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Taming The Sinner: The Doctor's Cold Game

Chapter 4 No.4

Word Count: 679    |    Released on: 13/01/2026

ildhood bedroom at the Lawrence house. Her mother, Mrs. Lawrence

r shrieked. "Helena, wake up! A

bbing. The clock read 8:00 A

ering," Helena muttere

amstress holding the Vera Wang gown that cost more than Helena's medical

on the nightstand. It

ed it up

r." Authur's voice was smooth,

other to be quiet. "Where

Authur said. She could hear the

ess

r chuckled darkly. "Then wear your uniform. Wear your scrubs to the altar. The bl

wear scrubs to St. Patrick's Cathedral? Yo

ngmaster. Do it, or I leave you at the altar. A

ne wen

rventilating. "What di

ce dress. Then she looked at her reflection

said. Her voice was

list aside. "I don

nd bring me a unit of O-neg simulation blood from the training lab. The kind that o

our l

Patrick's Cathedral. The sidewalks were packed with papa

oor o

h the crowd. It wasn't a gasp of

aring shapeless, navy blue cotton scrubs. On her feet were wo

r chest and stomach, was a stark, terrifying stain

ar, covered her face with her

that blood?" "Was there an ac

e doors of the church. She walked with her head high, her shoulders back. She wal

e hundred heads turned. The elite of

nce was absolute, heavy and judgmental

ach, his eyes widening. He had expected her to refuse. He had expected

ed of rubbing alcohol and the fai

a hiss. "You actually did

na corrected, facing the prie

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Taming The Sinner: The Doctor’s Cold Game
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.”