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No More Your Scorned Wife: The Medical Empress Returns Novel Cover

No More Your Scorned Wife: The Medical Empress Returns

"Sign it. Save her, and I'll give you anything." For four years, I was Damian Wright's 'invisible wife'. While I played the pauper, he poured his soul into his dying first love. Desperate, he blindly signed a stack of papers to buy the 'Gifted Doctor's' time. He didn't read the fine print. Buried inside was our Divorce Decree. "Congratulations, Damian," I said, stripping off my surgical mask to reveal the wife he never truly knew. "You're free." The submissive Amelia is dead. The legendary 'Ghost Surgeon'? That's me. The blindfolded racing queen 'Raven'? Also me. The shadow behind the global intelligence network V-Null? Still me. I was ready to vanish, but Lucas Sullivan-the titan who makes the Wrights look like peasants-blocked my path. When Damian tried to reclaim me, Lucas didn't just stop him; he brought an empire to its knees. "They don't deserve to look at you," Lucas whispered, his touch a lethal mix of protection and obsession. "But if you crave the world, Amelia, I'll burn it down just to hear you say my name."
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Chapter 1

Through the crystal-clear glass of Metropolitan Hospital's most exclusive VIP ward, Amelia Grace Brown watched her world crumble in real time.

Damian Wright-her husband of four long, lonely years-sat beside the hospital bed like a devoted lover, his strong hands trembling as they smoothed back platinum blonde hair that caught the afternoon light like spun gold.

Those same hands had never once touched Amelia with such reverence.

Not even on their wedding night.

"Shh, darling," his deep voice was raw with emotion as he whispered to the pale woman on the bed. "You're going to be okay. I promise you, Sophia. I won't let anything happen to you."

Darling. The endearment hit Amelia like a physical blow, stealing the breath from her lungs.

In four years of marriage, Damian had never called her anything but her name-and lately, not even that.

She'd become YOU or worse, nothing at all, as if she were invisible furniture in their shared penthouse.

Sophia Martinez stirred weakly, her green eyes fluttering open to focus on Damian's face.

Even wracked with pain and illness, she was breathtakingly beautiful-the prima ballerina who had captured Damian's heart a decade ago, then broken it when she'd chosen her career over him.

Now she was back, and clearly, she intended to reclaim what she'd left behind.

"Don't leave me," Sophia whispered, her voice fragile as butterfly wings.

"Never," Damian promised fiercely, pressing her pale hand to his lips. "I've waited five years for you to come home. I'm not going anywhere."

The raw emotion in his voice-love, devotion, desperate fear-made Amelia's chest constrict with a pain sharper than any scalpel she'd ever wielded.

This was how a man looked at the woman he loved.

This was how a man sounded when his heart was breaking.

She'd been a fool to think he might ever look at her that way.

The irony was suffocating.

Four years ago, when Howard Wright had introduced his grandson to her, Amelia had thought she was living a fairy tale.

The legendary businessman had nearly died on her operating table, and during his recovery, he'd grown genuinely fond of her.

"My grandson needs someone with substance," Howard had said, his weathered face kind but determined. "Not another vapid socialite. Someone who understands the value of life, who fights to save it every day."

What a romantic fool she'd been, believing that arranged marriages could bloom into love. That patience and devotion could eventually crack the ice around Damian's heart.

Instead, she'd spent four years living like a ghost in her own home, cooking dinners that went untouched, sleeping alone in a king-sized bed, watching her husband slip away piece by piece until there was nothing left between them but cold politeness and bitter silence.

Now she knew where all his warmth had gone. Where all his love lived.

Amelia took a shaky breath and adjusted her surgical mask.

She was done starving.

A soft knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts. "Dr. Brown? It's time."

Her assistant, Dr. Sarah Lee, appeared at her elbow with a clipboard thick with documents.

Young, brilliant, and fiercely loyal, Sarah was one of the few people who knew the truth about the mysterious "Gifted Doctor" who had revolutionized cardiac surgery at Metropolitan Hospital.

"Are you sure about this?" Sarah asked quietly, concern flickering in her dark eyes.

Amelia looked through the glass one more time, watching Damian press desperate kisses to Sophia's knuckles, and felt something cold and final settle in her chest.

"I've never been more sure of anything."

They entered the room together, Sarah leading with professional efficiency.

"Mr. Wright? I have the consent forms for Ms. Martinez's treatment."

Damian barely glanced up, his entire attention focused on the woman who owned his heart. "Whatever it is, I'll sign it. Just get her help. Get her the best."

"The Gifted Doctor is here at our hospital right now," Sarah continued, her voice carefully neutral. "These are the standard liability waivers and treatment agreements."

Sophia's eyes widened with desperate hope. "The Gifted Doctor? Really? I've heard he's-"

"The best cardiac surgeon in North America," Damian finished, already reaching for the pen with hands that shook with relief. "You're going to be fine, my love. He's performed miracles."

Amelia watched, numb with a pain that had no name, as Damian signed page after page without reading a word.

His desperation to save Sophia made him careless, signing away everything without a second thought.

How fitting. Isn't this exactly what she wanted?

"There," he said, handing back the clipboard with fierce satisfaction. "When will he be here? How long before-"

The words died in his throat as his eyes finally landed on Amelia, who stood quietly near the window.

His face went through a series of expressions-confusion, shock, and then something that looked almost like panic.

"Amelia?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "What the hell are you doing here?"

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