My Husband’s Staged Fall, My Perfect Revenge

We waited. And waited. Still no sign of Tiffany.

Preston's panic grew with each passing minute until the trauma center director, his patience worn thin, finally pulled me aside.

“You're his wife, aren't you? He's out of time. A broken rib could puncture an organ at any second. Any further delay risks permanent, irreversible damage. You need to choose another surgeon and sign the papers now!”

Before I could answer, Preston cut in, his face dark. “You’re just trying to steal Tiffany’s thunder! Forget it! Only Tiffany is touching me!”

He glared at me, his eyes flashing a warning. “Listen to me. Only Tiffany's energy can heal me. If she doesn't come, I'll wait. If you want to keep your status as Mrs. Hawthorne, you’ll shut your mouth and wait quietly!”

I couldn’t be bothered to argue. From the moment I’d woken up in this second life, all I wanted was to be free of him.

But first, I was deeply interested in seeing how an unqualified influencer would handle this disaster.

Another hour passed before Tiffany finally sauntered in. Decked out in designer yoga wear, her hair perfectly coiffed and her makeup flawless, she looked as if she’d just stepped off a magazine cover.

Carol was practically vibrating with anxiety. The moment she saw Tiffany, she grabbed the gurney to push Preston toward a treatment room. “Thank God! She's here! Get him in there, now!”

Tiffany pressed a hand to the gurney, batting her eyelashes innocently. “Wait, didn’t we agree I’d be performing his energy therapy?”

Carol fought the urge to roll her eyes, her gaze raking over Tiffany. “How are you going to do that dressed like that? You don't have a medical license. You’re an influencer who sells crystals online. If something happens to Preston, can you take responsibility for that?”

Dr. Marcus Thorne, the trauma center director who’d been patiently trying to reason with Preston, finally lost his composure. “Ms. Reed has no medical credentials on file with us. Allowing her to lead this procedure is extremely reckless. The price he might pay could be far greater than a few broken ribs!”

I chimed in, feigning concern. “They're right. A treatment room needs to be sterile. I’ve never seen a healer work in yoga pants. Preston, think about this. You’re not just risking your health—you’re risking your life.”

Tiffany’s lower lip jutted out, her voice dripping with wounded pride. “Preston, I rushed over because I was worried about you, that’s why I didn’t have time to change. Scarlett is just looking down on me. If none of you believe in me, then let someone else do it! If this ruins my shot at the exclusive…”

Before she could finish, I was shoved aside with immense force, my shoulder slamming into the wall. Pain flared through me as Preston glared, his eyes full of cold disgust.

“Wipe that jealous sneer off your face! Tiffany is on the brink of success, and I won’t let you sabotage her this time!”