Chapter 2Locked by My Surgeon Husband

I threw the door open and stumbled out of the car, retching against the concrete wall of the garage.

Bennett was out a second later, his face contorted with suppressed rage. "Elena! What the hell is this performance?"

I wiped my mouth, my vision blurred with tears, and held up the lace. "Whose are these, Bennett?"

His expression flickered—a flash of guilt instantly paved over by cold indifference. "It’s a friend's car. How should I know what they leave in it?"

He took a step toward me, his voice softening into that manipulative, 'reasonable' tone he used to quiet difficult patients. "Look, I’m here, aren't I? I agreed to do this for you. Isn't that enough? What more do you want from me?"

"A friend?" I started to laugh, a jagged, ugly sound. "What kind of 'friend' leaves this in a car you’re borrowing?"

"Elena, stop," he snapped, his patience evaporating. "I am sacrificing my limited free time to play these games with you, and you’re going to throw a tantrum over a piece of trash?"

Sacrificing.

The word felt like a physical blow. To him, intimacy with his legal wife was a chore. A charitable donation.

My heart felt like it was being shredded. Seven years. I had given this man seven years of my life, my health, and my devotion. I had loved him through the shadow of the girl he never forgot—the ghost of the one who got away.

I remembered the accident, three days after our wedding. A car had come out of nowhere and slammed into me. Three broken ribs. A shattered pelvis. A severely damaged reproductive system.

Bennett was the surgeon who saved me. He had operated on me himself.

But after the surgery, something went wrong. He told me the trauma had caused "complications." My body had essentially locked itself shut. I became a "stone woman"—physically unable to experience pleasure, anatomically scarred in a way that made sex an agonizing impossibility.

I had wanted to die. But Bennett had held me, over and over, whispering, "Elena, it doesn't matter. I’ll take care of you forever."

I believed him. I was grateful for that accident because I thought it had forged a bond that transcended the physical. I spent seven years trying to be the perfect wife, the perfect shadow, just to earn the right to grow old with him.

And all it earned me was a "sacrifice."

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out. The thread had been updated.

“Oops, the stream got cut off. Looks like someone found the little surprise I left in the seat (blushing emoji). I guess he’s not as good at hiding things as he thought. Oh well, there’s always next time. We’ve got forever.”

Attached was a screenshot of a receipt. A pair of luxury black lace panties. $300.

I looked up at Bennett. He was holding something in his hand—a beige, rubbery device he’d pulled from the glove box. The packaging was torn. It looked cheap, clinical, and insulting.

Meanwhile, his own belt was still buckled tight. He hadn't even intended to touch me.

"So that was the plan, Bennett?" I whispered, nodding toward the toy. "That was your 'sincere effort'?"

I let out a breath that felt like a death rattle.