Chapter 1
That was when it hit him. That day, Evelyn's coronary heart disease had suddenly gotten worse; she went into severe heart failure and then ventricular fibrillation.
The head of cardiology said she needed a coronary artery bypass surgery, and it had to be done right away.
I was standing in the hallway outside the ICU, hands shaking as I called Alex, who was thousands of miles away.
He was the youngest chief cardiothoracic surgeon in the country.
He was also the only one who could actually pull off a surgery like that.
Alex picked up right away and, without a second thought, booked the next available flight.
But just as he was about to board, he texted me: [Sorry, something urgent came up with a patient. I have to stay. I won't make it back.]
I was huddled on the floor outside the ICU, desperately texting him, one after another.
The alarm from the heart monitor kept going off, again and again.
After my 99th desperate message, he finally replied, just two words: [It's handled.]
I waited for what felt like forever.
But instead, it was Emily Linwood, his junior, wearing high heels, carrying a strawberry cake he'd baked for her, and posting a bright update on her feed.
Emily: [Had a little accident today, but Alex didn't even get mad at me. He even baked me a cake himself!]
The photo was of Alex's hands.
Those were the hands I believed would come rushing to save my grandmother, hands I trusted, only to realize I was wrong.
It hit me then that his so-called "emergency patient" was nothing but Emily throwing a fit, and he dropped everything for her.
When I was drowning in despair, he abandoned me and chose to soothe another woman instead.
The moment Evelyn's heart monitor went flat, it felt like every drop of blood had been drained from my body.
The head of cardiology took off his mask, sweat pouring down his face. "Charlotte, we did everything we could. I'm sorry for your loss."
Everyone around me looked at me with sympathy, regret, and helplessness.
Everyone knew the only person who could have saved Evelyn was Alex, but while I was losing my grandmother, he was making a cake for Emily.
I sat in the ICU all night, holding Evelyn's hand as it grew colder and colder.
When dawn broke, the assistant I sent to Rivergate to look for Alex finally came back.
He was alone.
He stood at the door with his head lowered, his voice trembling. "Ms. Sinclair, Mr. Lane refused to come."
My fingers clenched into fists. "Why?"
"Ms. Linwood was making a scene, complaining that you take up all his time and she feels left out.
"She hurt her ankle a couple days ago and hasn't stopped crying since. Mr. Lane's been by her side the whole time."
All that, just for a twisted ankle.
I nearly burst out laughing.
My grandmother, founder of the Sinclair Group, who built everything from scratch over fifty years, weathered financial storms and industry downturns, and battled dozens of health issues, was fighting for her life.
And my husband, Alex, left her to die because his precious junior twisted her ankle.
.
Wasn't that just a joke?
After 99 desperate messages, he finally replied.
With trembling hands, I opened it. On the screen was a message from Alex—clean and detached, as if nothing ever happened, always so proper and distant.
Alex: "Emmy's fine now. I'll be home tomorrow. Don't overthink it."
Don't overthink it.
Easy for you to say.
I stared at my phone, then looked down at Evelyn's tightly shut eyes.
A bitter laugh escaped me.
I was sorry I let my grandma down. I couldn't get him here for her.
But I swear, starting today, I was going to strip Alex of everything: his reputation, his status, everything he treasures. He'll pay for what he did.