Awake Under the Scalpel: My Ex-Husband's Crematorium

Agony ripped through my abdomen, sharp and blinding.

I tore my eyes open. Blinding surgical lights seared my vision. The cold metal of the operating table bit into my spine.

"Ah!" I screamed, my voice muffled by an oxygen mask.

Vincent paused. His gloved hands hovered over my open flesh. Above his surgical mask, his dark eyes remained entirely detached.

"You're awake," he noted.

"Vincent, it hurts," I choked out, thrashing against the leather straps binding my wrists. "I can feel everything."

"I lowered the anesthesia," he replied.

He picked up a pair of surgical forceps.

"Why?" I gasped.

"I needed you conscious for this part," he said. He reached back into my incision.

A fresh wave of torture tore a raw shriek from my throat.

"Stop!" I begged. "The baby... the ectopic pregnancy..."

"It wasn't ectopic." He dropped a bloody mass into a stainless steel basin. "The embryo was perfectly healthy."

The clatter of metal echoed in the sterile room.

"Healthy?" I whispered. "You said it was killing me. You said we had to operate."

"I lied." He selected a curved suture needle from the tray. "Just like I lied four years ago."

"What are you talking about?"

"When I removed your appendix four years ago, I tied your fallopian tubes." He pierced my skin with the needle. I jerked, crying out. "This pregnancy was a miracle slip-up. A statistical anomaly. I just corrected it."

"You sterilized me?" My heart slammed against my ribs. "Without my consent?"

"You would have argued."

"You murdered our child!"

"Keep your voice down," he ordered, pulling the synthetic thread tight. "I had my reasons."

"What reasons?" I sobbed. "Why would you do this to me?"

"Victor died at sea," Vincent stated. "Isabella was left entirely alone. The family treats her like an outsider."

"What does your brother's widow have to do with my uterus?"

"I gave her a child," he said.

The heart monitor beside me spiked into a frantic rhythm.

"You gave Isabella a baby?" I asked.

"She needed an anchor in this family to secure her inheritance," Vincent explained, tying off a knot in my flesh. "I can't give you a child too. Two heirs would threaten her position. I won't allow Isabella to be marginalized."

"You mutilated my body for her?"

He drove the needle through my skin again. I bit my lip until copper flooded my tongue.

"Listen to me very carefully, Serena." He leaned over the table. "Do not make things difficult for Isabella. She has suffered enough. If you cause trouble for her, I will make you regret it."

Hours later, the midnight silence of the St. Jude Private Hospital VIP suite pressed down on me.

I lay in the darkness. The fresh stitches in my lower belly burned like hot coals.

A heavy thud echoed from the adjoining caregiver suite.

I turned my head. The connecting door stood slightly ajar. A sliver of warm yellow light spilled across the cold floor tiles.

Then came the wet, slapping sounds of flesh hitting flesh.

"Fuck, Vincent. Right there."

Isabella's voice.

"You want my cock deeper in your pussy?" Vincent grunted.

"Yes," she moaned loudly. "Fuck my wet cunt. Don't stop."

I shoved the heavy down comforter off my legs. I ripped the IV line from the back of my hand. Blood beaded on my skin.

I forced my feet onto the floor. Every step felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I braced my hand against the wall, dragging my body toward the light.

I pushed the oak door open.

They were on the narrow hospital bed. Vincent was driving his hips forward, burying himself inside Isabella. Her pale legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

He stopped mid-thrust.

He turned his head and saw me standing in the doorway.

No shock crossed his features. No panic.

He pulled his dick out of her, reached for the Tom Ford suit jacket draped over a nearby chair, and wrapped it around Isabella's naked shoulders.

"If you find this an eyesore, the divorce papers are ready to sign anytime," he said.

Isabella clutched the expensive wool lapels. She peered out at me. Tears instantly welled in her wide, doe-like eyes and spilled down her flushed cheeks.

"Serena," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

I leaned against the doorframe, pressing a hand over my bleeding surgical wound.

"Losing Victor was too painful," Isabella cried, burying her face into Vincent's chest. "The nights are terrifying. Only Vincent gives me security. I need him."

Vincent stroked her hair. "Hush. Don't upset yourself."

She looked back at me, her bottom lip trembling. "As my best friend, please understand my fragility."

"Your fragility?" I asked.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she whimpered. "But I can't survive without him."

My gaze drifted downward.

A pile of black silk and intricate French lace lay discarded on the floor tiles. The Agent Provocateur limited edition set.

"You're wearing the black lace," I said.

Isabella sniffled. "What?"

I pointed at the floor. "You handed me that exact box at my bachelorette party. You smiled and told me to wear it for him on our wedding night. You called it my bridal gift."

"It's just lingerie, Serena," Vincent interjected.

"You bought it for yourself," I said, staring directly into Isabella's tear-filled eyes. "You gave it to me, knowing you already owned the same set. Knowing you would wear your matching battle-armor to fuck my husband."

"It fits her better," Vincent said.

He stepped off the bed, completely naked, and walked toward me.

"Go back to your room," he commanded. "You're bleeding on the floor."

I looked down. Drops of crimson stained the white tiles between my bare feet. My stitches had torn open.

"You cut my baby out of me today," I whispered.

"I performed a necessary medical procedure," he corrected.

"So you could fuck her in the next room while I bled."

"I told you I want peace," Vincent said, his jaw tightening. "Sign the divorce papers tomorrow. I'll ensure you get a generous settlement."

Isabella peeked out from the suit jacket again. "Please don't hate us, Serena. We just want to be a family."

"A family." I repeated the word, the metallic taste of blood still lingering in my mouth.

I turned my back on them and walked toward the hallway exit, leaving a trail of red footprints behind me. I didn't stop at my bed. I didn't grab my clothes.

I reached the elevator bank and pressed the button.

The metal doors slid open, revealing a tall man in a tailored black trench coat. He stepped out, his cold gray eyes locking onto my blood-soaked hospital gown.

"Well," the man murmured, his gaze dropping to the crimson pooling at my feet. "This is certainly an interesting way to greet your new lawyer."