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The Surgeon's Revenge: My Ex-Husband's Regret Novel Cover

The Surgeon's Revenge: My Ex-Husband's Regret

The view from our twenty-million-dollar penthouse was stunning, but all I could see was the cracked screen of my phone. A single message from a contact named Sienna had just appeared: "Game On." For four years, I had worn the shapeless beige cardigans and played the quiet, submissive wife the elite Rutledge family demanded. "Dorothea is back in the city," my husband Hunter said, refusing to meet my eyes as he pushed the divorce papers toward me. He offered a "generous" settlement, patronizingly claiming that with my felony record and "creative resume," I’d be living on the streets without his charity. He had no idea that while he was rehearsing his breakup speech, I was already zipping up a duffel bag filled with cash and a passport in a name he didn't recognize. His sister Kamala didn't even wait for me to pack before she was in our bedroom, calling me a leech and trying to destroy the only photo I had of my mother. I didn't cry or beg; I simply dropped Hunter’s favorite three-million-dollar Ming vase, watched it shatter, and walked out the door with a cold smile. That night, I traded my sensible flats for a crimson silk dress and lethal heels, leaving Hunter’s jaw on the floor when he saw me at an exclusive club. He watched in horror as I smashed a vodka bottle over a harasser's head, still believing I was a broken woman who needed his protection. He didn't know the truth until his grandmother finally revealed that I was the anonymous investor who had rescued their company from bankruptcy. I had gone to prison to protect his father's reputation, wearing the shame for years so their family name wouldn't implode. Hunter fell to his knees in the driveway, begging for a second chance and promising to dump his mistress, but the anger in my heart had already turned to ice. The man I had sacrificed my life for was now just a stranger I used to know. "The opposite of love isn't hate, Hunter. It's indifference." I climbed into a purple supercar as my phone buzzed with a call from Mount Sinai Hospital. My medical license was reinstated, and a high-profile trauma case was waiting for my hands. Iris the housewife was dead, and Dr. Gutierrez was finally back in play.
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Chapter 6

Iris didn't think. She didn't hesitate.

Her hand shot out to the small service table next to them. There was a half-empty bottle of Grey Goose vodka sitting there, abandoned by a waiter.

She grabbed it by the neck.

In one fluid motion, she swung it.

Smash.

The heavy glass bottle connected with Leo's forehead. The sound was sickening-a wet thud followed by the shatter of glass.

Vodka sprayed everywhere, drenching Leo, Iris, and Hunter's suit.

Leo didn't even scream at first. He just dropped. He crumbled to the floor like a puppet with cut strings, clutching his head. Blood began to seep through his fingers, mixing with the alcohol on the carpet.

"My eye! My eye!" Leo started to wail, rolling on the ground.

Silence rippled outward from them. The music seemed to fade away. A circle formed instantly.

Hunter jumped back, brushing glass shards off his lapel. He stared at Leo, then at Iris, his eyes bulging.

"Iris!" he screamed. "What did you do? That's Leo Leone! His father is..."

"I don't care who his father is," Iris said. Her voice was calm. Her pulse hadn't even quickened.

She was still holding the jagged neck of the bottle.

A massive security guard-not Tiny, but someone new-pushed through the crowd. "What the hell is going on here?"

He saw Iris with the weapon. He reached for his radio.

Dorothea was screaming now, a high-pitched sound that grated on Iris's nerves. "She's crazy! She tried to kill him! Get her away from us!"

Hunter looked at Iris. He looked at the security guard. Iris saw the calculation in his eyes. He was wondering if he should step in, use the Rutledge name to protect her.

Then he looked at the blood. He looked at the crowd filming with their phones. He stepped back. He chose distance. He chose to save himself.

Iris dropped the bottle neck. It clattered on the floor.

She reached into her clutch. She pulled out the stack of cash she had taken from the black duffel bag earlier. It was about five thousand dollars, wrapped in a rubber band.

She snapped the rubber band off.

She walked over to where Leo was writhing on the floor. She stood over him.

"You touched me," she said. "I told you not to."

She let the bills fall from her hand. They fluttered down, covering his bloody face, sticking to the wet carpet.

"That's for the stitches," she said loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Keep the change for a therapy session."

Leo sputtered, spitting blood and money.

Hunter grabbed Iris's arm. His grip was hard, painful.

"Have you lost your mind?" he hissed. "You just assaulted him. The police are going to come. You're going back to jail, Iris. And I can't help you this time."

Iris looked at his hand on her arm. Then she looked at his face.

"Get your hand off me," she said.

"I'm trying to talk sense into you!"

"Sir, step away from the woman," the security guard barked, stepping closer.

Hunter let go, looking offended. "I'm her husband! Well, almost ex-husband."

"I don't care who you are," the guard said. He looked at Iris. "Ma'am, you need to come with me."

Iris squared her shoulders. She was ready to walk out. She was ready to fight if she had to.

"She's not going anywhere with you," a voice cut through the tension.

Sienna pushed through the crowd. She looked furious.

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