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Taming The Sinner: The Doctor's Cold Game

Chapter 8 No.8

Word Count: 539    |    Released on: 13/01/2026

lena said, trying to push his arm away

mured. "I think you'r

her hand. "

to the private elevator. He punc

are we

he said

se living room. One wall was entirely glass.

ss door and kicked it open. The

lena out ont

ena gasped. She squ

fear of heights. It was a remnant of a

ow that. Or mayb

er toward t

eyes," he

ng his lapels blindly. Her kn

backward. Her lower back hit the railing. There was no

lamped her arms around Authur's neck, burying her face in h

r. It wasn't fake. It wasn't a

her waist, instinctivel

obbed into his shirt.

had. He had expected her to fight. He hadn't expecte

said, his voice d

nto the safety of the living room. He ki

he stood there, shaking

her face pale. The adrenaline of the moment sh

down her back. S

ights," he stated. I

whispered,

ands on her waist. He looked at her lips. Th

gh as you pretend

ntrigued. He brushed his lips against her ear.

to the zipper

d. A memory flashed-not of heigh

ved him

N

es wide with a different k

k, insulted. "What?

gasped, hugging herself.

jacket, his ego bruised. "Fine. Don

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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.”