Chapter 1Operation Ruin My Unfaithful Wife

Five years of marriage, and I finally had the piece of paper that proved I was enough. A normal sperm count.

My heart hammered a frantic, joyful rhythm against my ribs as I calculated exactly how I was going to surprise my wife. Giselle was a surgical attending; I was pediatric, but today, the long corridors of the hospital felt entirely like mine. I had spent half a decade swallowing bitter pills, enduring humiliating exams, and weathering the quiet, suffocating disappointment in her eyes. Today, everything changed.

Just as I rounded the corner toward the surgical wing, my phone buzzed in my scrub pocket. A text from Giselle.

Hey baby. You must be exhausted after a full day in peds. Go home and get some rest.

Then, a second bubble popped up. I’ve got an emergency op tonight, so don't wait up for me.

I smiled, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard to type back a playful refusal. But as I glanced up, the movement at the end of the hall caught my eye. Giselle. She wasn't prepping for an emergency. She was grabbing a young surgical intern by the collar of his scrubs and yanking him into Operating Room 3.

The lab report slipped from my fingers. It hit the linoleum with a soft, pathetic slap. My entire body went rigid.

Through the heavy double doors, which hadn't fully clicked shut, the muffled but unmistakable sound of a woman’s breathless groan bled into the hallway.

"In the middle of the day? Can't you just hold on?" It was Giselle's voice, laced with a breathless urgency. "My tenure review is coming up. What if someone catches us?"

Then came the boy's voice, raspy and demanding. "I don't care! Last time, you had me pressed against the instrument tray before you'd even finished suturing the patient. You want it now, so you do what I say."

A wave of pure, unadulterated nausea crashed over me, so violently I thought my knees would buckle. I stared at the metal doors. The woman I had worshipped, the family I was so desperately trying to build, shattered into a million jagged pieces right there in the sterile hallway.

The grief lasted exactly three seconds. Then, a cold, surgical anger took over.

I pulled out my phone, bypassed our private messages, and opened the hospital-wide staff channel. My fingers flew across the screen.

Code Security. Someone is actively stealing surgical equipment in OR 3. Need all available staff and security immediately. Stop the thieves.

Replies flooded in instantly.

On my way!

I knew it! We’ve been missing inventory all month, even the new ultrasound probe covers!

I locked my screen and let out a hollow laugh. If they wanted the thrill of a forbidden rush, I was going to give them a blockbuster audience.

…

* * *

The staff chat was blowing up, notifications pinging like a heart monitor going into tachycardia.

Inside the OR, Giselle's muffled moans were suddenly interrupted. I could hear the intern—Dylan, that was his name—speak up, his voice tinged with confusion.

"Giselle, why are our phones going crazy?"

"Check it. Maybe it’s an emergency."

Giselle's response dripped with the heavy irritation of being interrupted mid-climax. "Are you seriously thinking about that right now? Ignore it!" she snapped. "It’s probably just the Chief of Staff calling another pointless administrative meeting. She’s obsessed with the upcoming hospital accreditation. The old bitch won't let anyone breathe."

The old bitch.

She was talking about my mother. The CEO and Chief of Staff of this hospital. The woman who had dedicated her entire life to saving people.

Good.

Perfect.

I pulled up my contacts and found my in-laws. Gary and Donna had texted me earlier; they were downstairs in the lobby, bringing a Tupperware of Donna's heavy homemade stew. They were five minutes away.

I fired off a text: Gary, Donna! Emergency! Giselle collapsed in the OR! Get up here right now!

While the filthy, wet sounds of their betrayal resumed behind the door, I turned and walked calmly toward the nurses' station.

"Send a copy of the security feed for OR 3 to my tablet, please," I said, my voice eerily level.

The charge nurse grimaced, tapping her pen against the maintenance log. "Dr. Foster, the camera in OR 3 has been down since last week. Facilities hasn't gotten around to it yet." She lowered her voice, leaning in with the practiced intimacy of hospital gossip. "Haven't you noticed? We've been diverting all non-critical surgeries to the other rooms. But Dr. Giselle keeps specifically requesting OR 3. She says she doesn't want to monopolize the good rooms. Such a team player, your wife."

I see.

That was why she was so brazen. Why she felt untouchable in there.

The sound of heavy boots and jingling keys echoed down the corridor. I turned slowly, watching the cavalry arrive.

Giselle, I thought, you care about your reputation and your tenure more than breathing. Let’s get you the spotlight you deserve.

The head of hospital security rounded the corner, flanked by four guards and a trail of nosy nurses. "Where's the breach? Which room?"

I pointed a steady finger at the heavy doors. "OR 3. I walked by and heard a struggle. Sounded like equipment being knocked over. Could be multiple suspects."

The VP of Medical Affairs, Dr. Aris, happened to be walking by. His face flushed with administrative rage. "Block the exits! Breach the door! We are not losing another dime of hospital property!"

Two burly security guards exchanged a nod and threw their weight against the double doors.

With a deafening crash, the doors burst open.

And there was Giselle. Scrub top half-unbuttoned, bra exposed, practically throwing herself in front of the lead guard.

"What the hell is wrong with you people?!" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "I am trying to take a nap! Are you insane?"

But there was no hiding the chaotic flush of her skin, or the violent, blossoming purple hickeys scattered across her collarbone. She caught my eye over the shoulders of the guards, the color draining from her face as she frantically clawed at her scrub top, trying to cover herself.