Divorced And Reborn: The Masked Doctor's Return
I was eight months pregnant, waiting on the sofa for my billionaire husband to come home.
But when the heavy oak doors opened, Cayden threw a fake DNA test on the glass table, showing a zero percent probability of paternity.
He accused me of carrying another man's bastard. I cried and begged, swearing I was framed by his childhood friend, Carmella. He didn't listen. Instead, he ordered his massive bodyguards to pin me down while a private doctor forced an abortion pill down my throat.
"The Merritt family does not raise bastards. Get rid of it."
He forced me to sign divorce papers and ordered his men to throw me out into the freezing storm. Before I was dragged away, I desperately told him the truth: I was the anonymous donor who gave him a kidney to save his life three years ago.
He just sneered, saying Carmella had the surgical scar to prove she was the donor, and kicked me out to die.
Lying in the freezing rain, vomiting up the half-dissolved poison to save my baby, I didn't understand how the man I loved could be so completely blind. How could he let that woman steal my kidney, my marriage, and murder his own flesh and blood?
Five years later, I returned to New York not as his pathetic discarded wife, but as a top-tier medical fixer for the global elite.
And my genius five-year-old son has already infiltrated his mansion, ready to tear his empire apart from the inside.
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Chapter 3
Five years later.
The tires of the Gulfstream private jet screech against the tarmac of JFK International Airport.
Katerina steps down the stairs, the sharp click of her black stilettos echoing in the crisp morning air. She wears a tailored black suit that hugs her slender frame. Her hair is pulled back into a severe, flawless bun.
She is no longer the pathetic, discarded wife. She is Astrid. The ghost. The medical fixer for the global elite.
Elie Mcdonald stands by a waiting armored SUV. He hands her an encrypted tablet as she slides into the leather backseat.
"Your VIP patient," Elie says, closing the door.
Katerina swipes through the medical file. The name is redacted. The symptoms are severe: chronic migraines, insomnia, violent mood swings. The patient has fired-and physically thrown out-five neurologists in the past month.
The SUV pulls into the underground garage of a highly discreet private clinic on the Upper East Side.
Alistair Crombie, the clinic director, is sweating through his suit as he waits by the private elevator.
Katerina steps out. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a sleek, silver half-mask. She secures it over her face, leaving only her eyes and lips exposed.
"Dr. Astrid," Alistair stammers, pressing the button for the penthouse floor. "Please be careful. He is in a terrible mood today."
The elevator doors open. The hallway is lined with men in dark suits.
Katerina's eyes narrow behind the mask. The cut of the suits, the specific way the men stand with their hands clasped in front of them-it tugs at a dark corner of her memory.
She ignores the rising dread in her stomach and walks to the heavy mahogany double doors at the end of the hall. Alistair pushes them open for her and quickly steps back.
The VIP suite is suffocatingly dark. Heavy blackout curtains block out the Manhattan skyline.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stands by the window, his back to the door. Smoke from a cigar curls around his dark hair.
Katerina steps onto the thick carpet, her medical case heavy in her hand.
Hearing her heels, the man turns around.
The dim light from a wall sconce catches the sharp angles of his jaw, the straight line of his nose, and those amber eyes.
Katerina's lungs seize. Her heart slams against her ribs so hard she feels it in her throat.
Cayden Merritt.
He looks older. Harsher. The lines around his mouth are carved deeper, and there is a dark, dangerous exhaustion in his eyes.
Cayden crushes the cigar into an ashtray. His gaze sweeps over her, sharp as a scalpel.
"You're the miracle worker everyone is terrified of?" His voice is a low, gravelly rasp.
Katerina grips the handle of her medical case until her knuckles turn white. The leather digs into her palm. She forces her breathing to slow. She cannot panic.
"Yes," she says. She alters the placement of her tongue, producing a clipped, cold, faintly European accent.
Cayden takes a step toward her. Then another. The sheer physical dominance of the man fills the room, pressing down on her chest.
He stops less than two feet away. He looks down at her, his eyes locking onto hers through the eyeholes of the silver mask.
A slight frown creases his forehead. His amber eyes darken with a sudden, restless confusion. Something in her gaze is scratching at his subconscious.
Without a word of warning, Cayden raises his hand, his long fingers reaching straight for the edge of her silver mask.
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9.2
At the absolute summit of her pop-star career, the stage collapsed beneath Catherine's feet, plunging her into a mechanical black hole.
When she opened her eyes, she wasn't in a hospital, but a savage, primitive forest.
Before a fire-breathing beast could tear her apart, a massive black snake crushed it with a single strike.
The terrifying serpent then transformed into Amon, a towering, heavily scarred man with golden slitted eyes, who swore his life to protect her.
He brought her to his tribe, but instead of safety, they were met with ravenous hunger and disgust.
The tribe's males stared at Catherine's fragile human body like a rare breeding prize, while treating Amon like garbage.
"He's a cursed, cold-blooded freak! His rut will tear you to pieces!"
The Chief sneered, pointing a thick, accusing finger at Amon.
"By tribal law, you must mate with our strongest tiger and bear shifters to give us powerful cubs!"
Humiliated, Amon's broad shoulders slumped, his fists trembling in suffocating shame as he prepared to back away.
Catherine's heart pounded with fierce, burning anger.
When she was about to be eaten, Amon was the only one who bled for her.
Where were these arrogant bullies then? Why should she let them treat her savior like a monster?
As the tribe's strongest warriors swarmed forward to claim her, Catherine stepped directly in front of Amon's lethal claws.
"I don't need any of you," she declared, her voice cutting through the chaos.
"I will mate with Amon and take his beast mark today!"
9.5
Alina was the eldest daughter of the prestigious Padilla family, but everyone mocked her as a defective dud who couldn't cast a single spell.
The moment she woke up, her father and younger sister Karina barged into her room, demanding she sign a transfer agreement to the Aethelgard Order-the most brutal faction on the continent.
It wasn't just a transfer; it was a legal disownment. In her past life, Alina didn't realize Karina was also reborn. She had dropped to her knees and begged to stay. Her reward? Her magic was violently drained from her veins by her own family. Her fiancé drove a blade through her chest, and her sister stood over her bleeding body, smiling. She had ruined her hands making potions for them, only to be discarded like trash.
The phantom pain of her chest being ripped open still burned behind her ribs. Looking at the hypocritical family waiting for her tears, she felt nothing but exhausting disgust. Why should she ever be their stepping stone again?
"For the honor of the family, you leave today."
Her father sneered as she calmly bit her thumb and pressed her bloody fingerprint onto the contract. This time, Alina didn't cry. She packed a single bag and walked out the door, heading straight for the deadly Aethelgard Order to show them what a true monster looked like.
7.4
Shrouded in tales of pleasure and mystery, embark on a sensual adventure in a Cities of Sins, where the supernatural blends with the mundane in a city shrouded in fantastic tales and debauchery.
Come and discover this city, its inhabitants, and its ancient stories, amidst a tale of pleasure, lust, and tales that reveal the mysterious teachers who hide their secrets.
The question is: Are they really human or vampires?
This is the world where the dead, vampires, and witch tales intertwine in this hidden city full of mysteries from the past, amidst a life full of pleasure and lust.
In the midst of a mundane beginning, the girl was betrayed. Instead of Samantha finding solitude and suffering, she discovered a world of luxury, with her saviors, her teachers of pleasure, fantastic tales, legends of passion, shrouded in the supernatural. They embark on a limitless adventure, with sex, pleasure, and passion, which are always shrouded in fantastic power, in the world of passion and debauchery.
Lovecraft is a city that never sleeps. Built upon ancient ruins and fueled by centuries of secrets, it is known as the City of Sins, where pleasure and danger walk hand in hand. Its narrow streets, illuminated by red lanterns and eternal shadows, are the stage for encounters that defy reason: reclusive vampires hiding in decaying mansions, werewolves roaming under the full moon, witches whispering spells in hidden cafes, and mobsters controlling the underworld with iron fists and passionate hearts.
At the heart of the city, the Lost Canvas-a secret gallery-holds living portraits of forbidden loves and blood pacts. Each painting is a story, each brushstroke a memory of encounters that have marked generations. It is there that the handsome vampire Adrian, reclusive and mysterious, observes the world without ever fully surrendering. His life is a mosaic of interrupted passions, of glances that never turned into words, of promises lost in the night. But Lovecraft doesn't allow anyone to remain invisible for long.
Between the luxurious salons of socialites, the secret clubs of businessmen, and the alleys where supernatural mafias seal their pacts, the city pulsates with stories of desire and magic. Each encounter is brief but intense: a stolen kiss on a Gothic staircase, a forbidden dance in a hall lit by black candles, a whispered conversation on a ghost train that crosses the city at three in the morning. Lovecraft is made of these instants-moments that seem small, but carry the weight of eternities.
The city's inhabitants coexist with the mundane and the supernatural as if they were part of the same fabric. Businessmen negotiate with vampires, artists are inspired by fairies and elves, mobsters share territories with werewolves. It's a metropolis where power is measured not only in money, but also in spells, secrets, and seduction. Terror is subtle, almost elegant, manifesting itself in lingering gazes, in silences that conceal more than they reveal, in pacts that are never written, but always fulfilled.
Is a collection of stories that reveal Lovecraft's strengths: his ability to transform the everyday into magic, to make love a danger, and sin a promise. It is a city of wonders and dreams, of obscure encounters and ardent desires, where every corner holds a story and every shadow is an invitation. Lovecraft is not just a setting-he is a character, a lover and accomplice of all who dare to live in his eternal night.
7.7
I gripped the wheel of my Porsche through a Manhattan downpour, staring at the positive pregnancy test on the passenger seat. Haden's voicemail was my only answer.
A semi swerved into my lane. Brakes failed. I slammed into the guardrail, airbags exploding, pain ripping through my gut.
Headlights pierced the rain. My sister Corrie stepped out under an umbrella, smiling coldly. "Beauvais Fashion is liquidated. Dad's dying." Haden stood beside her, eyes dead, shoving equity papers through the window. "Sign, or no ambulance."
I tore them up. Corrie lit a flare, tossed it onto the gas-soaked seats. Flames whooshed as they walked away.
I woke strapped to an operating table, agony tearing me apart. "No heartbeat," the doctor said. Nurses pinned me down. Instruments invaded. Corrie dropped a death certificate on my chest, then set the room ablaze with alcohol and a cigarette flick.
Smoke choked me. A cabinet blocked the door. I collapsed, burning. Then a man in black burst in, scent of cedar and tobacco, scooping me from the fire.
Five years later, I'd rebuilt myself as Sloane, flawless and cold. I signed a sham marriage to Donavan Mason, nursing his dying grandfather in their estate—the house that swallowed my father's legacy.
Betrayed by my lover and sister, child ripped away, identity erased—how could they do this? Who was the man who saved me?
Now, I infiltrate their world, armed with secrets and scars, ready to burn them all down.
9.4
I was the eldest daughter of the powerful Kirk family, sent away to a Swiss sanatorium to recover from my supposed mental illness.
But my stepmother, Johnie, never intended for me to get better. She sent her personal cleaners to drag me onto a plane back to Washington D.C.
In my past life, I didn't know they were assassins. I was forcefully injected with heavy sedatives and locked in a secret torture chamber inside our luxury estate.
My stepmother and cousin skimmed my inheritance while watching me suffer.
They framed me as a crazy addict, and my own father, a sitting Senator, turned a blind eye to protect his political career.
"Her political value is gone, just get rid of her quietly."
That was the last thing I heard my father say before I was brutally slaughtered by my own family.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why they hated me so much.
Why did my father let them force those pills down my throat?
Why was my life worth less than my stepmother's public image?
Opening my eyes again, the freezing sensation of lake water filling my lungs vanished.
I was back in the VIP room of the St. Moritz Sanatorium in 2023.
It was the exact morning before the cleaners walked through my door with uncapped syringes.
This time, I wouldn't just survive. I was going to cut the throat of the Kirk family.
9.4
I was lying in a sterile hospital room, dying of cancer, with only a fake infertility report to keep me company.
Right before my heart monitor flatlined, a stranger walked in and handed me a medical file.
He told me that my fiancé, Garret, had zero sperm viability. The baby my adoptive sister, Beryl, was carrying wasn't his.
When Beryl got pregnant years ago, my adoptive parents forced me to break my engagement and take the blame for being barren.
I was discarded by Garret, mocked by Beryl's triumphant smiles, and kicked out of the house.
I was left to rot alone in a hospital bed while they lived the perfect life stolen from me.
My entire existence had been a cage built on a single, disgusting lie.
The anger burned away my despair. Why was I the only one who didn't know?
Why did I let them use me as a maid and a shield for their filthy secrets?
As the darkness swallowed me, I prayed for just one more chance.
I opened my eyes to the sound of my adoptive mother yelling my name.
The calendar on the wall read March 15, 2019—the exact day they forced me to give up Garret.
This time, I didn't cry or beg.
"You want Beryl to have Garret? Fine," I told my shocked adoptive parents. "But I want a cash buyout, and we are legally severing this adoption."
Then, I set my sights on Douglass Ward—the stranger from the hospital room.