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Thirty Days To Marry: The Doctor's Escape Novel Cover

Thirty Days To Marry: The Doctor's Escape

I was Ethan Dejesus’s "glorified roommate" for eight long years. Even though I was a successful doctor, I lived in the guest room of his luxury penthouse and spent my mornings making his coffee like a servant while waiting for a ring that was never coming. The breaking point came when Ethan forced me to give his mistress, Delisa, a medical exam in the VIP wing of my own hospital. He didn't just want to break my heart; he wanted to destroy my professional dignity in front of the woman he was cheating with. During a paparazzi swarm at his estate, a heavy camera lens hit me in the temple, leaving me bleeding on the floor. Ethan didn't even flinch. He stepped over my body to protect Delisa, making sure he looked like a hero for the cameras while I struggled to stand. That night, I overheard him laughing at a bar, telling his friends I was like a "stray dog" that would always crawl back for scraps no matter how much he starved me. When I finally stood up to him, he shoved me out of his SUV onto a dark highway in the middle of a rainstorm and threw my purse into the mud. I walked for miles in the freezing rain, only to get home and find Delisa already moved into the penthouse, sitting at my vanity and wearing my clothes. "You'll be back in a week when the money runs out," he laughed as I packed my only suitcase. "You're a nobody from Queens. You have nothing without me." I looked at the man I had loved for nearly a decade and realized the woman who worshipped him was dead. He had murdered her on that highway, and he didn't even care. I blocked his number, dropped my key card on the floor, and walked out into the night without looking back. I wasn't going to be his "stray dog" anymore. I was heading to a small house in the suburbs to meet Carleton Schmitt—a total stranger I had agreed to marry in a moment of drunken desperation who was now my only way out.
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Chapter 8

The car came to a halt on the dark shoulder of the highway. Rain had started to fall, drumming against the roof. Ethan opened the door on Amira's side. The noise of passing trucks was deafening. "Get out," he said. Amira looked at the speeding cars. "Here? It's dangerous." "Delisa needs me. She's upset about the paparazzi. You're just dead weight. Get out!" He placed his hand on her shoulder and pushed. Amira stumbled out, her heels sinking into the wet gravel. He grabbed her purse from the seat and threw it out after her. It landed in a puddle. "Walk home. Maybe it'll teach you some gratitude." He slammed the door. The SUV peeled away, tires spinning, spraying her with mud and exhaust. Amira watched the taillights disappear into the rain. She stood alone in the dark. The rain soaked her clothes instantly, chilling her to the bone. She picked up her purse. Her phone battery was at 15%. No signal. She started walking. Her only goal was the faint glow of an exit sign in the distance. Every step was a battle. Her feet, already sore, began to blister in her thin shoes. Trucks roared past, shaking the ground, splashing dirty, freezing water onto her legs. It felt like an eternity, but after nearly an hour of shivering and stumbling, she reached the off-ramp. A brightly lit 24-hour gas station stood like a beacon. She ducked inside, dripping water all over the linoleum, ignoring the cashier's stare. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold her phone steady, but she saw it: one bar of service. It was enough. She called the first car service she could find, the dispatcher quoting a price that made her stomach clench, but she agreed without hesitation. The long, silent ride back to the city gave her too much time to think. By the time she arrived at the Penthouse building, she was shivering uncontrollably. The doorman, George, who usually smiled at her, looked at her awkwardly. He didn't open the door. He just watched her struggle with the heavy glass. "Rough night, Dr. Cortez?" he asked, avoiding eye contact. Amira just nodded, too tired to speak. She took the elevator up. The numbers ticked by slowly. 10... 20... Penthouse. She unlocked the door. The hallway was filled with luggage. Louis Vuitton. Stacks of it. Amira froze. It wasn't hers. She walked closer. The monogram on the side of the largest trunk read: D.C. Delisa Conrad. Amira realized then that she hadn't just been abandoned on the highway. She had been replaced.

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