His Forgotten Wife, The Miracle Doctor

Madison locked eyes with Declan, only to be met with a gaze stripped of all warmth—pure, unfiltered contempt. In that instant, it felt as though every drop of blood in her body had frozen solid.

Over the years, she had abandoned her profession entirely for him, never once returning to the operating room, reducing herself to nothing more than a housewife orbiting his life.

What Declan never realized was that before becoming his wife, she had once been Croria's most celebrated surgeon. That was precisely why, with nothing but roadside instruments and unshaking precision, she had been able to intubate his grandfather and pull him back from the brink of death during a sudden cardiac arrest.

All because he once casually mentioned he preferred a wife devoted entirely to the home, she had walked away from her career, from postgraduate studies abroad, and from everything she had built—sacrificing it all for him without hesitation.

And yet those very sacrifices had become the weapon he now used to belittle her.

A faint, bitter curve formed on Madison's lips. "You never wanted me as your wife in the first place. Isn't a divorce exactly what you've been waiting for? Since you're so eager to leave for your business trip, let's get a divorce when you return. I've spent years being your pack mule—I'm done now."

Declan's brows drew together sharply.

He had assumed that laying out facts plainly would force Madison into submission. Instead, she stood there—unyielding, almost provocatively calm—openly challenging his patience.

"Fine. If you want a divorce, I'll give you one." A derisive laugh slipped past Declan's lips. "But Madison, don't forget the prenup. Walk away from me, and you don't get a single cent. And every expense you couldn't split equally over the years has been logged as a debt. If I recall correctly, it exceeds seventy million dollars. I have every legal right to recover it during the divorce."

His gaze raked over her with open disdain. "I don't have time for this nonsense now. My lawyer will send you the full breakdown. I'll return in three days. By then, you'll either admit your mistake and apologize, or I'll make sure you spend the rest of your life buried under that debt."

With that, he turned without another word, packed his bags, and left with a door slam that echoed through the house.

The villa fell into a suffocating silence.

True to his word, five minutes later, Madison's phone lit up with a long, meticulously itemized bill from his lawyer.

She couldn't keep any of the jewelry he had given her, yet she had to pay exorbitant usage fees. High-end ingredients she had used to prepare his meals were listed as personal consumption costs. Even fuel and transportation for errands she had run on his behalf were calculated down to the last cent.

At the very end sat a staggering figure—fifty million dollars. The justification was so absurd it blurred the line between cruelty and farce. Years ago, after he'd learned Lily had gone abroad, he'd fallen into unconsciousness due to alcohol overdose. Madison had shattered the window of his Rolls-Royce to save him. Now, she was being billed for the damages.

If she had known then what kind of man he truly was, she would never have saved him at all.

A sharp breath trembled in her chest. She would repay what was legitimate, but she would also make him pay what he owed her.

She saved the document, wiped the moisture from her face, and dialed a number she hadn't used in a long time—Marc Fletcher, a fellow doctoral classmate.

"I've decided, Marc. I'm divorcing Declan and joining your research team. But I need a top divorce lawyer, and I'm short on funds right now. Do you have any patients who might be suitable for me?"

Marc's delighted voice came through the receiver. "You finally came to your senses? I told you back then that man was trash. You never should've chased him all the way to Croria over some childhood promise. I'll have my lawyer contact you right away. As for patients, I actually do have one. He's the primary financial supporter of our research team, but he's extremely difficult. If you're certain, I'll send you his file."

Madison agreed without hesitation. Difficult patients were nothing new to her. Right now, she needed money, and she needed to make Declan pay. She was prepared to do whatever it took.

Shortly after, the file arrived, accompanied by a note that the patient would be contacted immediately.

After ending the call, Madison opened the document and began reading, her expression tightening little by little.

The name at the top was one that carried immense weight across the country—William Shaw, head of the Shaw family, ruler of Freeport, the one who controlled maritime trade and arms networks throughout the Western Hemisphere.

Five years earlier, he had been gravely injured during a violent internal power struggle. Though he survived, a fragment of shrapnel remained lodged deep within his brain, pressing against critical nerves and causing relentless, excruciating pain. Over time, his temperament had grown increasingly volatile and unpredictable.

The Shaw family had brought in the most renowned specialists in the world, yet the fragment's location made surgery almost impossible. One wrong move would mean death on the operating table. No one dared attempt it.

The challenge was no longer just medical; it was existential.

And if the operation failed, the surgeon would face consequences far worse than death itself.