The Surgeon’s Revenge，No More Second Chances, Mr. Billionaire

Everyone in high society knew I was the most sought-after OB-GYN in the city for abortions. Because I had personally performed the procedure on every single one of Tristan Hayes's mistresses. Quick, painless, minimal bleeding, and leaving them perfectly capable of getting pregnant again. Every wealthy socialite who came to my clinic to clean up their husband's mess would give me the same advice: "Evelyn, darling, you really need to have a baby of your own to tie Tristan down." Their voices dripped with pity, thinly veiling their schadenfreude. After all, years ago, Tristan had thrown a lavish, multimillion-dollar wedding to make me his wife. Every woman in our circle had turned green with envy, claiming I had won the ultimate lottery. Now, Tristan brought women into our bed one after another, and sent them to my operating table in droves. I had cried. I had screamed. But Tristan only ever gave me one cold reassurance: "Don't worry. I will never let any of them carry my baby." It was like punching a wall of cotton. Behind my back, everyone mocked me as the city’s most pathetic, spineless wife. After signing the post-op chart for Tristan’s ninety-ninth mistress, I tapped send on a draft message to my lawyer: "Please finalize my divorce papers as soon as possible." When I got home, Tristan was leaning back on the couch, a cigarette held between his fingers. He squinted at me through the smoke. "Tough day, honey? Chloe told me your hands were as gentle as ever." His younger sister, Serena, hummed a tune as she brushed bright crimson polish onto her nails, not even looking up. "Honestly, Tristan, you should’ve just let Chloe keep the baby. It’s not like someone else in this house is ever going to give you one." Tristan flicked his ash and flashed an amused smile. "Watch your mouth, kiddo." I hung my coat on the rack, walked over to them with uncharacteristic calm, and said evenly: "Tristan, I want a divorce. My lawyer is already drafting the settlement." "Pfft." Serena burst out laughing, and Tristan chuckled, leaning sideways on the sofa. "What, mad at me again, baby?" "I didn't let her keep the kid. You have nothing to worry about." "I'm not mad. And I'm not joking." I sat down beside Serena, took the polish bottle from her hands, and couldn't help lecturing: "You're still in school. Don't wear something this flashy." Serena's expression darkened instantly. She snatched the bottle back with a scowl, glaring at me. "Get off my back." "Worry about yourself, okay? My brother doesn't have an heir because of a barren woman like you." "If you want to lecture a kid, go birth one yourself. You can't even do that, so shut up." A sharp pain stabbed through my chest. In the nine years since I married into the Hayes family, their mother spent all her time at charity galas and high-stakes poker tables, leaving Serena entirely to the nannies. I was the only one who truly cared for Serena like my own. Yet she had never once called me her family, weaponizing my infertility to humiliate me every chance she got. Nine years. In this massive, gilded mansion, I had never been anything more than an outsider. "I mean it," I said firmly. "Smash!" Tristan slammed his glass onto the floor, sending shards flying everywhere. That glass was part of a pair. We had made them together in a pottery class when we were madly in love. They were engraved with a promise: "Soulmates for Life." His eyes were bloodshot as he pointed up the stairs at Serena. "Who gave you permission to run your mouth? Get the hell up to your room!" Serena scurried upstairs in a huff. Tristan crushed the cigarette in his palm, ash scattering all over the floor. He took slow, menacing steps toward me, his face turning dead cold. "Evelyn, what the hell is your problem?" "I told you, I will never keep their kids! My firstborn will only ever come from you!" "None of them threaten your status as my wife. What more do you want?!" He gripped my jaw, forcing my head up so our eyes locked. Trapped in his grip, I grabbed the box of tissues off the coffee table and hurled it straight into his face. "Tristan Hayes! Out of everyone in the world, you had to sleep with Chloe Frost?!" Chloe was my stepsister. She was the one who had drugged my father’s drink and tried to frame me, nearly ruining my entire life. There wasn't an ounce of sisterhood between us—only pure, unadulterated hatred. My fists rained down on Tristan's chest. Enraged, he shoved me back hard. "So what if it’s Chloe?!" "You can't get pregnant. At least she can!" I hit the floor hard, my knees landing straight on the jagged glass shards. Warm blood trickled down my shins. Tristan froze for a second, his hand reaching out instinctively to help me. A beat later, he pulled his hand back, his voice turning icy. "Stop making a scene. I'm moving Chloe in tomorrow. You’re going to take good care of her." "Keep acting up, and I will cut off your mother’s hospital bills."The next afternoon, the moment I walked through the door, I saw her. Chloe was sitting on the couch, sipping tea with an easy, radiant smile, looking like the true mistress of the house. Tristan took my handbag and handed me a bowl of fresh strawberries, his tone sickeningly sweet. "Your favorite strawberries, babe." Strawberries were Chloe's favorite. I was deathly allergic to them. There was a time when Tristan policed my diet so strictly he wouldn't let a trace of strawberry anywhere near me. "Chloe just had surgery. She needs to recover, and I need to stay by her side," Tristan announced. "Pack your things from the master bedroom and move to the guest room." In the center of the master bedroom hung our massive wedding portrait. In that photo, the way he looked at me was full of tender devotion. The king-size bed was custom-ordered after we had visited four different luxury stores. Sleeping on it felt like floating on a cloud. Tristan used to wrap his arms around me on that bed, rolling around and laughing. "Evelyn, you have to give me a little princess someday. I don't want a noisy boy stealing my wife's attention." Lying on that bed, we used to dream about the day we would welcome a baby of our own—the ultimate proof of our love. Now, Tristan was bringing his mistress—my wicked stepsister—to sleep on that very same bed. "Evelyn, I'm so sorry," Chloe purred into my ear as I passed. "Looks like I'm stealing your husband again." I didn't dignify her with a response. All I wanted was to crawl into the guest room, take a hot shower, and crash. I had just stepped out of the bathroom when a bloodcurdling scream shattered the silence, followed by the crash of glass. "Evelyn!" "Evelyn! Get out here!" Drying my hair, I hurried into the hallway as Tristan's frantic shouts grew louder. I pushed open the master bedroom door. Tristan was cradling a trembling Chloe in his arms, whispering soft comforts. "It's okay, Chloe. Don't be scared. She wouldn't dare hurt you." Glass shards covered the floor. Our wedding portrait lay face-up among the wreckage, ruined and battered. "I had a nightmare," Chloe whimpered. "I dreamed Evelyn chased me with a knife because I stole you, screaming that she wanted me dead..." "Apologize to Chloe," Tristan barked at me. "You terrified her!" I clenched my fists, letting out a bitter laugh. At this very moment, I truly did want her dead. But I hadn't done a single thing. Why the hell should I apologize?! "Beep." Tristan picked up his phone and dialed the hospital. "Cancel the medical account for Evelyn Vance’s mother. Stop the payments." A tear slipped down my cheek, burning and salty on my lips. I lowered my head and choked out the words: "I'm sorry." "Now clean up this glass before I take a shower. Don't let it cut Chloe," Tristan ordered dismissively. Once, Tristan treated my hands like fragile treasures, forbidding me from doing any chores. "My Evelyn’s hands were born to be a surgeon’s. I won't let a single scratch touch them." Now, he commanded me like a maid to pick up broken glass. Chloe lounged back against the pillows, pointing smugly at the shredded portrait on the floor. "Sister, be a dear and throw that photo out with the glass." I grabbed a handful of shards. My grip tightened involuntarily, and deep crimson blood welled up between my fingers. Blood dripped onto the shattered glass and the torn portrait. The faces in the picture were scratched beyond recognition, bundled into a crumpled ball and tossed into the trash can. Just like my marriage to Tristan. In this marriage, I had cried every tear, bled every drop, and ended up covered in scars. It was time to put an end to this farce. Back in the guest room, I closed the door and slid down against the wood until I hit the floor. Exhaustion, grief, and despair washed over me in crushing waves. Sitting there in the cold dark, my face was drenched in silent tears.Then, my body started screaming. A sharp, searing cramp ripped through my lower abdomen. I dragged myself into the bathroom and checked. No blood. My heart dropped into my stomach, a wave of panic flooding my veins. Bracing myself on the walls, I opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out a fistful of pregnancy tests. A hollow laugh escaped my throat. Years ago, Tristan and I had been so desperate for a baby that we stashed pregnancy tests in every single room, terrified we might miss the moment. Five minutes later. One test, two tests, three tests, four tests... Every single one showed two dark lines. On my laptop, the divorce settlement sent by my lawyer and the lab results from my routine hospital checkup lay open side by side. I clicked on the lab portal. Progesterone: 35.72. HCG: 358.43. I was pregnant. After years of failed treatments, I was pregnant now, at the absolute worst possible moment. The child of love I had prayed for had finally arrived—long after the love was dead and buried. Placing a trembling hand over my stomach, I let out a ragged breath. "Little one... you picked the wrong time to come. Mommy doesn't even know if she can keep you." "BAM!" The door to my clinic office was kicked open. Tristan's mother, Eleanor, marched in with Chloe clung to her arm, her face twisted in rage. "You spiteful bitch! You forced Tristan’s baby out of her again!" "Just because you’re barren doesn’t give you the right to slaughter Tristan's flesh and blood!" Still fuming, she grabbed the medical charts off my desk and hurled them at my head. I ducked instinctively. Tristan was the one who refused to let them carry his babies, yet everyone pointed their fingers at me. Seeing me dodge only stoked her fury. "You dare dodge?! If Tristan hadn't protected you all these years, I would have thrown your useless, barren ass out on the street long ago!" Eleanor screamed and wrecked everything in sight, completely out of control. She ripped my "Excellence in Medicine" honorary plaque off the wall and smashed it. "A healer?! You’re nothing but a baby-killing monster!" "Mrs. Hayes, please don't be too hard on Evelyn," Chloe chimed in, feigning concern. "Tristan will be devastated if he finds out." "Devastated? Let him be!" Eleanor lunged forward, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and delivered a vicious slap across my cheek. Crowds gathered outside the glass doors, gawking like spectators at a circus. Watching an animal get tormented, yet not a single soul stepped in to help. Surrounded by the wreckage of my office, my knees buckled, and I sank to the floor. I closed the lab report window and reopened the divorce agreement. This time, without a second thought, I hit print. "Chloe said my mom took her to see you for a follow-up this morning," Tristan's anxious voice came through the phone later that day. "How is she? Is Chloe recovering well? Any complications?" "Your mother trashed my office, beat me, and called me a barren monster," I said, my voice deadpan. "You know how my mother is. Don't take it to heart, just bear with it," Tristan sighed dismissively. "It's not like this will affect your position as Mrs. Hayes." "Now answer me, how is Chloe doing?" I hung up the phone without another word. Tristan thought I stayed because I was terrified of losing the title of Mrs. Hayes. Everyone else thought so, too. The truth was, I didn't give a damn about that title anymore.Years ago, everyone envied the endless luxury I married into. But I never married Tristan for money. I married him for love. Yet all that glamour turned out to be nothing more than a gorgeous gown crawling with lice. Less than two years into our marriage, Tristan completely discarded his wedding vows. His roster of mistresses could stretch across the Atlantic. After one breakdown, I confronted him, screaming through tears: "You promised you would love me for the rest of your life! Why are there always more women?!" "Babe, forever is a long time. A man needs excitement." "Don't worry. You're the one I love most. I will never let any of them threaten your place." "The one he loved most?" Back when my father nearly assaulted me, everyone treated me like a plague. Chloe had rallied our classmates to ostracize me, stuffing snakes and toads into my locker. Neighbors slammed their doors in my face, calling me a little temptress who seduced her own father. My grandmother thought I had brought shame upon the family and threw me into a frozen lake shed in the dead of winter, nearly freezing me to death and permanently damaging my body. Tristan was the only one who didn't look down on me. He was the one who pulled me out and rushed me to the hospital. When the doctors told me I would likely never be able to conceive, I sat in the hospital bed weeping uncontrollably. Tristan wiped my tears away, over and over. "Evelyn, it doesn't matter if we don't have kids. Even without children, I will love you for the rest of my life." Looking back now, how foolish was I to believe a man's promise of "forever"? The scene Eleanor made was so massive that it alerted the hospital director. Fearing a PR disaster, the director told me to take the rest of the day off and go home. Walking along the windy street, the biting early spring chill made me shiver. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. "Mrs. Vance, because the payment was cut off, the emergency resuscitation for your mother was delayed. She... she just passed away." I spun around and sprinted toward the hospital like a madwoman. "I'm so sorry for your loss," the attending doctor said, looking at me with deep pity. Kneeling by the hospital bed, I took my mother’s hand. It was cold. Ice cold. Just like my heart. I had done everything Tristan asked. I had apologized to Chloe! Why did he still cut off my mother's life support funds?! I dialed Tristan's number, blind with rage. "Tristan Hayes! Why did you stop my mother's medical payments?!" "Oh, that? I must’ve forgotten to tell the accountant to restore it," Tristan replied nonchalantly over the receiver. "A one-day pause wouldn't kill anyone." "Tristan was busy tucking me in last night and forgot. Evelyn, you aren't mad at me, are you?" Chloe’s sickeningly sweet voice sliced straight through my heart like a dagger. A wail tore from my throat, raw and bloody like a dying bird. "Tristan Hayes, you killed my mother!" With Mom gone, I had nothing left tying me to this world. I walked out of the hospital, the signed divorce papers clutched in my hand, my stride firmer than it had ever been. "Tristan, sign the papers."