Taming The Sinner: The Doctor's Cold Game

Chapter 2 No.2

Word Count: 926 | Released on: 13/01/2026

he deception in the air. She was a woman who had survived forty years in New York high society; she could spot

ated, the word drip

op of the stairs, stood the patriarch, Grandfather Alexander. He leaned heavily on an ebony cane, his face a roadmap of wrinkles and ruthlessness.

er said, pointing a sharp finger at a puddle that h

he glanced down. The water from the ice bu

na lied, her voice steady despite the adrenaline co

sharply toward Charles. "Char

and ice, not champagne-the lie would crumble. Helena's grip on the door handle tightened until her knuckles turned whi

htly. "Yes, Madam. The young master requested a bottle of

a microscopic re

. "Young people. No discipline. Tell him not to be late for the rehearsal dinn

a whispered, lowering her

glare before following the old man toward the stairs. Helena watched

legs suddenly feeling like jelly. She squeezed her eye

oor flew open. Steam bil

ing water onto his broad shoulders. His skin was scrubbed red, but his eyes were cold, dark pits of

her. The predato

self off the door, trying to reg

d grabbed her chin, his fingers digging into her jaw with bruising

s voice dangerously low. "You think lying t

nch, didn't pull away, though his touch burned her skin. "If they saw her"-sh

nd it, a flicker of something else-annoyance, perhaps respe

eered. "For your father's failing com

ted, smoothing the front of the overs

ena's wrist, his grip like a manacle. "Oh no, darlin

, her heels catching on the wet carpet. He pull

he had pulled from a hanger, looking terrified. The smell

a forward. She near

rframe, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. "Show some hospitality. Help her

and her confidence snapped back into place.

wiggling her toes. "My shoes

ing her with a cruel smirk, waiting for her to break, waiting for

ine's foot. Her eyes narrowed, shifting focus. She wasn

Chapter End

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Taming The Sinner: The Doctor's Cold Game

Amigo Billionaires

“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.”