Part 1The Surgeon's Final Cut，Walking Away from the Billionaire

My husband had an obsession: he would only sleep with virgins.

When Tristan brought his eighth assistant to my clinic demanding a hymenoplasty, his mother texted me:

[Still not divorcing him? This is the eighth one. You really have the stomach for anything, don’t you?]

This time, I didn't scream or break down. I calmly prepped the girl and performed the surgery.

When we stepped out of the OR, Tristan wrapped an arm tenderly around her. "There now. Your first time belongs to me."

The girl blushed, casting an uneasy glance in my direction. "Oh stop, what are you saying? Your wife is standing right there. Aren't you worried she'll misunderstand?"

Tristan finally looked at me, his gaze dripping with mockery.

"Her whole family lives off my dime. As long as I'm happy, she'll do whatever I say. Besides..."

He paused, giving me a dismissive up-and-down sneer. "She should be grateful. A damaged woman like her is lucky to have the title of Mrs. Hayes at all."

Meeting his arrogant eyes, I simply nodded. Then I pulled out a stack of documents.

"Since you're already here, sign these. Saves me the trip to your office."

Tristan scribbled his signature across the papers without looking.

Handing them back, he warned, "Take good care of her. Don't make things difficult for her, or I'll make you regret it."

"Of course," I said quietly.

As I watched him lead his new favorite down the hall toward a private room, I slipped the signed divorce settlement out from the stack.

This time, I was done swallowing my pride.

No sooner had Tristan left than my phone rang. It was his mother, Evelyn.

"Do you have no shame at all? If you have an ounce of dignity left, divorce my son right now!"

"Fine. How much are you paying me to leave?"

Silence fell over the line. Evelyn clearly hadn't expected me to agree so readily. In her eyes, I was a gold-digger clinging to Tristan for his wealth.

She had always believed I was beneath her son, making her my fiercest enemy throughout our marriage.

From the moment we started dating, she had tried to run me off. After we married, every encounter was laced with venom.

"Some women think bagging a rich man turns them into a queen overnight. But trash is trash."

Her disdain trickled down into her high-society circle, and none of the other wives gave me the time of day.

At first, for Tristan's sake, I bent over backward trying to fit in.

When Tristan found out, he brushed it off. "Why bother pleasing them? They should be kissing your feet."

Back then, his eyes were full of only me.

He hadn't cared about the massive gap in our backgrounds.

Supporting my family was his idea, not something I had ever asked for.

When Evelyn discovered he was paying my parents' medical bills, she marched straight to their modest apartment.

In front of all the neighbors, she pointed at them and screamed that they had sold their daughter.

"Must be nice! If I knew raising a girl was so profitable, I wouldn't have bothered having a son!"

Her words were vicious, cutting straight to the bone.

My parents' health took a sharp turn for the worse after that humiliation.

When Tristan found out, he had a massive blowout with his mother, shouting, "If you ever cross my wife again, we are done as mother and son!"

After that, Evelyn kept her cruelty behind closed doors.

Yet, barely a year had passed, and everything fell apart.

On our first wedding anniversary, Tristan claimed he had an urgent business dinner and couldn't celebrate. Hours later, I saw him on his assistant's Ins story.

He didn't have time to celebrate with his wife, but he had plenty of time to throw a lavish birthday party for his assistant.

When he came home, I lost my mind screaming at him. Tristan merely scoffed. "She's Mr. Vance's daughter. It was networking. Stop acting like an insecure child."

When he saw how genuinely crushed I was, he apologized.

He swore on his life it would never happen again.

A man's promise is worthless.

The next time came sooner than I could have imagined.

Over the years, my hysterical tears turned into numb silence.

I realized that people don't rot overnight; maybe this was who Tristan had been all along.

I had clung so tightly to the memory of how devoted he used to be. His performance was flawless, convincing me I had found true love, a man I could trust with my life.

Until one day, right in my face, he spat:

"You're not even a virgin, so what right do you have to expect my total devotion?"