Taming The Sinner: The Doctor’s Cold Game

I stood before the double doors of the master suite, my hand hovering inches from the polished brass. As a surgeon, I was trained to steady my heart before a cut, but the silence in the Alexander estate felt like the heavy, oppressive pause that always preceded a scream. I pushed the mahogany door open to find my fiancé, Authur, tangled in Egyptian cotton sheets with a woman named Jasmine. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and a floral perfume that wasn't mine—a brutal reality check just twenty-four hours before the merger meant to save my family from total ruin. Authur didn't look guilty; he looked amused, coldly telling me to close the door because I was letting in a draft. When his parents unexpectedly arrived, I was forced to hide his mistress and pretend our "intensity" had ruined the room, donning his discarded shirt to look disheveled just to protect the Lawrence family stock price. The humiliation only deepened on our wedding morning when Authur issued a sadistic ultimatum over the phone. "Wear your scrubs to the altar—the ones covered in blood—or I'll watch your father's company go belly up by lunch." He wanted to turn our wedding at St. Patrick’s Cathedral into a public execution of my dignity. I walked down the aisle in shapeless navy cotton and crimson stains, enduring the horrified gasps of the elite who labeled me an "insane gold digger." Authur stood at the altar, reeking of whiskey and malice, certain he had finally broken me and turned my professional oath into a circus act. But as the priest began the vows, I looked at the man who thought he owned me and realized I wasn't his victim—I was his surgeon. I had the footage of his debauchery ready to play for the world, and as we shared a punishing, hateful kiss for the cameras, I knew the real war had only just begun.

Chapters

Chapter 9

The silence in the penthouse was deafening. Authur stood by the fireplace, pouring himself a drink-real whiskey this time.

"So," he said, his back to her. "We're married. But you don't want me to touch you. You just want my money and my name."

Helena leaned against the wall, her heart rate slowly returning to normal. She needed to deflect. She couldn't let him know about the trauma. He would use it against her.

"I want security," she said coldly. "And yes, I want the Alexander fortune secure."

She took a step forward, forcing her face into a mask of greed. She started to unbutton the top button of her dress. Her fingers felt like ice.

"But if you insist," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "We can do it. I need an heir. The trust fund releases an extra ten million upon the birth of a child."

She looked at him dead in the eye. "Let's get it over with. For the check."

Authur turned around. He saw her unbuttoning her dress like she was preparing for a root canal.

His face twisted in disgust. To him, sex was about passion, or at least pleasure. This... this was a transaction. And nothing turned Authur Alexander off faster than feeling like a stud horse being used for breeding.

"Stop," he ordered.

Helena stopped.

Authur slammed his glass down. He walked to the side table and yanked open a drawer. He pulled out a small white box.

He tossed it at her.

It hit her chest and fell to the floor.

"Plan B," Authur said. "Take it."

Helena picked up the box.

"I don't trust you," Authur sneered. "I don't want a child with a calculator for a heart. Take the pill. Now."

Helena opened the box. She popped the pill out of the foil.

"Water?" she asked.

"Swallow it dry."

Helena put the pill in her mouth. She placed it carefully under her tongue. She swallowed hard, mimicking the motion.

"Happy?" she asked, opening her mouth to show him. She lifted her tongue just enough to hide the white tablet.

Authur didn't look closely. He just wanted to leave.

"You sleep here," he said, grabbing his keys. "I'm going out."

"Where?"

"Somewhere I can find a woman who has a pulse," he snapped.

He stormed out. The elevator doors dinged.

Helena ran to the bathroom. She spat the pill into the toilet and flushed it. She rinsed her mouth.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She was alone on her wedding night.

"Good," she whispered. "One day down."

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