No Longer His Captive Surgeon Wife

of the Chief of Surgery's offi

r white coat-a brutal contrast to the stale, conditioned air of the r

gh the gaps in the window blinds. Amy bl

te in the center of the Persian rug sharpened i

it was Am

ine cut of her designer hospital gown screamed of wealth and manipulat

of her throat. Her lungs seized, trapping oxygen in her chest. The ph

drifted past

was a tall figure in a tailored, pitch-b

am Gr

ry-sharp jawline, straight nose, and eyes

ided in the dead

d shock cracked the ice in Beckham's eyes. Then the fr

m behind his desk. He cleared his throat,

I believe you need to meet t

esture was slight, but it commanded absolu

e desk and walked s

each step a muffled, rhythmic thud that ham

cked out the sunlight, casting a dark, suffocating shadow over her

s cardiac repair surgery i

emotionless command. N

te coat. She gripped the cold rubber tubing of her st

s dead stare. A cold, hollow laugh

N

slumped slightly in her wheelchair, her hand fluttering to

am's eyes plummeted. The

as into medical practice, Amy," he warned,

r mouth. "You mean like the time you threw me out on the street five years ago without a

He reached out, his large fingers clamping

p was a vice of warm, hard ski

ek, hot and menacing, "I will make sure your name is erased from the enti

were dead, locked onto his-tw

st away. The sharp smack echoed in the room

putting a safe distance between h

up, adjusting the collar o

ld crush under your heel," Amy stated, her voice

and marched toward th

in black suits stepped out from the shadows of the hallway. They cros

er back like a physical blow. "Whatever

ead. She stared at the bro

out of my way,

d. They looked past her

etched. Then Beckha

tepped back, dro

tepped out. She slammed the heavy wood shut behind

ved as she dragged air into her burning lungs, trying to calm the frantic, errati