Chapter 6 - The Emergency Room Protocol"You BITCH!"
Vanessa lunged forward, her fingers curled into claws aimed straight for my face.
She didn't even make it halfway. Julian caught her by the wrist with a brutal, reflexive jerk, spinning her around and shoving her back against the pantry door with a deafening crash.
"Stop it! Both of you, just stop!" Julian roared, his face purple with rage and panic. He looked at Vanessa—not with the gentle adoration he usually wore, but with the cold, calculating fury of a man realizing he had been played by an amateur. "You told me she was clueless! You said she’d never look at the finances!"
"I didn't know she was a viper!" Vanessa shrieked, struggling against his grip, her pristine facade completely shattered into jagged pieces of hysteria. "She outsmarted both of us, you idiot!"
I picked up my coffee cup, took a calm sip, and leaned back against the counter to watch the show. There is nothing quite as satisfying as watching two manipulative narcissists turn on each other when the ship starts sinking.
"Now," I said, raising my voice slightly over their shouting match. "Here is how the rest of your morning is going to go. Julian, you are going to call the Boston General Hospital HR department and take an immediate leave of absence. Vanessa, you are going to pack your designer bags and clear out of my guest suite within the next twenty minutes."
Julian turned to me, his eyes wide and pleading, the mask of the successful, untouchable doctor entirely gone.
"Claire... please. We can fix this. Let's go to counseling. We can sell the condo, pay off the debt, pretend none of this happened. Please. I love you."
I looked at him—at the man I had dedicated five years of my youth to, the man who whispered sweet lies while building a secret life behind my back.
"Love?" I shook my head, my smile fading into absolute ice. "Julian, you don't even know what the word means. You love being worshipped. You love having a pristine wife at home to cook your dinners while your mistress plays the damsel in distress. But my shift is over."
I pulled a thick manila envelope from beneath the counter and tossed it onto the center island.
May you like
"What's that?" Vanessa spat, rubbing her bruised wrist.
"Those are the divorce papers," I said smoothly. "Complete with full documentation of your financial collusion, the Cambridge condo deeds, and transcripts of your text messages. Copies have already been dispatched to my divorce attorney, the Boston General ethics committee, and—just for good measure—the IRS division of tax fraud."
