Chapter 2

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Damian's voice cut through the sterile air, his face bone white with shock. His eyes stared at Amelia as if seeing a ghost.

"Damian, please keep your voice down," Amelia said quietly, glancing toward Sophia's pale form. "You'll upset the patient."

"Don't tell me what to do!" His voice rose, confusion and anger bleeding together. "I want to know what you're doing here. Are you following me? Spying on me?"

Sophia struggled to sit up, her green eyes darting between them with growing alarm.

"She's your wife? Your wife works here?"

Dr. Peterson cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Mr. Wright, perhaps we should discuss this outside—"

"No." Damian's jaw was rigid with fury. "I want answers now. What is she doing here? Is she some kind of nurse? An orderly?"

The insult hung in the air like poison.

Several medical staff members shifted uncomfortably, and Dr. Peterson's face flushed with indignation.

"Mr. Wright, she's—" Dr. Peterson began, but stopped abruptly when Amelia's eyes met his.

That single glance carried a weight of authority that made him swallow his words immediately.

"I work here," Amelia said simply, adjusting her stethoscope with practiced ease.

"Doing what exactly?" Damian pressed, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Sarah stepped forward carefully. "Mrs. Wright is... the Gifted Doctor's most trusted associate. He depends on her judgment completely."

The way Sarah chose her words, the careful neutrality in her tone—it was clear she was walking a tightrope, revealing nothing while saying everything.

Damian's eyes narrowed. "Associate? What does that even mean?"

"It means," Dr. Peterson added, reading Amelia's subtle cue, "that the Gifted Doctor won't make any major decisions without consulting her first. She evaluates every case before he agrees to operate."

"She evaluates cases?" Damian's voice climbed dangerously. "SHE... evaluates cases for the country's most renowned surgeon?"

The deference of the medical staff, the way they waited for Amelia's silent approval before speaking—it painted a picture that didn't match anything he thought he knew about his wife.

Amelia moved around Sophia's bed with clinical precision, checking monitors and reviewing charts with movements that spoke of years of experience.

"Ms. Martinez," she said after a long moment, her voice professional but final, "after reviewing your case and current condition, I'm afraid I cannot recommend you for surgery with the Gifted Doctor."

The room went dead silent.

"What?" Sophia's voice was barely a whisper.

"Your condition, while serious, doesn't meet the criteria for the Gifted Doctor's intervention. There are other qualified surgeons who can handle your case."

Damian exploded. "Are you out of your mind? This is Sophia's life we're talking about!"

"And the Gifted Doctor's time is reserved for cases that truly require his unique expertise," Amelia replied calmly, making notes on Sophia's chart. "This doesn't qualify."

"You can't be serious," Damian snarled, stepping closer. "You're letting your personal feelings—"

"My decision is based purely on medical assessment," Amelia interrupted, her voice ice-cold. "The Gifted Doctor trusts my judgment completely. If I say a case isn't worthy of his time, it isn't."

The absolute authority in her voice, the way the medical staff nodded in agreement—Damian felt the ground shifting beneath his feet.

"This is insane," he said, his voice shaking with rage. "You don't have the right to make this decision. I want to speak to him directly."

"That won't be possible," Amelia replied, closing the chart with finality. "The Gifted Doctor doesn't overturn my recommendations."

"Your recommendations?" Damian's voice rose to a shout. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm someone who knows the value of the Gifted Doctor's time," she said quietly. "Unlike others who waste it on cases that don't deserve his attention."

Sophia began crying, her heart monitor beeping erratically. "Please, I'll die without his help!"

"You'll receive excellent care from Dr. Peterson," Amelia said without emotion. "He's perfectly capable of handling your procedure."

Damian grabbed her arm. "We need to talk. Now. Outside."

Amelia looked down at his hand on her arm, then up at his face with an expression that could freeze hell.

"I'm afraid you no longer have the standing to make demands of me, Mr. Wright."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She reached into her coat and pulled out a thick document, holding it up so he could see his signature at the bottom of multiple pages.

"It means that among the papers you signed so eagerly an hour ago—without reading, of course—was a divorce decree. Witnessed, notarized, and completely legal."

The words hit him like a physical blow. "What?"

"Congratulations," she said, her voice deadly calm. "You're officially a free man. Your desperation to save your lover just freed you from your marriage."

Damian stared at the papers, his face cycling through shock, disbelief, and mounting rage. "You conniving—"

"Shhh," Amelia interrupted softly. "It's all over. Congratulations on our freedom."

As the door closed behind her, Damian stood frozen, divorce papers crumpled in his shaking fists.