The Surgeon's Revenge: No More Mrs. Montgomery

Cornelia returned to the living room alone. The air shifted. The casual cruelty was gone, replaced by business-like efficiency. She snapped her fingers, and a bodyguard Alexa hadn't noticed entered from the foyer. He placed a black folder on the coffee table.

It was the matte black of the Montgomery Group Legal Department.

"Sit down, Alexa," Cornelia said. This time, it wasn't a suggestion.

Alexa sat on the edge of the armchair. Cornelia pushed the folder across the marble.

"Sign it."

Alexa opened the folder. The header was bold and centered: DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE AGREEMENT.

She stared at the words. She didn't feel surprised. She felt numb. "Did Fletcher ask for this?"

"This is what is best for the family," Cornelia evaded. "Fletcher has a destiny. You were... a necessary detour. A charity project that ran its course."

"A detour?" Alexa looked up. "Seven years. We've been married for seven years." Seven years. Two thousand five hundred and fifty-five days of being a ghost in her own marriage.

"And what do you have to show for it?" Cornelia asked softly. "No heirs. No social standing. Just a medical degree we bought you."

She tapped a manicured nail on the paper. "The terms are generous. A lump sum. An apartment in Brooklyn. But you sign a full NDA. You never speak of the family, the business, or your parents' accident."

Alexa read the clauses. It was a gag order. It stripped her of her voice, her history.

"I won't sign it," Alexa said, closing the folder.

Cornelia's eyes narrowed into slits. "Don't be stupid. You think Fletcher wants you here? Felicity is back. She is his equal. She is his future."

"Then let him tell me," Alexa said, her voice gaining strength. "Let him look me in the eye and hand me this paper."

"He's busy running an empire," Cornelia scoffed. "He doesn't have time for housekeeping."

"This isn't housekeeping. It's my life." Alexa stood up. She grabbed the folder. "I'm keeping this. But I'm not signing it until I talk to him."

Cornelia stood up, smoothing her skirt. She looked at Alexa with a mixture of amusement and contempt. "Have it your way. Drag it out. But remember, Alexa-there's the easy way out, and then there's the way where you leave with nothing but the clothes on your back."

Cornelia turned on her heel and marched out. The bodyguard followed. The front door clicked shut.

Alexa looked at the black folder. It felt heavy, like it contained lead. She walked to the wall safe hidden behind a painting. She punched in the code-her birthday, a code Fletcher had set years ago.

She locked the divorce papers inside.

Her phone beeped. It was the hospital pager. A multi-car pileup on the FDR Drive. Mass casualties. All surgeons on deck.

Alexa took a deep breath. She pushed the panic down, locked the heartbreak in the safe with the papers, and went to the bedroom to put on her armor. When she walked out of the apartment ten minutes later, she wasn't the rejected wife. She was Dr. Emerson, and she had lives to save.