Divorcing The Tycoon: The Genius Designer

Aletha sat in the cramped breakroom of Fairview Medical Center, staring blankly at the styrofoam cup in her hands.

She took a sip of the black coffee. It was ice-cold and tasted like battery acid, but she swallowed it down, desperate to wash away the exhaustion of a grueling twelve-hour surgical shift. Her muscles ached with a dull, throbbing rhythm.

The breakroom door flew open, hitting the wall with a loud smack.

Chloe, the ER charge nurse, stood in the doorway, breathless.

"Dr. Ward! We have a Board of Directors level VIP in room one. They need an attending right now."

Aletha pressed her thumb hard against her aching brow bone. She stood up, her joints popping, and pulled her white coat over her shoulders. She walked out into the harsh, fluorescent-lit corridor, her sensible shoes squeaking against the linoleum.

She pushed open the heavy door to VIP Room 1.

A white medical privacy screen blocked her immediate view of the examination bed.

"It's okay. I'm right here. You're safe."

The low, gentle baritone voice drifting from behind the screen made Aletha's lungs seize. The air in her throat vanished. She knew that voice better than her own heartbeat.

She stepped around the screen.

Her tall, broad-shouldered husband, Kristopher, was sitting on the edge of the examination bed. He had a woman pulled tightly against his chest.

Dinah Caldwell.

Dinah's eyes were red and swollen. She trembled like a frightened deer, shrinking into the safety of Kristopher's expensive suit jacket.

Kristopher lifted his head. The moment his eyes locked onto Aletha, the tender warmth in his gaze vanished, instantly replaced by a layer of biting frost.

Chloe stepped up from behind Aletha and handed over the metal clipboard. The clatter of the clip breaking the suffocating silence in the room.

Aletha took a deep breath. The sharp smell of antiseptic filled her nose, helping her push down the burning sensation behind her eyes. She flipped open the chart with mechanical precision.

She walked toward the bed.

"I need you to step aside so I can examine the patient's wrist," Aletha said, her voice completely devoid of emotion.

Kristopher's jaw tightened. He took a half-step back, but his large hand remained protectively cupped over Dinah's shoulder.

Aletha turned to the rolling medical cart. She pulled a pair of sterile gloves from the box and snapped them over her fingers. The rubber made a sharp, clinical sound in the quiet room.

She reached out and took hold of Dinah's slender wrist. She examined the skin. It was a minor scratch, barely an inch long, not even deep enough to require stitches.

Suddenly, Dinah let out a loud, exaggerated gasp of pain and violently yanked her arm back.

Kristopher reacted instantly. He swung his arm out and shoved Aletha hard in the shoulder.

Caught off guard by the force of her husband's hand, Aletha stumbled backward. Her spine slammed heavily into the metal instrument cart.

The cart crashed against the wall with a