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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 7

Sienna stood between Iris and the guard. She was half his size, but she had the posture of someone who owned the building.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked the guard.

The guard hesitated. "Miss Vance?"

"That's right," Sienna said. She pointed a manicured finger at Leo, who was being helped up by his friends. "That trash grabbed her. Twice. We have witnesses. And I'm sure if we pull the security footage, we'll see exactly where his hands were."

She turned to the guard. "If you touch her, my father pulls his investment in this club by morning. And then we sue Mr. Leone for sexual harassment."

The guard swallowed. He looked at Leo, then at Sienna. The math was easy. The Vance family money was old and heavy.

"I... I'll need to see the footage," the guard stammered. "But... okay. Just... please leave."

"We're leaving," Sienna said. She grabbed Iris's hand. "Come on, Iris."

They turned to go.

Hunter stepped in front of them again. He looked bewildered, his authority completely usurped by Iris's best friend.

"Iris," he said. He reached out, his eyes landing on her hand.

There was a small cut on her knuckle from the glass. A single drop of blood welled up.

"You're bleeding," he said. His voice softened. For a second, he was the man Iris used to love. "Let me... let me take you to a doctor. My car is outside."

Iris pulled her hand back as if he had burned her.

"Don't touch me," she said.

Dorothea was there, clutching his arm. "Hunter, leave her. She's obviously unstable. Look at her violence."

Iris looked at Dorothea. "Shut up," she said.

Dorothea gasped. "Hunter! She's insulting me!"

Hunter frowned. "Iris, apologize. Dorothea is just concerned."

Iris laughed again. It was a tired sound.

"Hunter," she said. She held up her bleeding hand. She splayed her fingers. "Look."

"What?"

"No ring," she said. "I'm not your wife. I don't answer to you. I don't apologize to your mistress. And I certainly don't need your ride."

"I'm just worried about you!" Hunter shouted. "You're acting like a different person!"

Iris stepped into his space.

"The Iris you knew is dead," she said. "You killed her. You bored her to death, and then you broke her heart. This is what was left underneath."

She turned to Sienna. "Let's go."

They walked past them. Hunter stood frozen, staring at her back. He could feel his eyes on her. He could feel the confusion radiating off him.

High above, on the darkened balcony of the owner's suite, a man watched the scene unfold.

Auguste Lindsey swirled the amber liquid in his glass. He had seen everything. The harassment. The bottle. The money. The ex-husband.

He watched the woman in the red dress disappear into the crowd.

"Garth," he said quietly.

A man in a sharp suit stepped out of the shadows. "Sir?"

"Who is she?"

"That's Iris Rutledge. Or... Gutierrez, now. Hunter Rutledge's ex-wife."

Auguste raised an eyebrow. "The quiet one? The one with the felony record?"

"That's the one."

Auguste took a sip of his drink. He smiled.

"She has training," he murmured. "That wasn't a lucky swing. Efficient."

"Sir?"

"Find out everything," Auguste said. "She's interesting. And I'm bored."

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