The Abandoned Wife's Cold Revenge

The blinding surgical lights of the Mount Sinai Hospital emergency room burned through Emaline's eyelids.

She lay on the narrow, freezing hospital bed. The metallic smell of her own blood coated the back of her throat. The heart monitor next to her head beeped in a frantic, erratic rhythm, a loud warning that her body was shutting down.

"We need blood! The bank is completely out of AB-negative!" the ER doctor shouted, his gloved hands pressing hard against Emaline's abdomen.

The pressure sent a wave of nausea crashing through her chest. Her vision blurred, the edges of the room turning a fuzzy, dark gray.

Clara, the ER nurse and Emaline's only friend, sprinted toward the glass doors of the trauma bay. Her scrubs were stained with Emaline's blood.

At the end of the sterile white corridor, a figure appeared.

Clayton.

He wore a custom black Tom Ford suit. The sharp, rhythmic click of his leather dress shoes against the marble floor cut through the chaotic noise of the ER. He walked with the slow, predatory grace of a man who owned the building, his face a mask of beautiful, terrifying indifference.

Clara threw open the glass doors and lunged toward him. She grabbed the sleeve of his expensive jacket.

"Mr. Caldwell, please! You have to do a blood match right now. Emaline is bleeding out. She won't survive the night without a transfusion!" Clara's voice cracked, tears spilling down her panicked face.

Clayton stopped. He did not look at Clara.

His cold, slate-gray eyes bypassed the nurse entirely. He stared straight through the glass doors, his gaze landing on Emaline's pale, bloodless face on the bed.

There was no shock in his eyes. No fear. Nothing but a chilling, empty void.

Emaline forced her heavy eyelids open. She turned her head, the friction of the rough pillowcase scraping against her cheek. She met his gaze through the glass. Her lips were cracked and dry. She parted them, her lungs burning as she silently mouthed two words.

Save me.

Leo, Clayton's executive assistant, stepped forward. He used his broad shoulders to physically block Clara from Clayton. Leo shoved a thick stack of legal documents into the nurse's chest, forcing her to step back.

Clayton slowly lifted his left arm. He glanced down at the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist. A small, irritated crease formed between his dark brows. He looked like a man annoyed by a delayed flight, not a husband watching his wife bleed to death.

"Are you out of your mind?" Clara screamed, shoving the documents back at Leo. "That is your legal wife on that table! Are you just going to stand there and watch her die?"

Clayton let out a low, dark chuckle. The sound carried through the open glass doors and hit Emaline's ears like physical blows.

"Her life or death is none of my concern," Clayton said. His voice was smooth, flat, and completely devoid of mercy.

The ER doctor rushed out of the