So Done With Her

The voiceover made it sound like I had personally refused to treat a patient just because I was in a bad mood.

The headline was even more lurid: [Rich Family Drama? Heartless Doctor Lets Dying Patient Suffer!]

The article went into graphic detail about how I supposedly used my powerful family connections to coast through medical school—to get a degree that most people have to sweat blood for. It said I've always been arrogant, and that this time, I let "personal grudges" get in the way of saving a life.

The comments section tore me apart.

[This kind of garbage gets to be a doctor? No wonder doctor-patient relations are so toxic.]

[The Anders Group heir, right? Got it. I'll make sure neither my dog nor I ever buys anything from his company.]

[Someone doxx him. Drag him out into the light. Make sure he never shows his face in public again.]

My company's website had already been overrun by angry mobs. Stock prices were falling. People were calling for a boycott of every single product the Anders Group had ever made.

I felt frozen. Hollowed out.

I never imagined Claire would go this far for Noah. That she would destroy me so completely.

Then my phone screen lit up.

A private message from Claire.

Claire: [Apologize yet? All you have to do is say sorry to Noah. Be nice about it. And I'll help clear your name.]

I stared at the words, thinking about every single thing I had given to this relationship. Every sacrifice. Every moment I had believed in her.

I didn't answer.

Another message popped up.

Claire: [Come on, Ethan. Don't be so dramatic.]

Claire: [Here's the deal. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays with you. Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays with him. Sundays are yours too, okay?]

Claire: [At the end of the day, I really do love you. Just think about it.]

I let out a low, bitter laugh.

Me: [Fuck off.]

Three years. That's how long I'd wasted loving someone who was never worth it.

Now every word she typed made me sick.

…

Because I missed our meeting, Julian Bishop came to me instead.

His eyes swept over my leg, suspended in its cast. He clicked his tongue.

"Claire really did a number on you, didn't she? Then again, no surprise there. She's rotten to the core."

He pulled up a chair and set a fruit basket to the side.

"So. What did you want to talk about? You didn't drag me all the way here just to show me how pathetic you look, right?"

I reached under my pillow, pulled out the tablet I'd prepared, unlocked it, and tossed it to him.

"A deal."

"Help me tear Claire down. Get her removed as heir to the Bishop Group. And I want her to suffer."

Julian raised an eyebrow and looked down at the screen.

On it was every piece of evidence I had gathered. Claire had used her position to set up shell companies overseas and quietly siphoned off millions. Every falsified entry on the financial statements was highlighted in red—clear, undeniable.

The total amount: over 500 million dollars.

I had planned to talk to her about it after the wedding. I was even going to help cover the shortfall.

Now? Now it was evidence.

Julian's eyes grew brighter the more he read.

"Nice. So what's the play? Leak all this now?"

I was about to answer when a notification popped up on my phone.

[Smart Home Alert: Front door opened. Someone has entered.]

The live feed loaded.

There, in the entryway, was Claire. Her arm was wrapped around Noah's. She was pulling him inside.

Noah kicked the door shut. Then he shoved Claire against it and kissed her—hungry, desperate.

Clothes started coming off.

That was my house. Our house. Our wedding home.

Every piece of furniture. Every detail. I had chosen every single thing myself.

And now it was their playground.

I watched the two tangled figures on the screen. Then I looked at Julian and smiled—a smile that didn't mean anything good.

"No," I said. "Now I have something else I need you to do."