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The Ghost Surgeon's Revenge: Rising From Ashes Novel Cover

The Ghost Surgeon's Revenge: Rising From Ashes

I was the trophy wife of Wall Street’s golden boy, Spencer Elliott. For three years, I played the part of the perfect, silent spouse, enduring his coldness and his mother’s venom. I did it all because Spencer was the only person paying for the experimental medical care keeping my dying mother alive. But during a high-society gala, the gilded cage finally broke. I overheard Spencer laughing with his mistress about the "custom cocktail" he was feeding my mother. He wasn't paying for her cure; he was paying a doctor to systematically poison her with sedatives to keep me dependent and compliant until his forty-million-dollar inheritance vested. When I tried to confront him, the mask of the perfect husband shattered. He dragged me by my hair into our bedroom and slammed me against the wall, his eyes cold and murderous. "If you ever try to leave, your mother gets an overdose. Accidentally, of course." He told me I was nothing more than a pawn for his payout. I realized then that my entire marriage was a calculated swindle, and the man I thought was my savior was actually my mother's executioner. The betrayal was so deep it turned my blood to ice. Every sacrifice I had made and every humiliation I had swallowed was built on a monstrous lie. I felt a cold, sharp rage replacing my despair, a surgeon’s focus shifting from healing to a much more dangerous kind of excision. That’s when Julian Sterling, the most feared man in the city, stepped out of the shadows to burn my world down. He rescued me from Spencer’s violence and promised me a life of freedom, but as I finally exhaled in his arms, my secret burner phone buzzed with an encrypted message. The man who originally ruined my family was back, and the last time he was seen, he was standing right next to Julian. Is my new protector my greatest ally, or the target I've been hunting all along?
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Chapter 9

The private room at Lenox Hill was quiet, smelling of lavender and antiseptic-Dr. Thorne's doing, no doubt.

Ayla sat on the edge of the bed, a fresh bandage on her forehead. Julian sat in the chair opposite her, still wearing his blood-spattered shirt. He hadn't let go of her hand for an hour.

"No fractures," Thorne said, checking the chart. "Mild concussion. Soft tissue damage. You'll be sore for weeks, Ayla."

"I'm fine," Ayla whispered.

Thorne looked at Julian. "I'll leave you two."

The door clicked shut.

Julian lifted Ayla's hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles. "I should have killed him."

"Then you'd be in jail," Ayla said. "And I'd be alone."

"I'm never leaving you alone again," he said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It looked old, creased.

"My team found this in his safe," Julian said. "Before they left."

Ayla unfolded it. It was the divorce decree. Signed by both of them. Dated three years ago.

"He said he burned it," she said, tracing her signature.

"He lied," Julian said. "He kept it as insurance. In case he wanted out early. But he never filed it."

"So I'm still married," Ayla said dully.

"No," Julian said. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. "That's the beauty of New York law. Or rather, the beauty of having expensive lawyers. Since the document was signed and notarized, it constitutes a binding contract of separation. We just filed it electronically ten minutes ago. With a timestamp that predates his claim on the trust."

Ayla blinked. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Julian said, leaning forward, "that legally, you've been divorced for three years. The trust fund clause required him to be 'happily married' continuously. He just lost forty million dollars. And since he committed fraud to keep you there... you're entitled to half of what he does have."

Ayla started to laugh. It hurt her ribs, but she couldn't stop. "He's broke?"

"He will be when I'm done with him," Julian promised.

"And my mother?"

"Already moved," Julian said. "She's at my private facility in Westchester. Dr. Evans has been fired. Real doctors are with her now. She's going to be okay, Ayla."

The weight that had been crushing Ayla for three years simply... vanished.

She looked at Julian. The bruises on his knuckles. The fierce intensity in his eyes.

"Why?" she asked again. "Why me?"

"Because," Julian said, standing up and cupping her face. "You're the only person who ever looked at me and didn't see a bank account. You saw a man. And you diagnosed him." He chuckled. "I liked that."

"I don't hate you," Ayla whispered.

"I know," he said. "You love me. You just don't know it yet."

He kissed her, gentle this time. Careful.

"Get some sleep," he said. "Tomorrow, we go home."

"To the estate?"

"No," he said. "To my home. The Hamptons house. It's quieter there."

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