Chapter 1When Alpha Dorian Cater's childhood sweetheart, Ella Scott, got pregnant with his child for the eighth time, she ended up on my operating table.
This time, I didn't spiral the way I had the seven times before. I stitched her up calmly and went over her aftercare.
After performing seven abortions for my mate's mistress, I'd become the hospital's favorite piece of break-room gossip and a walking punchline.
From the moment Dorian got Ella pregnant to the moment he forced me to operate on her, he always had a polished, reasonable-sounding excuse.
This time, with his eyes rimmed red, he grabbed my sleeve and said, "Maeve... Ella was drugged. I can't not help her."
Then he added, "Don't worry. I'll make sure she terminates the pregnancy. You're my mate. You're the only one I'll ever have pups with."
Even during the procedure, the nurses whispered about whether I'd do what I always did—whether I'd cave again after a few soft words and a little crying.
No one knew that Dorian and I had signed a prenup before the wedding. I gave Dorian eight chances to screw up, and he'd used every last one. Once the agreement took effect, his hundred-billion-dollar fortune transferred to me.
Like the seven times before, I carried the white medical transport case down the hall to their room. The moment Dorian saw me, he pushed the door open and hurried out. He didn't bother hiding the urgency in his voice when he asked, "Maeve, did you get the cord blood?"
It was the only thing he ever asked after he sat through her procedure. Ella had an inherited blood disorder. He claimed it was for my sake, that he was thinking ahead for our future. The truth was simple: he wanted cord blood from an unborn fetus, so Ella would always have a supply on hand.
I didn't answer. I just set the case where he'd insisted it go.
Before Ella's eighth abortion, Dorian and I had had a child, too. Back then, to see if our baby might be a match for Ella, he forced me to end the pregnancy at three months. He did it for a chance so small it was almost nonexistent.
When I found out why, we had a blowout fight. In the middle of it, I ran out of the house and got into a car accident that nearly ruined my right hand. It took almost three years of brutal rehab before I could stand at an operating table again.
He held me then, shaking as he cried, and swore through his sobs, "Maeve, never again. We'll have our own pup. I promise."
I believed him. In the end, I'd been the fool.
When I stayed silent, impatience flashed in his eyes. A nurse, reading the room, rushed to smooth things over and said, "Alpha, don't worry. Dr. Lewis already took care of everything you asked for."
Only then did his shoulders loosen, relief flickering across his face.
I'd done surgery after surgery until I was running on fumes. I didn't want to keep acting out this farce with him, so I turned to leave.
He called after me, and his eyes reddened in an instant.
"I'm sorry, Maeve," he said. "I swear this is the last time. Once Ella's feeling steadier, we'll have a pup right away, okay?"
I stopped. Did he really think we could have a pup? After years of him and Ella being reckless and shameless, his last checkup showed damage to his vas deferens. If I hadn't fought to treat him all these years, he never would have been able to father a child again.
That was when the door slammed open with a bang. Ella stormed in, her face flushed, and swung at me with an open hand.
"You bitch! Do you even know whose pup I was carrying? How could you be so cruel and do this procedure to me? How many times has it been now? Do you have any idea what kind of sins you're racking up?"
I adjusted my glasses after the hit knocked them crooked, and I lifted my hand too. Before I could strike back, a dull, brutal pain exploded in the back of my head.
When I turned, Dorian had already snatched the bedside water cup and smashed it into the back of my head. Warm blood spilled down the back of my neck.
He threw his arms out and locked Ella behind him like he was shielding someone precious.
"That's enough," he snapped. "Maeve Lewis, how long are you going to keep this up? Why would you hit Ella? You know she has an underlying condition, and getting worked up makes it worse. Do you have any medical ethics at all? You're assaulting a patient. Do you even deserve to be a doctor?"
The accusations came down like hail. I pressed my palm to the bleeding spot, my eyes burning. But what hurt more was the way my heart felt torn open all over again.
I forced the words out, one by one. "She hit me first."
He shot back even more righteously. "So what if she hit you? Do you know how much blood she lost on that table? Do you know the look on her face when she woke up and realized her pregnancy was gone? You ruined her whole life."
I remembered every time, though. Every time, he had been the one on his knees in front of me, begging me to do the procedure.
Looking at the righteous set of his face, I suddenly couldn't summon the energy to argue. He'd pulled this same reversal too many times.
Blood kept dripping through my fingers, and the nurse beside me went white. She hurried a wheelchair over and said, "Dr. Lewis, you're badly hurt. Let me take you to get that bandaged."
As I moved to sit, Ella let out a soft whimper. She sagged into Dorian's arms. In the same instant the wheelchair arrived, Dorian grabbed it and shoved it in front of Ella.
"Ella, sit down. I'm taking you to see a doctor."
The nurse tried to stop him, her face tight with helplessness. "Alpha, this wheelchair was brought over for Dr. Lewis. You can't just—"
Dorian Cater flicked his eyes over me like he was doing me a favor, then snapped at the nurse. "Are you blind? Who's the patient here? She's a doctor, what could possibly be wrong with her? Keep blocking me and I'll file a complaint that your hospital plays favorites based on rank, lets people die, and steals resources from patients."
Watching the way he guarded Ella Scott so tightly, I couldn't even remember the last time he'd protected me like that. The air went iron-cold.
Dorian shoved the wheelchair away like he owned the place. The young nurse looked at me, pleading, and I said flatly, "It's fine. I'm not dying yet."
Chapter 2
Not long after my wound was treated, Dorian had someone deliver a package. A sticky note was clipped to it, written in his own hand.
[Sorry, Maeve. Ella just lost the pup, and she's not in a good place emotionally. Try to be the bigger person. Besides, I only agreed to end this pregnancy for you.]
[Ella isn't feeling well, so I'm staying with her. I'll be back later.]
I opened the takeout container. Inside was a bowl of seafood chowder. A bitter smile tugged at my mouth because he'd actually forgotten I was allergic to shellfish.
I still remembered the one time I accidentally ate shrimp and broke out in hives, my breathing turning ragged until I was almost choking. He'd been frantic then, eyes red as he rushed me to the ER in the middle of the night. He even dropped to his knees in front of the doctor and cried like a kid.
It had only been a few years. Ever since Ella came back to the States, everything had changed.
I went back to the cold, empty house and started sorting through the things we used to share. I reread the love letters he wrote me back then, each page still feeling like it burned with devotion. My heart trembled so hard I could barely keep the letters steady.
I told myself that if he came home tonight and apologized for real, I didn't have to be so ruthless. Breaking the mate bond would be enough, because it wasn't like I couldn't support myself.
I waited in the living room all night. He never came home.
The next morning, I opened Instagram and saw Ella's newest post. It was a nine-photo grid, centered on a brand-new Louis Vuitton bag.
The caption read: [From my sweetest Alpha Dorian. He said it's to make up for me losing the pup we made together. Since he's being so sincere, I'll forgive him.]
In the photo, she and Dorian pressed their cheeks together, smiling so brightly it hurt to look.
The comments section blew up. Some mutual friends recognized Dorian and tore into Ella, calling her a homewrecker. Then an account with a profile photo that was obviously Dorian's replied, [She's not a homewrecker. The one he doesn't love is the homewrecker. If you keep running your mouth, I won't hesitate to call the cops.]
He hadn't come home all night. And that finally put out the last little ember of warmth I had left.
Calmly, I finished my resignation letter and headed for the hospital. I'd barely reached the entrance when I ran into Dorian, his face flushed as he marched straight at me.
He didn't even notice the bandage on the back of my head before he demanded, "Did you have someone post that update yesterday? Because of your little stunt, everyone's tearing into Ella. I want you to apologize to her right now."
He shoved his phone in my face, showing a post drowning in hateful comments. I stared at him and felt nothing but disbelief.
That bragging post was Ella's, something she'd uploaded herself for attention and engagement. Now that it sparked outrage, somehow it was my fault.
It had happened before, too. A coworker once tried to stand up for me, and Dorian started showing up at the hospital every day to cause a scene. He screamed insults in public like a maniac, and he even started nasty sexual rumors about that coworker and wrecked her marriage. After that, no one dared to speak for me again.
Who would want to get dragged into this now?
I gave a small, self-mocking smile and said, "You should go ask her yourself. After all, who else could log into her account?"
Something in him seemed to click, and he paused. He took a few steps away, then turned back and caught up to me.
"You're still mad," he said. "Is it because I didn't come home last night?"
I didn't answer. His voice softened into that familiar, coaxing cadence. "I was afraid I'd wake you up, so I crashed somewhere else for the night. Don't get the wrong idea. You work so hard. If I come in late, you never sleep well and it kills me."
The first time he ever said that, I'd been moved beyond words. But after the night I found out what "afraid to wake me" really meant, all those words turned into bitter irony. He'd been at Ella's father's bedside, staying up through the night so Ella wouldn't get tired. He'd rather wear himself down and take the night shift again and again, just so she wouldn't have to.
After a long silence, he finally noticed the bandage near my hairline. His eyes flickered, and he started to speak. Then his phone shrieked from his pocket.
He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting. "Ella? Don't panic. I'm coming right now."
He didn't even finish a full sentence to me. He just clenched the phone and hurried off.
For a moment, I thought he actually believed me. But not long after he left, Ella posted again. The caption read: [Thank you to Alpha for the new house. He told me not to waste my breath on petty, small-minded people, so I'll be good and listen.]
I opened her profile, unfollowed her, and blocked her.
Chapter 3
The next day, while I was packing, my department head called out of nowhere. When I got to the hospital, the hallway outside the office was already packed.
Before I could even process what was happening, things came flying at me. Then someone lifted a bottle of acid and tried to splash it on me. I twisted away, but the liquid still splashed across the back of my hand, and a searing pain ripped through my skin.
"You quack!" someone screamed through sobs. "My child took your medicine and ended up in the ICU. Give me my child back!"
The wailing filled the corridor. My head rang. I'd been meticulous for years and had never made a mistake like that. How could a child end up in the ICU because I prescribed the wrong medication?
Forcing down the panic and the pain, I pulled up the security footage. On the screen, Ella swapped out the medication. Cold spread through my body.
I went straight for her room. Dorian was sitting beside her bed, feeding her oatmeal with gentle, careful motions.
"Ella Scott!"
Dorian shot to his feet and stepped in front of her. "What are you doing?" He stood there in a protective stance, like he expected me to attack her.
From start to finish, he never once looked at me closely enough to notice I was injured.
I shoved my phone in front of him, fighting to keep my voice steady. He glanced at the video, and his face went flat.
"Ella didn't do it on purpose," he said coldly. "She probably grabbed the wrong bottle by accident."
Then he added, "You're the doctor. The responsibility ultimately falls on you, so consider this a lesson. No one died. If anything, you should be thanking Ella."
Anyone with eyes could see it was sabotage. He still lied for her without blinking.
"Fine." I said. "Let's let the cops decide."
The second the word "cops" left my mouth, Ella dropped to her knees in front of me, tears streaming down her face.
"Luna, I swear I didn't mean it," she cried. "The bottles look alike and I got them mixed up. Please don't call the police."
Dorian hauled her up immediately and glared at me.
"Maeve Lewis, do you really have to be this petty?" he snapped. "If you report her, report me too. I told her to go get the meds."
He tightened his grip around her shoulders and said, "Hospitals mix up medicine all the time. If you push this, it becomes something else entirely. Are you trying to drive her to death?"
As he spoke, he snatched the bottle from my hand. He raised it high, his expression set with an all-or-nothing kind of resolve.
"You said the kid ended up in the ICU because of this?" he barked. "Then I'll destroy it. No evidence means you can't trace anything back to her. Let's see how you investigate."
My pupils constricted. "Don't."
That bottle wasn't only evidence. It also contained the medication I'd been compounding to treat his azoospermia. The formula was hard to replicate, and if he destroyed it, he'd never father a pup again. He wouldn't just be infertile. He'd end his bloodline.
But he brought his arm down without a second of hesitation. The bottle shattered with a loud crash. The bottle broke into pieces. Pills scattered across the floor.
He lifted his foot and ground them into the tile until they turned into dirty powder.
In that moment, it felt like my heart was crushed right along with them. When I looked at him again, he was holding Ella tightly, as if nothing else existed.
All the heat in me drained away at once. I inhaled slowly, and my voice came out frighteningly calm.
"Fine, Dorian Cater. I hope you don't regret it."
