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Taming The Sinner: The Doctor's Cold Game

Chapter 10 No.10

Word Count: 598    |    Released on: 13/01/2026

ek l

ke's was chaos, and she loved it. Here, she wasn't Mrs

on a construction worker's arm

here's a... situ

elena said, n

ander. He brou

She stripped off her blood

wing. She pushed ope

tal bed lay a young woman with perfectly curled hair and a face full of make

ng her flat stomac

oking up. "Meet Bonnie. She

Authur, don't be so mean. D

the bed. It held a single sheet with a hastily scribbled

riod?" Helena aske

nth? I just feel pregnant. Mor

ly, setting the chart down. She

pulling up her

" Bonnie pouted. "I wa

tarted feeling morning sickness," Helena said flatly

s. He didn't believe Bonnie either.

her professional m

you are pregnant with an Alexander heir, protoc

yes widene

icology screen. Then we'll begin the HCG doubling tests-that's a blood draw every 48 hours for the next two weeks to confirm viability. If all that checks out,

r screen. "I'm d

ting in. No phone? No In

. "I... maybe I'm just

l button. "The phlebotomist is just outside. Better t

. "I'm sure! It was a false alarm

se and practically

ned to Helena. He wasn't laughi

errifying

o the bed. "Next time you want to make me jealous, bring som

n her heel a

ing behind her like a cape. For the first time, he

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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.”