Chapter 1

"These hands of yours have touched so many men. They're filthy."

As my husband spoke, he crushed my hand under his expensive leather shoe.

He tossed me, once a famous surgeon, into an iron cage like I was nothing but a dog.

I didn't fight back. I just looked at him.

Then his phone rang. On the other end, a desperate voice screamed, "Mr. Arthur! Your father's in critical condition! His heart was pierced by glass, only Eileen can operate!"

Morgan finally lost it. He fell to his knees in front of the cage, voice trembling. "Please, I'm begging you. Save my dad."

*****

Crack!

The sound of bones breaking rang out in the empty villa, sharp and unmistakable.

These were the hands that kept me alive, the ones everyone called "miraculous."

Now, my beloved husband Morgan Arthur was crushing them inch by inch with his expensive leather shoes, grinding them into the cold marble floor.

The agony spread from my fingertips to every corner of my body, like countless red-hot needles twisting deep in my bones.

My back was instantly drenched in cold sweat, but not a single cry escaped me. I stayed silent.

I just lifted my head, staring at him, handsome, impeccably dressed, but right now, he was nothing but a devil in disguise.

"These hands of yours have touched countless men's chests, split them open. They're filthy," Morgan said, his voice low and twisted with sick satisfaction.

The force under his foot grew even stronger, making my bones twist and crack.

I could feel my fingers warping and dislocating beneath his shoe, the sound making my teeth ache.

He loomed over me, his face a mask of madness and savagery I couldn't even recognize.

He spat, "Eileen, I warned you. You're mine. Every inch of you belongs to me.

"I hate seeing you in that white coat. I hate watching you hold a scalpel. And I especially hate the way you get so absorbed in other men!

"Look at you now. Your hands are ruined. You can never touch those filthy bodies again. Isn't that just what I wanted?"

With that, he finally lifted his foot.

Then, like I was nothing but trash, he yanked me up and dragged me toward the massive iron cage in the center of the living room, a cage built just for me.

With a loud bang, the cage door slammed shut, locking me inside.

He tossed me, the youngest chief of cardiothoracic surgery in the country, the famous "miraculous surgeon", into the cage like a pet stripped of all dignity.

I curled up against the cold iron bars, my shattered hands hanging limp. Blood dripped from my fingertips, spreading into vivid red stains across the floor.

I didn't struggle. I didn't cry out. I just stared at him with a cold, unflinching gaze through the bars.

I watched as he admired his handiwork with sick satisfaction, then pulled out a pristine white handkerchief and slowly wiped the shoes that had crushed my dreams.

In that moment, my heart hurt more than my ruined hands ever could.

Once, I was so naive. I really thought I had married for love.

Morgan, the CEO of Arthur Group, the golden boy, fell for me at first sight and pursued me with relentless passion.

He was handsome, rich, and romantic, everything I ever dreamed of in a lover.

But after we got married, I realized that behind all that passion was a smothering possessiveness and control.

He forbade me from interacting with any men outside of work, even if they were my patients.

He'd lose his temper if I spent the night at the hospital for an emergency surgery, and he'd get insanely jealous over a perfectly normal photo of me and Gavin Whittier at a medical conference.

To him, I wasn't a top surgeon with my own identity and ambitions. I was something to be kept spotless and locked away like a prized possession.

Today, his childhood friend Olivia Ivan showed up with a handful of photos taken from tricky angles, dramatically sobbing to me, claiming she saw me "acting too close" with a male patient's family member.

It was just a family member, desperate and emotional, grabbing my arm and begging me to save his father.

But to Morgan, that was an unforgivable betrayal.

That was when he snapped.

With his own hands, he shattered everything I ever took pride in.

I looked at him, the man I once loved, and felt nothing but cold emptiness inside.

There was no love.

Only hatred remained, cold and sharp as a blade.

Just then, a shrill ringtone pierced the oppressive silence.

It was Morgan's private phone.

He picked up, frowning, his tone sharp. "What is it?"

In the next instant, his cruel satisfaction vanished, his face going rigid.

His assistant's gut-wrenching scream blasted through the phone, so loud it echoed through the room, reaching me even inside the cage.