The Chief Surgeon's Payback

I came home after a brutal overnight shift at the hospital to find my husband in the kitchen, cooking pasta. He was a senior software engineer at a tech firm, usually working crazier hours than me, but today he had miraculously taken the day off. "You must be exhausted, babe. Have some food to recharge," he said with an unusually tender smile. I took the bowl, but caught a whiff of a scent on his cuff that definitely didn't belong to me. It was a sickly sweet designer perfume—the kind made to trap men. I lowered my head to eat, but out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a crumpled, damp tissue in the trash can. Beside it lay half a slim cigarette, marked with an eye-catching smear of crimson lipstick. I supposed this meal wasn't just for me—it was his way of recovering stamina after a workout. Keeping my expression calm, I praised his cooking, turned around, and walked into my home office. I opened the cloud logs for our smart speaker to check today’s voice recordings. At three in the afternoon, a breathy, coquettish female voice purred: "Babe, the view by the floor-to-ceiling windows is amazing. Want to try it there?" Immediately following was the rustle of clothes and frantic panting. Expressionless, I downloaded the audio file and forwarded it to my best friend, a cybersecurity expert: [Help me run a background check on this woman. Her voice sounds familiar.] [Since she loves making noise so much, I’m going to make sure she becomes famous in our entire industry.] Mark walked into the office carrying a plate of sliced fruit. He set it next to my hand, letting his palm rest casually on my shoulder. "Still working on your paper, Evelyn? You should get some sleep." I turned around, my eyes landing on his open collar. Right there on his neck was a patch of skin covered in thick concealer. A blatant, poorly hidden hickey. I pointed at the spot. "What happened to your neck?" Mark reflexively covered his throat, his eyes darting away. "Oh, that? Company team-building yesterday. We went jogging in the park and a mosquito bit me. Put some concealer on so it wouldn't gross you out." It was November. What kind of mosquito leaves a bite that looks like a bruised suction mark in late autumn? I didn't call him out. I just said mildly, "Must’ve been a vicious bug. Watch out for infection." "Yeah, totally," he let out an awkward laugh. "I need to review some patient files tonight. I'm exhausted, so I'll sleep in the guest room." Mark visibly sighed in relief, instantly putting on a considerate front. "Sure, you get some rest. I won't disturb you." Watching him walk away with a light spring in his step, the temperature in my chest dropped to absolute zero. The next morning at the departmental briefing. The director of nursing led several new clinical interns into the conference room. "Everyone, let's welcome our new additions." A young girl in nursing scrubs stood up. She looked pure and innocent, with wide, doe-like eyes. "Hi, everyone. I'm Chloe Vance. It's an honor to learn from all of you." Her voice was cloying, carrying a practiced whine at the end of every sentence. My pen froze in midair. That voice was identical to the one on the smart speaker wanting to "try it by the floor-to-ceiling window." Chloe seemed to catch my gaze and deliberately stepped right up to me. "Dr. Cross, I’ve heard so much about you. I look forward to your guidance." She bent slightly forward, her scrub top cut daringly low. As she moved, her wrist slipped out from her sleeve. On it was a diamond-encrusted four-leaf clover bracelet. A limited edition piece with only ten ever made worldwide—the very one that had "mysteriously gone missing" from my bedroom last week. I stared at the bracelet, then tilted my chin up to her collarbone. There, covered with the exact same shade of concealer, was a faint red mark. A matching pair to the one on Mark's neck. Noticing my gaze, Chloe didn't hide it at all. Instead, she intentionally flipped her hair over her shoulder. She flashed me a sweet smile dripping with open provocation. Right then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from my best friend: [Found her. Chloe. Fresh nursing transfer at your hospital.] [What’s even better: she’s also the 'liaison' for medical supplies at Mark’s tech firm.] [Under the guise of vendor meetings, these two have probably been screwing everywhere.] I put my phone away and looked back at her faux-innocent face. So she didn't just take meetings with him—she took him to bed. At the end of my shift, Mark texted me: [Working late tonight, babe. Won't be able to pick you up.] I replied: [Okay.] Walking out of the hospital, I didn’t head to my car. Instead, I stepped back into the shadows near the entrance. A familiar black Audi sedan was parked by the curb. Mark’s car. Chloe had changed into a provocative, skin-tight white mini dress. She practically skipped over, opened the passenger door, and slid inside. The car didn’t leave. It pulled into a dimly lit alley nearby. I followed on foot. Soon, the car began to rock in a steady, rhythmic bounce. I pulled out my phone and recorded a clear video of the license plate and the rocking vehicle. Watching the car sway in the dark, the last shred of sentimentality I held for that man vanished completely. Since you both love cheap thrills so much, I’m going to make sure your next thrill is unforgettable.The department welcome dinner was held at a high-end seafood restaurant. Mark had the nerve to tag along as my "devoted husband." He claimed he wanted to thank my colleagues for taking care of me, but everyone with eyes could tell who he was really there to ogle. Inside the private dining room, glasses clinked and laughter flowed. Chloe intentionally swapped seats so she was sitting directly across from Mark. Mark peeled shrimp for me, playing the role of the adoring partner: "Evelyn works so hard. I really appreciate how much you all look out for her." My colleagues cooed, "Dr. Cross, you’re so lucky! Your husband is so attentive." I smiled and took the shrimp, but my cold gaze flicked beneath the long tablecloth. Chloe had kicked off her high heels. A foot wrapped in sheer black stockings was slowly sliding up Mark’s calf. Mark stiffened for a second, then a look of covert arousal washed over his face. While chatting and toasting my colleagues, he spread his knees under the table, trapping her wandering foot between his thighs. Right in front of dozens of people, hidden only by a piece of cloth, they indulged in their filthy little game. A surge of disgust churned in my stomach. I took the razor-sharp stiletto heel of my right shoe, aimed directly at the top of Mark’s foot, and drove it down with all my weight. Then I twisted it. Twice. "Aaargh—!" Mark let out an agonizing screech, shooting up from his chair. His face flushed bright crimson. The room fell instantly silent. Everyone stared at him in shock. "What's wrong, honey?" I looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Is your gout flaring up again?" Cold sweat poured down Mark's forehead, but he couldn't utter a word of truth. He could hardly tell the table he'd just been stomped on for playing footsie with an intern. "No... nothing. Just a nasty leg cramp," he squeezed out through clenched teeth, his hands trembling as he sat back down. Across from him, Chloe’s eyes turned red with distress. She looked ready to leap across the table and comfort him. I watched in silence, sneering on the inside. This was barely the appetizer. Toward the end of dinner, the younger staff started a game of Truth or Dare. Chloe lost. Someone teased, "Chloe! Tell us about your most memorable 'first time'—where was it?" A standard party question among adults. A bit flushed from the wine, Chloe glanced seductively at Mark with hazy eyes. "Right against a floor-to-ceiling window," she murmured, biting her lip. "The view was breathtaking, like the whole city was beneath us. The experience... was incredible." Mark caught the hidden message. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes burning with lust. The table erupted into playful teasing. I swirled the wine in my glass and added coolly: "Is that so? You should be careful next time. Some glass isn't safety-rated—one hard push and you might fall straight to your death." Chloe’s face turned pale. Her smile froze. She gave me a nervous look, but saw me casually checking my phone, as if I’d merely made a passing comment. A moment later, Chloe excused herself to use the restroom. Not two minutes later, Mark held his stomach, claiming he had an upset stomach, and slipped out. I put down my glass, slipped the digital voice recorder from my purse, and followed quietly. The men’s restroom door had an "Out of Service" sign hung outside. Standing just outside the crack of the door, muffled, hushed moans reached my ears. "Babe, did that old hag hurt your foot earlier? Let me see." "Shh... be gentle. Damn woman went completely crazy today. Her heel almost pierced through my bone." "Hmph, she’s just jealous that I'm younger and prettier. Honestly, when are you finally going to divorce her?" "Soon, baby, soon. Give me a little more time, and I'll make sure she walks away without a single penny." Then came the nauseating sound of wet, sloppy kissing. Leaning against the wall, I pressed stop on the recorder. So they didn’t just want each other’s bodies. They wanted my fortune. Mark, you really thought you could pull this off under my nose? You have no idea what’s coming.Early the next morning, Mark called me. His voice was panicked: "Evelyn, a pipe burst in the master bathroom! The place is flooded—it’s completely unlivable." "I already called a repair crew. I’ll stay here to supervise the work for a couple of days. Why don't you check into a hotel near the hospital?" Holding the phone, I glanced at my iPad screen. The live security camera showed our pristine, bone-dry hardwood floors. "Sure. I have several major surgeries lined up anyway, so a hotel nearby works out great," I answered smoothly. After hanging up, I immediately called a private security specialist. During the window when Mark left to pick up Chloe, I had four pinhole cameras installed in the penthouse. Full coverage. Zero blind spots. That night, from my hotel bed, I watched the live feed on my iPad. Chloe was strutting around my living room wearing my pure silk robe. She dipped into my jars of La Mer and sprayed my expensive niche perfume all over the room like air freshener. "This old woman's stuff is just overpriced. Nothing special about it." Mark emerged from the bathroom, grabbed her from behind, and they tumbled onto my imported Italian leather couch. "Forget about her, baby. Once I secure her patents and bank accounts, this whole penthouse is yours." I watched the screen coldly, capturing high-resolution clips of the key moments. Enjoy it while it lasts. The higher you fly, the harder you'll hit the pavement. The next day, back at the hospital. I walked into the staff locker room to put on my white coat. Chloe was standing by the mirror touching up her makeup, her locker door wide open. Hanging inside were several skimpy pieces of lingerie—sheer lace, provocative cuts, black and red straps. They looked outrageously out of place in a sterile hospital locker room. Seeing me come in, she didn’t even bother to close the locker. Instead, she pushed her chest out. "Dr. Cross, you’re always so stiff and boring." Applying lipstick, she smirked at my reflection in the mirror. "Men like women who are soft and pliable. No wonder Mark told me sleeping with you feels like lying next to a corpse." "He said being with you does absolutely nothing for him." She let out a cruel little laugh, her eyes dripping with malice. I happened to be holding a freshly bought iced Americano. Extra ice, no sugar. I walked right up to her, staring down at her smug little face. Then, I flicked my wrist. The entire cup of freezing black coffee splashed straight over her brand-new white lace dress. Dark brown liquid soaked through her chest, dripping down her collarbone as ice cubes pelted her skin. "Aaaahhh!" Chloe shrieked like a slaughtered pig, jumping back in horror. "Evelyn! Have you lost your mind?!" I tossed the empty cup into the trash bin and pulled out a wet wipe to clean my hands. "So, are you awake now?" "This is a hospital. We save lives here. It’s not a brothel for you to parade your cheap tricks." "If you want to sell yourself, go back to the red-light district where you belong." Chloe shook with pure rage, tears instantly welling in her eyes. "How dare you insult me! I’m reporting you for harassment!" The commotion drew a crowd of medical staff to the doorway. Just then, Mark happened to be dropping off vendor contracts. Hearing the scream, he barged in. Seeing Chloe drenched and weeping like a broken doll, fury blinded him. "Evelyn! What the hell are you doing?!" Without asking a single question, he charged forward and shoved me hard. I didn't expect him to attack me in public. My heel slipped, and my lower back slammed violently against the metal locker edge. A sharp, blinding pain shot up my spine, making me gasp for breath. Mark pointed a shaking finger at my face, shouting, "Are you going through menopause or something?! Picking on a young intern?!" "Chloe is delicate! How could you be so cruel?!" He ripped off his coat, draped it over Chloe's shivering shoulders, and wrapped her in his arms. Whispers broke out among the surrounding colleagues. "Dr. Cross is usually so composed... why would she get physical?" "Yeah, that poor girl looks terrified." Chloe buried her face in Mark’s chest, sobbing harder. "I just wanted to say good morning to Dr. Cross... and then she..." Public opinion was already tilting against me. Gripping the locker handle, I forced myself upright despite the throbbing pain in my spine. I stared down at the two miserable snakes. Mark, that push just destroyed your last chance at survival.Before the locker room drama could wrap up, my pager went off violently, followed by an emergency call from the ER. "Dr. Cross! Stat! Arthur Vance suffered a massive hemorrhagic stroke! His vitals are crashing, and he specifically requested you to lead the surgery!" Arthur Vance. The billionaire tech titan, the godfather of Silicon investments. The exact high-profile investor Mark's company had been desperately begging to partner with. Ignoring the searing pain in my back, I instantly switched to surgical mode. "Prep OR One immediately. I'm on my way." Inside the operating room, the tension was suffocating. Chloe, who happened to be on rotation as the circulating nurse, was forced into the OR with the team. She clearly hadn't recovered from the locker room incident. Her eyes were puffy, and her mind was completely elsewhere. The surgery reached its most critical juncture. Vance’s intracranial pressure spiked violently. Blood pooled, obstructing the surgical field. "Hemostat! Hurry!" I barked, extending my hand. Chloe was standing in the corner, secretly texting Mark on her phone. Startled by my shout, she grabbed an instrument in a panic and shoved it into my palm. The moment my gloved fingers closed around it, I knew. It was a Kelly clamp, not a hemostat! At a moment where millimeters determine life or death, such an elementary blunder was practically murder. "Are you blind?! I said a hemostat!" I snapped fiercely. My shout rattled Chloe so badly her hands shook. She fumbled, knocking an entire sterile tray off the cart. Metal instruments clattered across the floor. Worst of all, her unsterile arm grazed the surgical drape, contaminating the sterile field! Beep—beep—beep— The monitors shrieked in emergency sirens. Vance’s blood pressure plummeted; his heart rhythm went haywire. The anesthesiologist yelled, "V-fib! Charge the paddles!" Chloe was terrified out of her mind, frozen in place, trembling. "It wasn't me... I didn't mean to..." "Get the hell out of my OR!" I shoved her aside and instantly launched our emergency contingency protocol. "Swap the drapes! Re-establish the sterile field! Charge to 200 joules!" I forced my heart to stay cold and steady as adrenaline flooded my veins. Relying on the muscle memory of thousands of neurosurgeries, I snatched Arthur Vance back from the brink of death. Every suture, every cauterization was flawless. Sweat dripped into my eyes, burning like acid, but I didn't dare blink. Finally, after three agonizing hours. The lines on the monitors stabilized. I sank onto an operating stool, my hands trembling ever so slightly. Arthur Vance was alive. The moment I stepped out of the OR, before I could even strip off my surgical scrubs, Mark blocked my path with an entourage. Beside him stood Hospital Chief Harrison and several senior executives from Mark’s firm. "Chief Harrison, look at her!" Mark pointed an accusatory finger at me. "Evelyn brought her personal grudge into the OR and deliberately harassed Chloe, triggering a near-fatal surgical crisis!" "If she hadn't lost her temper, Mr. Vance would never have gone into cardiac arrest!" Chloe stood beside him, weeping pathetically while holding up her phone with an audio recording. It was the audio of me yelling at her in the locker room earlier, heavily cut and manipulated to make me sound like an unhinged, abusive bully. Chief Harrison’s face was dark. "Dr. Cross, do you realize who Mr. Vance is? How could you bring personal drama into a life-or-death procedure?" "This borders on gross malpractice! Mark's firm is one of our major corporate donors—we need an immediate resolution here." Swayed by the multi-million-dollar pledge Mark’s company had promised, the Chief was already leaning toward suspending me and forcing a formal apology to Chloe. Mark looked at me smugly. He leaned close to my ear, whispering low enough that only we two could hear: "Babe, transfer the intellectual property rights of your neuro-interface patent to my name, and I'll convince the Chief to drop this." "Otherwise, your career is finished. You'll take the fall for malpractice, and you might even end up in prison." I looked at his twisted, greedy face and suddenly smiled. A brilliant, blinding smile. "Mark, do you really think you've already won?" I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed a number right in front of everyone. The personal line of Arthur Vance's chief executive secretary. I hit speakerphone. "Hello, Secretary Miller. Has Mr. Vance regained consciousness?" "Someone nearly killed him on the table today. Also, regarding that multi-hundred-million-dollar tech contract—I don't think Mark's company deserves a single cent of it." "Oh, and please inform Mr. Vance that the surgeon who just saved his life is currently being bullied into an apology."