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Taming The Sinner: The Doctor's Cold Game

Chapter 7 No.7

Word Count: 508    |    Released on: 13/01/2026

the. Authur pulled back, his chest heaving. H

e fox," he

, wiping a smudge of l

ed around as the "Hero Doctor." Authur was

s appeared at their s

ed to intimidate. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves,

at behind the desk. He

hrew a stack of papers onto the desk. "This is a motio

The power to protect his sister, Angel, who was hidden away in a Swiss clinic. Wit

id, his voice losing its arrog

shouted. "Stock is down 3% since the

rled into fists.

peration in his posture. If he lost power, he was useless to

placed her hand on Gran

please," she

ked at her

," Helena said. "It

?" The old

dent' story. It's a PR narrative. The 'Bad Boy' and

showed him Twitter. AuthurAndH

Saint can tame the Sinner. If you fire him, the story ends.

screen. He understood numb

picked up the motion pape

en to your wife. She has more brains in her l

at Helena. He

f the study. The

e wall. His forearm pressed agai

ed the video. Then you saved

aid, looking up at him. "I need you on that b

ed was still there, but it was mixed

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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.”