Chapter 2

“There’s an emergency, high-stakes surgery in Ocean City, next door. Serena isn’t feeling well, but this patient is extremely important. You need to handle it.”

Dylan, with a pale-faced Serena wrapped in his arms, spoke to me in a commanding tone.

I was lying in my hospital bed, an IV drip still in my arm, and the incision from my C-section throbbed with a dull pain, a constant reminder that I was still in my postpartum recovery period and barely able to move.

“I just had a complicated birth half a month ago. I’m still recovering, and my stitches are still bleeding. I can’t…”

Dylan’s brows furrowed in anger. He slammed his hand on the table, pointing at me and snapping.

“You’re just jealous of Serena, that’s why you don’t want to help her. These are all excuses! And if you hadn’t been so disobedient during your pregnancy, you wouldn’t have lost the baby!”

“Stop being so difficult! This is a work requirement! It’s an emergency! Serena is genuinely unwell, and for the patient’s sake, you *must* go! That’s an order!”

Serena, nestled in Dylan’s arms, looked at me with a taunting, mocking smile.

Just then, a SnapChat message popped up from Maya, Serena’s assistant.

“Bring everything needed for the surgery. I expect to see you in thirty minutes.”

Maya’s demanding tone made my brows furrow. A wave of desolation and sorrow washed over me.

Maya used to be *my* assistant. She’d been with me since she graduated. I’d done everything I could to help her, both in her work and personal life. I thought we were like sisters.

But it turned out she was just trying to curry favor with Dylan.

When Serena was suddenly appointed to our department, Maya volunteered to be her assistant. Dylan’s changing attitude towards me also made Maya and everyone else in the department lose respect for me, even brazenly bossing me around.

Dylan had unilaterally given Serena my clinical thesis, which I’d spent three years researching. Furious, I confronted him about it.

Dylan just shrugged, utterly nonchalant.

“Chloe, you got what you wanted – you married me, and you became Head of Department because of me. You’re thriving both professionally and personally, while Serena has nothing. What’s the big deal about giving her your paper? Can’t you just be compliant for once?”

I couldn't accept that three years of my blood, sweat, and tears were just given away. I contacted the publisher, demanding a change of author. But when Dylan found out, he took all my research notes, making it look like I had plagiarized.

It became a blemish on my academic record, leading to my suspension from the hospital and the scorn of everyone.

I frantically confronted Dylan, but he threatened me with divorce if I didn’t admit to it.

Such incidents happened countless times between Dylan and me. At first, I would break down in agony, questioning if I truly was as selfish and petty as Dylan claimed. But now, my heart was numb with pain.

Driven by my professional duty, the instinct to save a life, I gritted my teeth and carried on.

Every bump during the flight was torture. Cold sweat soaked my clothes, and I had to secretly take strong painkillers.

The surgery lasted eight grueling hours. My legs were trembling, and the gauze on my abdomen was already soaked crimson with seeping blood.

When the last stitch was done, and I saw the patient’s vital signs stabilize, my vision went black, and I was caught by a nurse from Ocean City Hospital.

She looked at my pale, haggard face and said indignantly, “Dr. Chloe, you’re too dedicated. You’re in this state, why isn't your husband stopping you from working?”

Right. My husband not only didn't stop me but commanded me to leave my hospital bed and risk my life for Serena’s sake.

Thinking of this, my heart felt like it was pierced by an ice pick, hurting even more than the surgical wound on my abdomen.

But I’d grown used to such things ever since Serena returned from abroad.

At first, I thought it was just Dylan caring for a junior colleague. But after seeing his inappropriate actions with Serena, I knew their relationship was far from simple.

Whether it was my prenatal check-ups or my difficult labor, Serena would call Dylan away from me, even if she just had a minor bump or bruise.

I cried frantically, asking Dylan why, but he just told me impatiently that Serena had taken the blame for a failed surgery for him back in college.

Dylan would always watch me break down with cold eyes, then console me by saying, “My relationship with Serena is strictly professional. She’s struggling with her mental health right now, so of course, I need to take care of her. Besides, I just want you to be more compliant.”

And after I cried countless times, Dylan stopped explaining or comforting. Instead, he would yell at me, “You’re insane! You really need to go see a therapist! Can’t you just be compliant for once?”

Ten years of a relationship had amounted to him ignoring my breakdowns and driving me to the brink of madness.

It wasn't until Serena repeatedly sent me intimate photos of them, trying to provoke me and force me away, that the truth finally hit me.

It was time for Dylan and me to end this.