Divorcing The Tycoon: The Genius Designer

Aletha sprinted through the sliding glass doors of the Fairview ER. The chaotic symphony of blaring heart monitors and shouting doctors hit her, mixed with the heavy, metallic stench of fresh blood.

The charge nurse ran up to her, shoving a sterile blue surgical gown into her arms.

"Multi-car pileup in Midtown. VIP is in Trauma Room One," the nurse reported rapidly.

Aletha tied her mask behind her head and walked briskly toward the heavy glass doors of Trauma One.

She pushed the doors open.

Kristopher was sitting on the edge of the trauma bed. His right hand was covered in blood. A jagged, triangular piece of windshield glass was buried deep into the back of his hand, soaking the cuff of his ruined custom shirt in dark crimson.

Dinah stood next to him, completely unharmed, sobbing hysterically as if she were the one bleeding to death.

Aletha's footsteps paused for exactly one-tenth of a second. Then, the icy, impenetrable armor of a top-tier Johns Hopkins surgeon locked into place.

She walked to the bedside, picked up a pair of heavy trauma shears, and without a word, sliced right through the expensive fabric of Kristopher's sleeve to expose the wound.

Kristopher's dark, intense eyes locked onto her face. He searched her features, desperately looking for a flicker of panic, a hint of a wife's concern.

He found nothing. Aletha's eyes were like scanning lasers-cold, clinical, and entirely devoid of human emotion. She was looking at his hand as if it were a slab of meat on a butcher's block.

A sudden, violent flare of anger ignited in Kristopher's chest at her absolute indifference.

"Prep local lidocaine and a debridement tray," Aletha ordered the nurse, her voice perfectly flat and steady.

Dinah threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around Kristopher's uninjured left bicep. "Oh my god, Kris! If you hadn't reached over to shield me, this wouldn't have happened!" she wailed.

Kristopher patted Dinah's back with his left hand, but his eyes never left Aletha's face.

Aletha picked up a pair of heavy forceps. She clamped the metal teeth firmly onto the exposed edge of the glass shard.

"You will feel pressure," she stated coldly.

Before he could brace himself, Aletha's wrist snapped back with brutal, calculated force. She ripped the glass shard out of his flesh in one clean motion.

Kristopher let out a low, guttural groan. The veins in his neck bulged against his skin, but he clenched his jaw and refused to scream.

"Are you crazy?!" Dinah shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at Aletha. "You did that on purpose! You're trying to hurt him out of revenge!"

Aletha didn't even look up. She grabbed a thick stack of gauze and pressed it hard against the bleeding wound.

"This is an emergency room, Ms. Caldwell, not a movie set. Step back," Aletha snapped, her tone freezing the air in the room.

Kristopher's chest he heave. "Always the cold-blooded professional, aren't you, Dr. Ward?" he mocked, his voice tight with pain and anger.

Aletha ignored the insult completely. Her hands moved with blinding speed. She threaded the needle and began suturing the torn flesh, pulling the stitches tight with mechanical perfection.

Ten minutes later, she tied off the final knot and slapped a waterproof dressing over the stitches.

She stripped off her bloody gloves, tossed them in the trash, and walked over to the stainless steel sink. She pumped a large amount of harsh antibacterial soap into her palms and scrubbed her hands aggressively.

Kristopher watched her wash her hands as if touching him had infected her. His pride burned like acid in his veins.

Aletha dried her hands, picked up the chart, and began rattling off the post-op instructions.

"Keep it dry. Take the prescribed antibiotics. Watch for signs of infection."

She never made eye contact. She treated him like an anonymous barcode.

She signed the chart, turned around, and walked out of the room, leaving the tragic lovers to themselves.

The moment she reached the safety of the main nurses' station, the facade cracked. Her fingertips began to tremble violently.

When she had pulled that glass out, she had been terrified it had severed his radial nerve. The fear had almost choked her.

She closed her eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath, and forced the pathetic, lingering love back down into the darkest corner of her heart.