Chapter 2

After William said this, he threw the surgical informed consent form directly in my face.

The sharp edge of the paper cut across my cheek, stinging painfully.

The pen tip nearly blinded my eye.

I ignored the pain on my face and desperately grabbed the hem of his white coat.

"William, are you insane? I just had a miscarriage! That was our child!"

"Doing a transplant surgery now—do you want me to die on the operating table?"

William slapped my hand away in disgust, as if brushing off something dirty.

"You won't die. I'm the lead surgeon. I know what I'm doing."

"Besides, that embryo wasn't viable anyway. It's better that it's gone."

"Juliet can't wait any longer. Her birthday is next month. This is my gift to her."

A gift? Using my organs to please his first love?

I trembled all over, whether from anger or cold, I couldn't tell.

"I won't sign! I'll call the police! This is intentional harm!"

William let out a cold laugh, the look of someone superior regarding an ant.

"Call the police? I'm your legal husband and your attending physician."

"I have the right to decide your treatment plan."

"And by the way, did you forget? Your father is still lying in the ICU."

At the mention of my father, I fell silent like a chicken with its throat squeezed.

William was satisfied with my reaction. He unhurriedly pulled out his phone.

"Your father's medical expenses are twelve thousand dollars a day. It's only through my connections that he's in the special care ward."

"With just one phone call, he'll be thrown into the hallway tonight."

"Want to try it?"

I bit through my lip. The taste of blood spread through my mouth.

Five years ago, I was a prodigy at medical school. He was a poor boy living on financial aid.

To support him through his doctoral studies, I gave up graduate school to sell insurance and wait tables.

I worked three jobs a day. My hands were corroded by dish soap.

Back then, he carried me on his back through the snow when I had a fever, swearing he'd protect me for life.

Now, wearing the designer shirt I bought him, he wanted to take me apart and give me away.

"William, did a dog eat your conscience?"