After My Groom Poisoned Me, He Married His Mistress Instead

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow across the operating theater. I lay facedown on the table, my wrists and ankles secured with leather restraints that bit into my skin. The cold metal beneath me sucked away what little warmth remained in my body.

"Prep her for extraction," Kaiser's voice cut through the sterile silence.

I twisted my head to see him standing in the doorway, his face half-hidden in shadow. He wore a surgical mask that couldn't quite hide the tension around his eyes.

"Kaiser," I whispered, my voice cracking. "What are you doing?"

He approached slowly, his polished shoes clicking against the tile floor. "Octavia is dying."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?"

"Leukemia." His voice was flat, emotionless. "She needs a bone marrow transplant. Immediately."

I felt a cold realization wash over me. "And you think I'm a match?"

"You're the only one who is." He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You tried to kill her, Eileen. Now you're going to save her."

The irony wasn't lost on me. The woman who had orchestrated my downfall would now live because of my sacrifice.

"This is insane," I hissed. "You can't—"

"I can." His fingers gripped my shoulder, turning me back toward the table. "And I will."

The surgical team moved around us, preparing instruments and monitoring equipment. I recognized Dr. Dixon among them—Octavia's cousin, no doubt orchestrating this torture.

"Where's the anesthesiologist?" I asked, noticing the lack of the usual pre-op personnel.

Kaiser's smile didn't reach his eyes. "We're skipping that part."

The room spun as the full horror of what was about to happen sank in. No anesthesia. They were going to drill into my bone while I was fully conscious.

"You're monsters," I whispered.

"We're survivors," Kaiser corrected, stepping back as the doctors approached with syringes. "And you're expendable."

---

The first incision burned like fire across my lower back. I bit down on the rubber mouthguard they'd placed between my teeth, tasting blood as my jaws clenched.

"Blood pressure elevated," someone called out. "Pulse racing."

"Continue," Kaiser ordered from his position against the wall.

The drill bit into my pelvic bone with a sound like ice picks shattering glass. The pain was blinding, visceral—a white-hot agony that consumed every nerve ending in my body.

I screamed around the mouthguard, the sound muffled but primal. Tears streamed down my face as the doctor's hands worked methodically, extracting the marrow from deep within my bone.

"Kaiser!" I choked out when they removed the guard momentarily to check my breathing. "Please! Stop this!"

He stood motionless, his expression unreadable behind his surgical mask. Our eyes met across the room—his cold and detached, mine wild with pain and pleading.

"Kaiser, please," I begged again, my voice breaking. "You can't do this."

For a moment—just a flicker—something like regret crossed his features. His hand twitched at his side, as if he might step forward.

Then Octavia's voice drifted through the partially open door: "Is it working? Will I be okay?"

Kaiser's face hardened instantly. Without a word, he turned his back on me and walked toward her voice.

That simple gesture—turning away while I screamed in agony—sealed his fate as my enemy.

---

They left me alone in the recovery room when it was done. My body felt hollow, drained of more than just bone marrow. Blood seeped through the bandages at my waist, staining the thin hospital gown.

I lay still, listening to the steady beep of the heart monitor. The room smelled of antiseptic and pain—my pain.

A nurse entered to check my vitals, her movements quick and efficient. As she leaned over to adjust my IV, I noticed the lighter in her pocket—a careless mistake.

"Will I live?" I asked weakly.

She didn't meet my eyes. "That depends on you."

"I don't think I will," I whispered. "Not if they take more."

The nurse's hands stilled momentarily. "They'll need another extraction in six weeks."

Six weeks. I wouldn't last that long.

When she left, I waited until her footsteps faded down the corridor. Then, with trembling fingers, I reached into her abandoned tray and retrieved the lighter.

The alcohol solution they'd used to clean my skin still soaked the curtains beside my bed. One flick of the lighter and the flame caught instantly, spreading up the fabric with a whoosh of ignition.

I watched the fire grow, feeling its heat against my face as smoke began to fill the room.

"Kaiser," I whispered to the empty air. "This is your fault."

The flames climbed higher, licking at the ceiling. Somewhere in the distance, alarms began to wail.

I closed my eyes, ready to embrace the inferno. Better to die on my own terms than remain a prisoner to their cruelty.

The last thing I heard was glass shattering as the window exploded from the heat—my escape route opening before me.