After My Husband Killed His Father For My Fortune

I stormed through the hospital corridors, my heels clicking against the polished floor like a ticking bomb. The iPad felt heavy in my hand, its screen still glowing with their betrayal. My entire body trembled with rage, but I forced myself to move faster.

The on-call room door was ajar. I didn't bother knocking.

Theodore had Halle pressed against the wall, his mouth on hers, her leg wrapped around his waist. Their bodies froze when I slammed the door open.

"You forgot something," I said, my voice eerily calm as I hurled the iPad at Theodore's head.

He caught it with practiced ease, his eyes narrowing as he saw the unlocked screen. Halle's face drained of color.

"Avery—" she started, but I cut her off.

"Save it," I hissed, my voice shaking now. "I've seen everything."

Theodore's expression shifted from surprise to something colder, more calculated. He set the iPad down on the counter and straightened his tie.

"Well," he said, his voice dripping with disdain, "now you know."

"You killed him," I whispered, tears burning behind my eyes. "You let him die."

"He was just an old man," Theodore replied with a shrug. "And honestly, I'm glad he's gone. Now I can finally cash in on the Clark estate."

I stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

"Oh, come on, Avery." His laugh was sharp and cruel. "Did you really think I married you for love? Your family's money paid for my education, my career, this hospital position. Now that your father's dead, I inherit everything."

Halle giggled from behind him, her hand trailing down his chest. "Told you she'd be devastated."

Something broke inside me then—not my heart, but the chains that had kept me bound to this monster. I yanked my wedding ring off and threw it into the biohazard bin.

"You have no idea what you've done," I said quietly, my voice steady now. "No idea at all."

---

The next morning, I returned to the hospital early. The morgue attendant looked confused when I asked about Mr. Martin's body.

"Gone?" I repeated, my stomach sinking. "What do you mean gone?"

"Dr. Martin signed the release papers last night," he explained, checking his clipboard. "Said he was handling the arrangements personally."

My blood ran cold. I knew exactly where Theodore would be.

The teaching theater was on the fourth floor, its doors usually closed to all but medical students and staff. Today, though, I could hear voices from inside—Theodore's clinical tone and Halle's high-pitched laugh.

I pushed the door open.

The scene before me was worse than anything I could have imagined. Theodore stood behind a dissecting table, a group of wide-eyed students gathered around him. On the table lay Mr. Martin's body, his chest cavity open and exposed.

"We're demonstrating the pathology of failure," Theodore explained to the students, his voice detached as he pointed to the heart. "Note the extensive damage to the myocardial tissue."

Halle stood beside him, giggling as she held a surgical saw. "Like butter," she said, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight.

I couldn't breathe. The room spun around me as I watched them mutilate the body of the man who had been more father to me than Theodore ever was.

"Theodore," I choked out, my voice barely audible.

He looked up, annoyed at the interruption. "Not now, Avery. Can't you see we're in the middle of something?"

I turned and vomited in the corner, my body rejecting the horror before me.

---

Three days later, an email went out to the entire hospital staff. Theodore had organized a "Celebration of Life" party on the hospital roof.

"In honor of Arthur Clark," the invitation read, "beloved father of Avery Martin, we invite you to join us for a celebration of his life and legacy."

I read it in my office, my hands shaking with fury. He was already positioning himself as the grieving son-in-law, master of the Clark fortune.

The final paragraph made my blood boil: "As a special tribute, we will be releasing fireworks created from Arthur's cremated remains, ensuring his memory lights up the Seattle sky forever."

He had cremated Mr. Martin without permission. Without even notifying me.

---

Halle's TikTok video appeared that afternoon. She danced in the morgue, her scrubs unbuttoned one button too many, a hand resting on Theodore's shoulder as he watched from behind the camera.

"Out with the old, in with the bold #DoctorBae #NewChapter," the caption read. She had tagged me.

The video had already gotten thousands of views by the time I saw it.

With trembling fingers, I forwarded the link to Marcus Williams, my family's attorney, along with screenshots of Theodore and Halle's texts.

"File this with everything else," I wrote. "And send copies to the hospital board."

Marcus's reply came almost instantly: "Are you ready for what comes next?"

I looked at the video again—Halle's smug smile, Theodore's possessive hand on her waist—and felt something cold settle in my chest.

"Yes," I typed back. "I'm ready."