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 deafening metallic roar. The noise completely swallowed the sharp hiss of pain that escaped Aletha's lips.

Kristopher stood tall, glaring down at her.

"Are you incompetent, Dr. Ward? You can't even manage basic pressure on a patient?" he snapped, his voice lashing out like a whip.

A dull, radiating pain spread up Aletha's spine. She bit down hard on her back teeth and stared straight into her husband's cold, unforgiving eyes.

Dinah tugged gently on the cuff of Kristopher's bespoke suit.

"Kris, please don't be mad at the doctor. I'm sure she didn't mean to hurt me," Dinah whispered, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

Aletha lowered her eyelashes. She picked up an iodine swab from the tray.

"This is a standard disinfection procedure," Aletha stated flatly.

Ignoring the murderous glare Kristopher was shooting at the side of her head, she firmly grabbed Dinah's wrist again and quickly swabbed the scratch.

She slapped a piece of medical tape over the wound with efficient speed. She peeled off her gloves and tossed them perfectly into the red biohazard bin in the corner.

"If you ever handle her like that again, I will personally go to the board and have your medical license revoked," Kristopher warned, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Aletha kept her face completely blank. She signed the bottom of the chart, turned on her heel, and walked out of the room. She kept her spine perfectly straight.

The moment the heavy door clicked shut behind her, she turned the corner into the emergency stairwell.

Her legs gave out. She slumped against the freezing concrete wall.

Her hands shook violently. She couldn't stop them. Her mind was entirely consumed by the image of her husband offering another woman the ultimate, tender protection he had never once shown her.

Hours later, the clock struck 2 AM.

Aletha dragged her exhausted body out of the elevator and swiped her keycard to enter the pitch-black Manhattan penthouse.

She reached out and flicked on the wall sconce.

Before her eyes could adjust to the sudden light, a large figure lunged from the shadows. Kristopher grabbed her by the arms and slammed her back against the heavy oak door.

"Did you run to my grandfather and tell him about tonight?" he demanded, his breath hot and furious against her face.