Sir, She's Gone With Their Daughter And Never Returns

My four-year-old daughter was dying of leukemia, waiting desperately for a bone marrow transplant. I begged my billionaire husband to just call the registry or visit her, but he claimed he was too busy with board meetings to care. Until the hospital informed me that my daughter's life-saving bone marrow had been suddenly reallocated to another patient. When I walked down the VIP hallway, I found my husband. He wasn't at a board meeting. He was gently peeling an apple, playing the loving father to his widowed mistress's daughter. When my pale, sick daughter called out for him, he instinctively stepped back in disgust. I later discovered the mistress had bribed the hospital to swap the registry numbers, stealing my daughter's marrow for her own child. When I demanded a divorce, my husband laughed in my face. "You haven't worked a day in four years. You're a purchased asset. You don't get to walk away." He threatened to freeze my accounts, assuming I would be starving on the streets and begging to come back. His family and the mistress publicly mocked my background, waiting for me to be utterly humiliated. They thought I was just a useless, penniless housewife who relied entirely on his last name to survive. They didn't know I never needed a single cent of his money. I packed my bags, took my daughter, and made a single phone call. Three days later, at his family's elite banquet, my husband waited to see me beg. Instead, the most powerful corporate magnate in North America walked right past him, bowed to me at a perfect ninety-degree angle, and spoke. "Welcome back to the throne, Madam."

Billionaires Cold love Divorce Arrogant Drama Hidden Identities Billionaire

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Elisa pushed through the swinging double doors of the ER.

The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A gurney loaded with a screaming, blood-covered drunk barreled toward her. She stepped sideways, her back hitting the cold plaster wall to let them pass.

The head nurse shot her a desperate look across the chaotic room. Elisa didn't hesitate. She immediately snapped on a pair of blue latex gloves and rushed into the trauma bay to assist. In the split second the attending physician was tied up with another critical arrival, she read the monitor's data and calmly issued a series of crucial, protocol-based preliminary instructions to the other nurses, stabilizing the patient's vitals.

The drunk patient thrashed wildly. A heavy fist swung toward her face. Elisa ducked, the air rushing past her ear, and used his momentum to strap his thick arm down with a heavy-duty restraint.

The heart monitor shrieked a high-pitched warning.

Elisa kept her breathing steady. She pushed a heavy dose of sedative through his IV line. The erratic lines on the screen smoothed out. The man's head lolled to the side.

Before she could exhale, the heavy VIP double doors at the far end of the hall crashed open.

The sound was violent enough to silence the entire emergency room.

August Chambers stormed into the bright lights. His custom Tom Ford suit was wrinkled. His tie was gone. In his arms, he carried a woman. Her face was completely hidden beneath his expensive trench coat.

Elisa's stomach dropped. A cold, heavy stone settled right behind her navel.

She stared at the custom platinum cufflinks glinting under the lights. She bought him those for their third anniversary. Her feet cemented to the linoleum floor.

"I need this entire floor cleared! Now!" August roared.

His voice vibrated off the walls. The on-call doctors froze, intimidated by the sheer wealth and power radiating from him. No one moved.

Elisa pressed two fingers against the pulse point on her wrist. Her heart hammered against her skin. She grabbed a plastic triage clipboard, forcing her legs to walk forward.

She stopped two feet away from her husband. Her face was a blank mask.

"Patient's name and symptoms," Elisa said, her voice entirely devoid of emotion.

August's head snapped up. He recognized the eyes above the surgical mask. Panic flashed in his dark pupils. His hands instinctively tightened around the woman in his arms, pulling her closer to his chest.

A soft, breathy whimper escaped from beneath the trench coat.

Elisa's lungs stopped working. She knew that sound. It was Allena. His cousin's fiancée.

Elisa's eyes dropped to the hem of Allena's skirt hanging over August's arm. Dark, wet blood stained the expensive fabric. Her medical instincts overrode the crushing weight in her chest.

"I need to remove the coat to assess the bleeding," Elisa said, reaching out.

August violently shoved her hand away.

"Shut your mouth and get a private trauma room ready!" he snarled, his jaw locked.

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