The Surgeon's Revenge: No More Mrs. Montgomery

The Surgeon's Revenge: No More Mrs. Montgomery

Mischa Taube

5.0
Comment(s)
View
150
Chapters

I'm a top surgeon at Mount Sinai, but at 432 Park Avenue, I'm just the invisible "placeholder wife" of Fletcher Montgomery. After three months of silence, I didn't hear from my husband; I found out he was back in New York via a news alert tracking his private jet. When he finally walked into our penthouse, he didn't bring a greeting-he brought the scent of another woman's perfume and a heart full of ice. He looked at me with pure revulsion, telling me he was "tired of looking at mistakes" before slamming the bedroom door in my face. The humiliation escalated the next morning when his mother cornered me with a divorce agreement, calling our seven-year marriage a "charity project" that had run its course. She reminded me I was a "peasant" who owed the Montgomerys for saving my reputation, even as I spent my days saving lives in the OR. At a family dinner on Long Island, Fletcher turned our private struggle into a public execution. In front of his entire elite clan, he sneered that I should stop fixing other people's hearts and figure out why my own womb was a "wasteland." When I tried to defend myself, he dragged me into his car, only to kick me out on a dark, rain-slicked street in Queens. I stood there shivering in a thin blouse, without a phone or shoes, watching his taillights disappear while a group of men whistled at me from the shadows. I couldn't understand how seven years of devotion ended with me barefoot in the mud, or why the man I once loved now treated me like a stray he regretted picking up. The injustice burned hotter than the freezing rain, fueling a cold, surgical rage I hadn't felt in years. I eventually made it back to the penthouse, but I wasn't the submissive wife anymore. I rescued my cat from the freezing terrace, fired the malicious house manager, and deadbolted the master suite from the inside. When Fletcher's assistant called, I gave him a simple message: "Tell him the locks have changed, and the war has officially begun."

Chapter 1 1

The hum of the ventilation system was the first thing Alexa Emerson heard when the overhead surgical lights finally clicked off. It was a low, steady drone that usually signaled relief, the end of a fourteen-hour shift where she held human lives in her hands. She peeled off the latex gloves with a snap, the sound echoing off the sterile tile walls. Her hands were steady now, but she knew the tremor would come later, the adrenaline crash that always waited for her in the locker room.

She looked at her reflection in the stainless steel instrument tray. Dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes, and her hair was matted against her forehead from the surgical cap. For the last six hours, she had been Dr. Emerson, the rising star of Mount Sinai's cardiothoracic department. But as she untied her mask, letting it hang loose around her neck, she felt the familiar weight of her other identity settling back onto her shoulders. The invisible cloak of Mrs. Montgomery.

A circulating nurse walked by, holding out a plastic bin containing personal effects. Alexa reached for her phone. The screen lit up with a barrage of notifications. Emails from the hospital administration, texts from her few friends outside the circle, a reminder about a dentist appointment.

There was nothing from the contact pinned at the top.

Her thumb hovered over the message app, a habit she couldn't seem to break. Just as she was about to lock the screen, a news alert banner slid down from the top, demanding attention. The Bloomberg logo was small, but the bold black text felt like a physical slap.

Fletcher Montgomery Private Jet Touches Down at JFK. The Wolf of Wall Street Returns to New York.

The air in the operating room suddenly felt too thin. Alexa's heart gave a violent kick against her ribs, a physical protest that had nothing to do with cardiac rhythms and everything to do with the man who had been gone for three months.

He was back.

She hadn't known.

The realization washed over her with a cold, prickly heat. Her husband was in the same city, breathing the same smog-filled air, and she was learning about it from a news app designed to track stock market fluctuations.

"Big news, Dr. Emerson?"

Alexa jumped, her hand spasming around the phone. Dr. Susan Chang was leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed. Susan's eyes flicked from Alexa's pale face to the phone screen, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

"Just market updates," Alexa said, her voice sounding scrapier than she intended. She flipped the phone face down onto the metal tray with a sharp clatter.

"Right," Susan drawled, pushing off the doorframe. "I saw the alert too. Must be nice to have the king back in the castle. Although, I'm surprised you're still here scrubbing out. Wouldn't a devoted wife be at the tarmac with a bouquet of roses?"

The sarcasm was thick enough to choke on. Alexa stiffened, her spine locking into a rigid line. This was the narrative. The poor orphan girl who lucked into the Montgomery dynasty, the placeholder wife who worked playing doctor while her husband conquered the financial world. They didn't know she was the one who had just repaired a mitral valve with a complexity most of them wouldn't attempt.

"My patient in recovery needs monitoring," Alexa said, keeping her tone clinically detached. "I don't leave until the vitals are stable. You know the protocol, Susan."

She didn't wait for a response. She grabbed her phone and brushed past her colleague, walking fast enough to create a breeze in the stagnant hallway. She needed to get to the locker room. She needed to breathe.

Once inside the safety of the changing area, she slumped onto the wooden bench. Her fingers trembled as she dialed the number she knew by heart. It rang. And rang. And rang.

"You have reached the voicemail of Fletcher Montgomery. Leave a message."

His voice was deep, clipped, devoid of any warmth. It was the voice he used for business partners and unwanted solicitors. It was the voice he used for her.

Alexa ended the call without speaking. She stared at herself in the locker mirror. The woman looking back was plain, exhausted, and wearing a scrub top that had a small stain of betadine on the collar. She didn't look like a Montgomery. She looked like what she was-a surgeon trying to hold together a life that was fraying at the seams.

She changed quickly, pulling on a beige trench coat that she had bought off the rack at Macy's three years ago. It was high quality, but it wasn't couture. It was another layer of camouflage.

Stepping out of the hospital entrance, the November wind bit at her exposed skin. She pulled the collar up, tucking her chin down. The line of black town cars waited for the attending physicians, but none of them were for her. Fletcher had forgotten, or simply hadn't cared, to send a driver.

She raised her hand, hailing a yellow taxi. The cab screeched to a halt, the brakes squealing in protest.

"Where to, lady?" the driver asked, eyeing her through the rearview mirror. He took in her tired eyes and the simple coat.

"432 Park Avenue," she said. "The penthouse."

The driver's eyebrows shot up. He looked at her again, skepticism written in the lines of his forehead, but he punched the meter. As the car lurched into traffic, Alexa pressed her forehead against the cold glass. The city blurred past in streaks of red and white light.

Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. Why hadn't he called? Three months in London and Hong Kong. Three months of silence broken only by interactions with his lawyers regarding the trust fund.

The taxi pulled up to the impossibly tall, slender building. The doorman, a man named Henry who had worked there for twenty years, was busy holding the door for a woman with a poodle. He didn't see the taxi immediately.

Alexa paid the driver and pushed the heavy door open herself. It wasn't until her foot hit the pavement that Henry turned around.

"Oh," he said, blinking. "Ms. Emerson. I didn't see you there."

Ms. Emerson. Not Mrs. Montgomery. Even the staff knew where the lines were drawn. She was the permanent guest, the one who hadn't quite earned the name.

"It's fine, Henry," she murmured, brushing past him into the gilded lobby.

The elevator ride was a silent ascent into anxiety. She watched the digital numbers climb. 20... 40... 60... 92. Her ears popped.

The doors slid open directly into the foyer. The penthouse was dark. Not the cozy darkness of a sleeping home, but the hollow, echoing darkness of a museum after hours.

Alexa reached for the switch, flooding the space with recessed lighting. The floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the Manhattan skyline, a billion dollars worth of view that felt incredibly lonely.

Then she saw them.

Near the spiral staircase, a pile of luggage sat in a chaotic heap. Louis Vuitton trunks, hard-shell Rimowa cases, all tagged with custom leather luggage tags bearing the Montgomery family crest.

He had been here.

Alexa walked over to the luggage, her footsteps silent on the marble. She reached out and touched the leather handle of a carry-on. It was still cold from the outside air.

A scent lingered in the foyer. It was faint, but unmistakable. Sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and something sharp and metallic-his cologne. But underneath that, there was a ghost of something else. Something floral?

"Mr. Montgomery has already left for the evening."

Alexa startled, spinning around. Martha, the house manager, stood in the shadows of the dining room archway. Her hands were clasped in front of her crisp uniform, her face a mask of professional indifference.

"Left?" Alexa asked, her voice sounding small in the cavernous room. "He just got here. The luggage is still..."

"He came in to change and shower," Martha interrupted smoothly. "He had a pressing engagement. He did not say when he would return."

Alexa looked back at the suitcases. He had come home, washed off the travel, and immediately left again without even checking if she was on shift or at home.

"Did he mention dinner?" Alexa asked. "Should I tell the kitchen..."

"The kitchen staff has been dismissed for the night," Martha said, a tiny, almost imperceptible lift at the corner of her mouth. "Mr. Montgomery said he would be dining out. He didn't mention you."

The silence that followed was heavy. Alexa stood in the center of the multi-million dollar apartment, surrounded by the evidence of her husband's existence, yet completely erased from his schedule.

"Thank you, Martha," Alexa said, turning her back so the woman wouldn't see her eyes water. "That will be all."

She waited until she heard Martha's footsteps retreat to the staff quarters. Then, she stood alone in the foyer, staring at the locked front door, waiting for a sound she knew wouldn't come.

Continue Reading

Other books by Mischa Taube

More
The Mad Billionaire's Genius Undercover Wife

The Mad Billionaire's Genius Undercover Wife

Modern

5.0

I arrived at my uncle’s mansion looking like human trash, clutching a one-way bus ticket and a duffel bag stuffed with old newspaper. My aunt looked at me with pure disgust, as if she could smell the poverty on my skin, but they needed me for one thing: to be a sacrificial lamb. They told me I was getting married to Julian Sterling, a man the elite circles called a violent monster locked in a cage. My uncle forced me to sign away my soul to save their failing fortune, while my cousin Kayla laughed and threw a torn dress at my feet, calling me a "rat from the Rust Belt." At the Sterling estate, the nightmare only deepened. Julian’s stepmother treated me like a horse she was forced to buy, ordering the staff to "burn off" my hair before locking me in the West Wing. I was thrown into a padded cell with a man who lunged at me, his heavy chains rattling against the floor as he roared with an animalistic rage that had already killed two nurses. They thought I was a pathetic, uneducated girl who "didn't read so good." They didn't know I had extorted two million dollars from my uncle before walking out the door, or that I was secretly recording every slap and insult they threw at me for future leverage. I huddled in the corner of that dark cell, letting them watch me tremble on the security feeds. I let Julian’s sister strike me with a riding crop and splash water in my face, playing the role of the clumsy, sobbing idiot to perfection. But the moment the cameras looped, the scared girl vanished. I pinned the "monster" to the floor, cut the neural tracking chip out of his neck with a hidden scalpel, and whispered into his ear as his blue eyes finally cleared. They thought they were sending a lamb to the slaughter. They had no idea they were sending a wolf to hunt a beast.

Broken Bonds: The Rise of the White Wolf

Broken Bonds: The Rise of the White Wolf

Werewolf

5.0

As the pack's Omega cleaner, I was invisible. I spent my days scrubbing floors, clutching a cheap moonstone in my pocket—the only proof that Marcus Thorne, the billionaire Alpha, had once touched me. I was his fated Mate. I thought he just needed time to realize it. But the night of the Alpha Ball wasn't a fairy tale; it was an execution. Isabelle, his scheming assistant, dropped classified documents at my feet and screamed "Traitor!" I waited for Marcus to sense our bond. I waited for him to save me. Instead, his eyes turned cold as ice. He didn't just believe her; he destroyed me. He threw me into a dungeon coated in burning silver. He watched as I was fed Wolfsbane. And then, in front of the entire pack, he delivered the final blow. "I, Marcus Thorne, reject you, Olivia Hayes." The bond snapped. My soul shattered. He chose a viper over his true mate and ordered me dumped at the border to die like a rogue. But he made a fatal mistake. The rejection didn't kill me. It woke something ancient inside me. I wasn't a weak Omega. I was the White Wolf. Five years later, I returned to New York. Not as the girl he threw away, but as the powerful Luna of the Crescent Moon Pack, with a new, stronger Mate by my side. When Marcus saw me, the color drained from his face. He fell to his knees in the dirt, holding out that old, dull moonstone, weeping. "Liv, please. I remember now. Take it back." I looked down at the man who had broken me and whispered the truth that would haunt him forever. "I don't want it, Marcus. That stone belongs to a girl who died in your dungeon."

A Five-Year Deception, A Lifetime of Payback

A Five-Year Deception, A Lifetime of Payback

Romance

5.0

I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved. On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there. I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera. She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning. I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine. "She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad." My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family. "Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you." The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control. They were about to find out just how wrong they were.

Marry The Woman In Coma

Marry The Woman In Coma

Romance

5.0

My father, a Navy SEAL who never flinched, was dying, and his last wish was to see me married. I turned to the three girls he' d raised as his own, my childhood sweethearts, who had jokingly "promised" to marry me. My proposal was met with cruel rejections: one claimed animal activism, another gamophobia, and the third cited her high-powered tech career. But then a video surfaced: my three "family" members, draped in designer clothes bought with my money, laughing and intimately lounging on a yacht with Ethan, our chauffeur' s son. They were wearing identical friendship bracelets, and Sarah was practically in his lap. Their excuses were elaborate lies, designed to mock me while they squandered my family's fortune. The betrayal burned, but their final act solidified my rage. When my father succumbed to his illness, they ignored his deathbed wishes, choosing a "hike" with Ethan over a final goodbye. A storm raged that night, and I, fearing for their safety, embarked on a desperate, all-night mountain search. My leg was injured, my body was broken, but my heart shattered when Sarah' s call came through: she was safe at a luxury resort, laughing with Ethan, mocking my concern. "Liam, are you done with your little drama yet?" she sneered. I returned to the hospital, only to find a nurse pulling a sheet over my father' s face. I swore then that they would pay, by choosing the one woman who could never lie or betray me. On my wedding day, dressed for a union born of despair, they burst in, feigning remorse, attempting to reclaim their position. "Why are you marrying a comatose woman? Why not one of us?" they shrieked, their contempt for my comatose bride palpable. But just as I placed the ring, Clara Sterling, whom they had called "a living corpse," slowly opened her eyes. "Who," she said, her voice cold and resonant, "are you calling a cripple?" She rose from her wheelchair, walked to me, and kissed me, revealing the shocking truth: she had never been in a coma. My life with Clara, built on truth and unwavering devotion, had just begun. My so-called family, defeated and exposed, were given a severance and exiled. Years later, I learned their tragic fate: they had been trafficked and killed in Thailand, a cruel end to their greed. I never looked back. My world, once shadowed by betrayal, was now illuminated by the laughter of my wife and daughter, a bright, clear horizon stretching before us.

You'll also like

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book