Chapter 1
"Evelyn, sign it," Michael said.
He pushed the papers toward me, not even bothering to look my way.
Lily sat beside him, wearing a Chanel jacket I could never afford, her legs crossed as she sipped her coffee, her smile gentle and perfectly composed.
"It's been three years, and you know my mom's never liked you," Michael said. "Lily's a PhD from Metropolitan University School of Medicine. We're a better match."
I stared at the papers.
I was walking away with nothing.
No compensation, no property split, not even a dollar for all the effort I put in these past three years taking care of his family.
"Evelyn, don't take this the wrong way," Lily said, setting down her coffee cup.
"With just a community college degree, you've already enjoyed everything you could after marrying into the Quinn family for three years. It's best for everyone if you just let it go now," she continued.
I looked up.
"Community college grad?" I repeated, feeling the sting.
"What, isn't that true?" Lily smiled. "Mrs. Quinn said you didn't even make it to a university."
I didn't say a word.
I picked up the pen and flipped to the last page.
My hand was steady as I signed.
"Good," Michael said, standing up. "You need to move out by the end of the month."
I closed the papers and slid them back across the table.
"Michael," I said.
"Yeah?" he replied.
"Did you even bother to check who's actually doing your grandfather's heart surgery next week?" I asked.
Michael frowned. "What's it to you? It's Dr. G, the best heart surgeon around. He's impossible to book unless Lily pulled some strings for us."
"Oh," I said.
I stood up and grabbed my bag.
"The surgery's been canceled," I said.
"What do you mean?" Michael asked.
I pushed open the café door without looking back.
"Dr. G won't be there," I said over my shoulder.
As the door swung shut behind me, I heard Lily scoff, "Is she out of her mind?"
I kept walking, never glancing back.
It had been three years.
Anyone here should be called crazy. I've spent all this time acting sane, putting on a show for people who never even treated me like a real person.
My phone buzzed. It was my assistant, Nina Lynn.
"Dr. Grant, The Lancet is chasing you for your paper on minimally invasive coronary repair. The deadline's next Monday," she said.
"Got it," I replied.
"Also, Mr. Shaw from Mercy Hospital wants you to give a guest lecture next Wednesday. You can pick the topic," she added.
"Tell them I won't be able to make it," I replied.
"And what about the one at Capital General Hospital?" she asked.
"Cancel everything. I'm taking a week off," I said.
Nina paused for a couple of seconds. "You finally did it?"
"Yeah," I replied.
"Congratulations," she said.
I hung up and stood on the curb, waiting for a cab.
The March wind was still biting, but for the first time in three years, I actually felt free.
Evelyn Grant, 32 years old, graduated from a vocational college.
That's all the Quinns knew about me.
What they didn't know was, I was Dr. G, one of the world's top heart surgeons.
I've published 47 SCI-indexed papers, invented the Minimally Invasive Coronary Revascularization technique, and there are less than five people worldwide who can actually pull it off.
Back then, I married into the Quinn family because it was my grandpa's dying wish.
He and Mr. Quinn were brothers-in-arms, and he wanted me to have someone to lean on.
I agreed.
The price? Three years of being invisible in the house, listening to my mother-in-law call me useless, and watching my husband flirt with other women.
Now, my debt is paid.
From here on out, I'll go my own way.
The taxi pulled up in front of me.
I got in and gave the driver an address.
I wasn't heading to the Quinns' place.
I was going to my own apartment.
Right in the heart of downtown, I owned the entire floor.
I never told the Quinns about it.
The elevator took me up to the 42nd floor, and I unlocked the door with my fingerprint.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city skyline stretched out before me.
I changed into something comfortable, poured myself a glass of red wine, and settled onto the couch.
My phone rang again.
It was Michael's mom, Catherine Quinn.
I hesitated for a second, then picked up.
"Evelyn! What do you mean telling Michael Dr. G isn't coming?" Catherine snapped.
"Catherine, we're divorced," I replied.
"So now that you're divorced, you don't care if your father-in-law lives or dies? You ungrateful brat! The Quinns took you in—"
"The Quinns didn't take me in," I cut in. "It was my grandpa's dying wish. Now that it's all over, we're going our separate ways."
"You!" Catherine sputtered.
"For Mr. Quinn's surgery, you should ask Lily White for help. Isn't she a PhD from Peking University Medical School? She must know plenty of experts," I said.
I hung up.
Blocked her.
The wine was good.
But the taste of freedom was even better.
Early the next morning, Nina texted me: [The Quinns are pulling every string they can to find Dr. G. They've already upped the surgery fee to 1.5 million dollars.]
I replied with a single word: [Oh.]
Nina asked: [So, what about you?]
I replied: [I'm on vacation. Not seeing anyone, no matter who comes.]
At ten in the morning, I headed out.
Today, I had one important thing to do: sign a contract with Harmony Health Group.
I owned a medical device company that specialized in minimally invasive surgical equipment, with annual revenue of 100 million dollars.
This partnership with Harmony Health Group would let me expand my business to top-tier hospitals all over the country.
The signing was at Harmony Health Group's headquarters.
I wore a simple black suit dress and pulled my hair back into a ponytail.
As I walked into the building, the receptionist stopped me.
"Hello, who are you here to see?" she asked.
"Mr. Goodman from Harmony Health Group," I replied.
The receptionist gave me a once-over. "Do you have an appointment?"
"Yes. Evelyn Grant," I said.
The receptionist flipped through the list, and her expression changed.
"You're Dr. Grant?" she asked.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Sorry, Mr. Goodman is already waiting for you upstairs. I'll let him know you're here," she said.
As she was about to make a call, the elevator doors slid open.