The Amazing Doctor Sterling

Chapter 5

The oak door of their penthouse apartment clicked shut, locking out the noise of the city.

George stood in the dimly lit foyer, slowly unbuttoning his suit jacket. The silence inside the home was suffocating. For the past two years, this luxury high-rise had been his sanctuary,a place he had paid for with eighty-hour workweeks at the hospital and endless sleepless nights building his medical software company.

In his previous life, he had walked into this apartment every night believing he was the luckiest man on earth. He had believed the framed wedding photos on the console table meant something.

He looked at the small silver frame near his keys. In the photo, Tiffany was clinging to his arm, laughing in a white veil. It was a flawless illusion.

The door opened again behind him. Tiffany stepped inside.

She looked exhausted, her cream-colored silk blouse wrinkled from the chaos at the hotel. Her hands were trembling as she dropped her designer handbag onto the marble bench. She didn’t look at George immediately; her eyes darted around the quiet apartment as if she were searching for hidden cameras or traps.

"You knew," Tiffany whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

George didn't turn around. He carefully hung his coat in the closet. "Knew what, Tiffany?"

"Don't play games with me!" she suddenly screamed, her voice cracking with a mixture of rage and terror. She marched into the living room, her heels clicking aggressively against the hardwood floor. "The glasses! The suite! You knew Vincent put something in that wine!"

George walked calmly into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of cold water. He leaned against the granite countertop, watching his wife unravel.

"I noticed Dr. Dean was acting erratically during the surgery this afternoon," George said smoothly, keeping his voice entirely conversational. Nobody,not Tiffany, not the hospital board, not Elena Maxwell,could ever suspect the truth of his regression. To the world, he had to be simply a brilliant man who had finally opened his eyes. "When a surgeon’s hands shake, and when he offers an isolated glass of wine with an unsealed cork, a rational man takes precautions."

"You ruined him!" Tiffany cried, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. "Do you have any idea what you've done? The police took him away in handcuffs! He’s facing federal narcotics charges! His career is over!"

George took a slow sip of his water. "He brought hospital sedatives into a hotel room with a young patient, Tiffany. I didn't force him to drink his own compound, and I certainly didn't force him to rent Room 304. Why are you so fiercely defending a man who attempted to drug your husband?"

Tiffany froze. Her mouth opened, but the words died in her throat.

She couldn't confess the truth. She couldn't admit that Room 304 had been paid for with her own credit card, or that she had spent the last six months plotting with Vincent to strip George of his medical license and seize his software patents. If she admitted that now, George could hand her over to the police as a co-conspirator.

She forced her expression to soften. The sharp, venomous anger vanished in an instant, replaced by the practiced, tearful vulnerability she had used to manipulate him for years.

"I... I was just shocked, darling," she stammered, walking toward the kitchen counter. She reached out with a trembling hand, trying to touch his arm. "Vincent was our friend. He was your colleague. Watching the police drag him away like that... it terrified me. I thought you were in danger."

George looked down at her hand resting on his forearm.

In his first life, that touch would have melted his resolve immediately. He would have apologized for upsetting her. He would have held her and promised to protect her.

Now, he felt only a cold, profound revulsion. Yet, beneath the disgust, a , bitter ache settled in his chest,a core struggle he couldn't simply excise with a scalpel. He had truly loved this woman. He had built his entire life around the desire to give her everything she wanted. Mourning the death of a lie was a lonely, exhausting grief.

"I am not in danger, Tiffany," George said quietly. He stepped back, letting her hand fall into empty air. "In fact, the Maxwell Group just secured my appointment as Head of the Medical Board."

Tiffany’s jaw tightened slightly, though she forced a smile. "I know. That... that is wonderful news, George. You deserve it."

"It means my schedule will be much busier," George continued, setting his glass in the sink. "I’ll be sleeping in the study tonight. I have surgical logs to review."

He walked past her without waiting for a reply.

As he closed the door to the private study, George leaned his back against the wood and exhaled a long, shaky breath. Surviving the trap was only the first step. Tiffany still held forty percent of the equity in his medical startup, PulseTech,shares he had foolishly gifted her on their second anniversary.

He couldn't just divorce her tonight. In a standard divorce, her lawyers would drag PulseTech into court, freeze his accounts, and demand half of everything he had built. He had to systematically strip her of her leverage first. He had to make her sign away her equity willingly.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a secure text message from an unknown number.

“Dr. Sterling. Vincent Dean made a phone call from the precinct holding cell ten minutes ago. He didn’t call a lawyer. He called your wife’s family estate. Watch your back. , E.M.”

George stared at the initials. Elena Maxwell.

His eyes narrowed. Vincent wasn't just acting out of professional jealousy. He was backed by Tiffany’s family,the Vance-Sterling corporate alliance. And they were already moving to contain the damage.