup, his voice chillingly calm.

"But I must remind you. The Crown Prince is not a patient man."

"If the stone is not produced in twenty-two hours."

"The name on the deed to the Vanderbilt skyscraper will be changing."

Ethan's face was completely ashen.

"Rest assured, Tariq. Vanderbilt Security will deliver a resolution."

I took a small sip of the soup.

The sweetness was perfect.

"Ethan."

I called his name.

He looked up at me.

His eyes were filled with suppressed, agonizing stress, but there was no hatred or annoyance.

"Honestly, the blind spot on that thermal sensor is massive."

"Maya."

He cut me off.

His tone softened by a fraction.

"Be a good girl."

"Go to sleep."

Arthur's lips curled into a barely disguised, mocking smirk.

Jax literally put on a pair of noise-canceling headphones, refusing to even look in my direction again.

I stared at the heavy, bloodshot veins in Ethan's eyes.

I sighed inwardly.

If they really wanted to take the scenic route...

Then I guess I would just go back to being a beautiful trophy wife for a little longer.

After all, we still had twenty-two hours.

I turned around and walked toward the door.

"Mr. Vanderbilt, I strongly advise we pivot our investigation toward corporate espionage perpetrated by a rival firm."

Arthur's voice drifted behind me.

"I've already initiated contact with a liaison at Interpol."