No Longer His Captive Surgeon Wife
I was a top cardiac surgeon, trapped in a dead marriage with a ruthless billionaire.
One afternoon, he brought his mistress to my hospital, ordering me to perform her high-risk heart surgery.
When I refused and handed him our divorce papers, he violently tore them up and threatened to erase my name from the medical community.
Worse, I discovered they had a five-year-old surrogate son—bought and born the exact same year I bled out on an operating table, losing our baby.
The mistress mocked my trauma, calling me a barren piece of trash who couldn't give him an heir.
I slapped her across the face.
The next morning, the NYPD publicly handcuffed me in my own hospital.
She had framed me for attempted murder, claiming I injected her IV with a lethal dose of potassium.
My husband cornered me in the interrogation room.
"Just confess to me. I will throw enough money at the DA to make this entirely disappear."
I looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but raw, unfiltered suspicion.
He actually believed I was a jealous murderer.
I swore I would rather rot in a concrete cell for the rest of my life than bow down to them.
Just as my childhood savior miraculously appeared to bail me out, my phone rang.
The mistress had gone into full cardiac arrest.
Only I had the surgical skill to save her.
I turned around, deciding whether to let the woman who ruined my life die, or pick up my scalpel.
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Chapter 8
The next morning, the fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor buzzed quietly above Amy's head. She was holding a tablet, scrolling through patient charts outside the Intensive Care Unit.
The elevator doors at the end of the hall dinged open.
A team of NYPD officers, wearing heavy tactical vests, marched out. They moved with terrifying purpose, heading straight for her.
The lead detective stopped inches from Amy. He flipped open a leather wallet, flashing a gold badge.
"Amy Leach," he said, his voice hard and loud enough for the entire floor to hear. "You are under arrest for attempted murder in the first degree."
Amy's head snapped up. The tablet nearly slipped from her fingers. "What? Are you out of your mind?"
The detective reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He held up a formal arrest warrant, signed by a state judge.
Nurses, doctors, and patients' families stopped in their tracks. A crowd began to form, whispers spreading like wildfire.
Two uniformed officers stepped behind Amy. They grabbed her arms, twisting them roughly behind her back.
The cold, heavy steel of the handcuffs snapped around her wrists. The sharp click echoed in her ears.
The physical sensation of the cold metal biting into her skin shocked her system. She stopped struggling. She locked her jaw and kept her head held high, refusing to give the onlookers the satisfaction of seeing her break.
They marched her through the main lobby of the hospital. She could see the flashes of cell phone cameras going off. Her professional reputation was bleeding out on the floor.
They shoved her into the back of an NYPD cruiser. The hard plastic seat dug into her back. The red and blue lights flashed against the buildings as the siren wailed, tearing through the congested Manhattan traffic.
At the 19th Precinct, they stripped her of her belt and shoelaces. They marched her into a windowless, concrete interrogation room.
A heavy metal switch was thrown. A blinding, high-intensity spotlight slammed into her face.
The detective threw a stack of glossy photographs onto the scratched metal table. They showed an IV bag and a severed plastic tube.
"Lab reports confirm a lethal dose of potassium was injected into Amira Hughes' IV line," the detective barked. He pulled out a tablet and hit play. "And security footage shows you entering her room at 6:00 AM this morning."
Amy squinted against the harsh light. Her chest felt tight, but her mind was razor-sharp. "I was doing my standard morning rounds. Check the camera angles. There is a blind spot behind the curtain. And anyone with basic medical knowledge knows potassium burns the veins-she would have screamed before it reached her heart."
The detective slammed his hands on the table, leaning in to break her.
Before he could speak, the heavy iron door of the interrogation room screeched open.
A man in a thousand-dollar suit walked in, holding a special DA permit. He was Amira's senior defense attorney. He was pushing Amira, who was sitting in a wheelchair, an oxygen mask strapped to her face.
The detective frowned, looking at the permit in the lawyer's hand.
"Officer," Amira rasped, pulling her oxygen mask down slightly, "I have some words I'd like to say to her in front of my lawyer, to help 'clear up' this misunderstanding. Could you give us a moment under supervision?"
The detective hesitated, then stepped back to the door, keeping a watchful eye but giving them a semblance of privacy.
The lawyer opened his leather briefcase. He pulled out a familiar document-the divorce agreement. At the bottom, Beckham's bold signature was already inked.
The lawyer tossed the document onto the metal table. He slid it across the scratched surface until it hit Amy's handcuffed wrists.
"Sign the papers, waive all alimony, and voluntarily surrender your medical license," Amira rasped, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Do that, and I will tell the police I made a mistake. I'll drop the charges."
Amy looked down at the papers. A low, dark chuckle rumbled in her chest.
She leaned forward against the metal table, her eyes locking onto Amira's.
"I would rather rot in a concrete cell for the rest of my life than bow down to a piece of trash like you," Amy said, her voice ringing with absolute, unbreakable resolve.
She raised her handcuffed hands and forcefully pushed the document. It slid off the edge of the table and fluttered to the dirty floor.
Amira's face twisted in rage. She slapped the oxygen mask back over her mouth and frantically waved at her lawyer to get her out of the room.
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7.4
I single-handedly saved my family's corporate empire from a hostile takeover, securing our market share for the next decade.
But my grandfather didn't see me as a hero. He saw me as a flawed piece of inventory.
To calm the board and fix the reputation I supposedly ruined, he forced me into an arranged marriage, auctioning me off to the highest bidder.
Desperate, I turned to my childhood friend, Egnacio, the only person who ever promised to protect me.
But instead of saving me, he publicly humiliated me. He used my desperation as a networking opportunity, pitching my arranged marriage as a business deal to a ruthless private equity king named Dexter Mathews.
Later that night, I caught Egnacio holding my cruel cousin in his arms.
"What man wants to be with a woman who looks at you like she's planning a hostile takeover?"
Hearing him mock my pain shattered the last bit of hope I had.
I realized I was never family to them. I was just a sharp knife, used to cut down their enemies and then traded for cash before I got dull.
The heartbreak vanished, replaced by a cold, violent rage.
I didn't break, and I didn't run.
Instead, I got into the back of Dexter Mathews's car. He had watched my family tear me apart, but he didn't see a broken pawn. He saw a queen.
And together, we were going to burn their entire empire to the ground.
9.7
Clarissa rushed into a crowded nightclub for one simple reason: to save her wildly drunk best friend.
But her ruthless billionaire husband, Giovanny, was watching from the VIP room. After effortlessly ruining a man just for grabbing her wrist, Giovanny punished Clarissa for breaching their public image contract with an impossible curfew.
When she inevitably arrived back at his penthouse late, he didn't just yell. He forced her to her knees by his bathtub to wash his back, making her watch an explicit, humiliating video as punishment.
A sudden family medical emergency dragged them to his parents' estate. Still in her soaked, transparent dress and his misbuttoned shirt, Giovanny's mother caught them. She joyfully assumed they had been passionately intimate.
Instead of clearing her name, Giovanny pulled Clarissa close and lied to his mother's face.
"We are working very hard on the family's future, Mother."
He locked her in the guest suite, tossed a sheer silk nightgown on the bed, and literally shattered the tablet holding their "no-contact" prenuptial agreement. He then slapped a file against the window—he had secretly bought all her father's toxic debt.
Clarissa was terrified. They were supposed to be business allies bound by a strict contract. Why was he suddenly acting like a predator determined to own her body and soul?
"Give me an heir, or your father goes to federal prison," he whispered.
Stripped of all choices, Clarissa picked up the white silk. She would surrender tonight to save her family, but as his shadow swallowed her, she made a silent vow to survive this monster, and one day, tear his empire to the ground.
9.7
Emaline Finley was drowning in massive debt to keep her dying father alive, even enduring a humiliating blind date with an arrogant man just to find a financial lifeline.
But the fatal blow came from her former best friend, Kitty. Kitty, who was already engaged to Emaline's ex-boyfriend, deliberately told Emaline's father that his expensive treatments were bleeding his daughter dry.
Out of extreme guilt, her father threw away his life-saving medication and checked himself out of the hospital to die at home. When Emaline found him, he was coughing up pools of bright red blood, his lungs rapidly collapsing. As the paramedics rushed him away, Kitty called to gloat, mocking Emaline's poverty and telling her to go watch her father die.
Emaline was completely shattered, suffocating under the sheer injustice of it all. She had been betrayed, stripped of her dignity, and was now forced to watch her only parent slip away because of a cruel, spiteful lie.
Just as her world went dark, a wildly wealthy stranger stepped in. Cullen Preston, the mysterious man who had witnessed her humiliating date, paid the astronomical medical bills and brought in the city's top surgeon to pull her father back from death. But his salvation wasn't charity.
"Consider it a dowry."
He bought her father's life, and in exchange, he demanded Emaline as his wife.
8.0
My abusive step-family isolated me completely, holding my mother's medical funds hostage to control my every move.
Yesterday, they finalized my sale.
"You will marry Rudy Petrov next month. He is fifty, wealthy, and willing to overlook your lack of pedigree."
Pushed to the absolute edge, I did the insane. I posted an ad online offering my life savings of $50,000 for a contract husband. A stranger named Brennan agreed.
But my family wouldn't let me go. They forced me back for a dinner by threatening my mother's life-saving prescriptions.
At the table, they relentlessly mocked my new "poor IT guy" husband and intentionally burned my hand with boiling tea.
Worse, the housekeeper locked me in a guest room and forced drugs down my throat so Rudy could come in and assault me.
I lay there paralyzed on the floor, bleeding from Rudy's slap, utterly terrified. I couldn't understand why my own family would throw me to the wolves, and I felt a crushing guilt for dragging an innocent, ordinary guy into my nightmare.
Until a pitch-black Maybach smashed through the estate's wrought-iron gates at eighty miles an hour.
My "poor" husband kicked the solid oak doors off their hinges, beat Rudy half to death, and carried me out into the rain.
I didn't know it yet, but the ordinary man I hired to save me was a ruthless billionaire, and he was about to erase my family's entire empire by morning.
8.8
Elizbeth married the wealthy heir Carlton Wilkinson to save her grandfather's life's work.
But on their wedding night, instead of a loving husband, she faced a cold tyrant. He forced her to sign a brutal prenup, stripped her of all family rights, and banished her to a dingy guest room.
He was convinced she was just a pathetic, gold-digging liar.
When a catastrophic pain attack drove Carlton to smash his own head against the wall, Elizbeth rushed in to save him using her specialized acupuncture. She risked her life to calm his spasming nerves.
But the moment he woke up, he nearly choked her to death. He threw her against the wall, bleeding and bruised, accusing her of using cheap parlor tricks to poison him.
The next morning, his greedy relatives openly mocked her cheap clothes, waiting like vultures for Carlton to drop dead so they could steal his fortune.
Elizbeth was humiliated and terrified, but she soon discovered a classified secret.
Carlton was a former Delta Force operator slowly going mad from an undetectable weaponized biotoxin. The poison made him paranoid and violent. He would rather die in agony than accept help from a woman he despised.
Begged by his desperate grandfather, Elizbeth knew she had to cure him in the shadows.
At 1:00 AM, she slipped a heavy, odorless sedative into his water and sneaked into his pitch-black bedroom to begin the detox.
But as her silver needle hovered over his skin, a massive hand shot out and pinned her violently to the mattress.
"How much did they pay you to poison me?" he hissed in the dark, his eyes wide awake and blazing with murderous fury.
7.1
The night before her wedding to Wall Street billionaire Everette Baird, Deliah Quinn stood happily in her haute couture gown.
Then, her younger sister Arvilla walked in, handed her a drugged glass of champagne, and slammed an ultrasound on the vanity.
"I'm pregnant with Everette's child," Arvilla sneered.
Before Deliah's paralyzed body could react, Arvilla dragged in a canister of industrial gasoline, soaked the bridal suite, tossed a lighter, and locked the heavy oak doors from the outside.
To escape the roaring inferno, Deliah smashed the glass balcony and threw herself into the freezing, violent waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
For five agonizing years, everyone believed the Quinn heiress was dead.
Deliah returned to New York entirely reborn—a top architectural designer and a single mother, having scrubbed her past clean and forgotten the people who destroyed her.
She only wanted a peaceful life with her five-year-old genius son, Leo.
But she had no idea her son was secretly hacking airport security cameras to find himself a wealthy stepdad.
Leo deliberately bumped into a terrifying, cold-blooded tycoon, spilling scalding coffee on his custom suit to get his attention.
When Deliah frantically rushed over to protect her son and apologize, the air in the terminal vanished.
Everette Baird stared at the exact face he had obsessively mourned for five years, his eyes turning pitch black as he crushed his phone in his bare hand.