Divorced And Reborn: The Masked Doctor's Return

The chime of the private elevator cuts through the quiet of the Manhattan penthouse.

Katerina pushes herself off the plush sofa, her hand instinctively coming to rest on the heavy, eight-month swell of her stomach. A nervous energy shot through her. Maybe tonight. Maybe tonight he would finally listen. Cayden is home.

She walks toward the foyer, the cold marble seeping through her socks. "Cayden, you're back late. The baby was kicking so hard tonight, I think he-"

The heavy oak doors swing open. The smile dies on her lips.

Cayden strides into the apartment, bringing the freezing December draft with him. His eyes, usually the color of warm amber, are frozen over. He looks at her not like a husband looking at his pregnant wife, but like a man inspecting a rotting carcass on the side of the road.

Simon Hayes, his executive assistant, steps in right behind him. Simon's face is pale, his posture rigid.

"Cayden?" Katerina's voice falters. Her heart performs a painful stutter in her chest.

Cayden doesn't say a word. He stops three feet away from her, his jaw ticking-a hard, rhythmic pulse of pure fury. He snaps his fingers.

Simon steps forward and drops a sealed manila envelope onto the glass coffee table. The slap of the paper against the glass sounds like a gunshot in the silent room.

"Open it," Cayden orders. His voice is devoid of any human warmth. It is a blade pressing against her throat.

Katerina's hands start to shake. She waddles to the table, her fingertips numb as she tears the seal. She pulls out a crisp stack of papers. The logo of a premier genetics lab sits at the top. It's a prenatal DNA test.

She flips to the final page. Her eyes scan the bold black ink at the bottom.

Probability of Paternity: 0.00%.

All the air is violently sucked from the room. Katerina's lungs forget how to expand. The paper slips from her trembling fingers, fluttering to the floor.

"No," she gasps, her throat constricting. "No, Cayden, this is wrong. This is a mistake."

She reaches out, her fingers brushing the sleeve of his tailored wool coat.

Cayden violently jerks his arm away. The force of his rejection sends her stumbling backward. Her hip collides hard with the edge of the sofa. Pain shoots up her spine, but it is nothing compared to the agony ripping through her chest.

"Don't touch me," he snarls, his upper lip curling in disgust. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out? Did you think you could pass off another man's child as the heir to the Merritt family?"

"I have never been with anyone else!" Katerina screams, tears spilling over her lashes, burning her cold cheeks. "It's yours! He is yours! Someone is setting me up!"

"Shut up!" Cayden's voice booms, vibrating the glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Carmella warned me about you. She said you would deny everything. You destroyed her life, and now you expect me to raise the product of your filthy affairs?"

Katerina shakes her head frantically, her wet hair sticking to her face. Carmella. It's Carmella. The woman who had been clinging to Cayden, playing the victim, orchestrating this entire nightmare.

"She lied to you," Katerina begs, her voice cracking. "Cayden, please, look at me. Look at your wife."

Cayden's eyes are dead. He snaps his fingers toward the open doorway again.

A man in a dark suit steps into the penthouse, carrying a sleek black medical case. A private doctor.

"This is a sedative," Cayden says, his voice eerily smooth as he addresses her panic. "You're hysterical. The doctor will help you calm down." He shoots a cold, commanding look at the man in the dark suit. The doctor hesitates for a fraction of a second, his hand trembling slightly as he walks to the kitchen island. He pours a glass of water, his eyes averted, and extracts a single, chalky white pill from a blister pack.

Katerina's stomach drops so fast she feels physically sick. Her hands fly to her belly, shielding her unborn child.

"What are you doing?" she whispers, her vocal cords paralyzed with terror. She backs away, her spine hitting the freezing glass of the window. There is nowhere left to run.

"The Merritt family does not raise bastards," Cayden says, his tone conversational, which makes it infinitely more terrifying. "Get rid of it."

"No!" Katerina shrieks. "I'll leave! I'll sign the divorce papers! I won't take a single cent! Just let me keep my baby!"

Cayden doesn't even blink. He nods to the two massive bodyguards waiting in the hall.

They step in, their heavy boots thudding against the floor. They grab Katerina by the shoulders, their massive hands bruising her skin.

Katerina thrashes wildly. Her foot kicks out, shattering a crystal vase on the side table. Water and roses spill across the floor. "Don't touch me! Cayden, please! He's yours!"

Cayden walks up to her. He reaches out and grips her jaw. His fingers dig into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. The smell of his cedar cologne makes her gag.

"Swallow it," he commands.

The doctor steps up, placing the bitter white pill on her tongue, immediately following it with a splash of water.

Cayden clamps his hand over her mouth, pinching her nose shut.

Katerina thrashes, her lungs burning, her eyes wide with absolute, primal terror. She holds her breath until black spots dance in her vision. Her chest heaves. Her body demands oxygen.

She swallows.

Cayden releases her. She collapses onto the carpet, coughing and choking, her hands desperately clutching her stomach as the poison begins its work. Cayden stands over her, watching her break, his face an impenetrable mask of ice.

The heavy thud of a leather-bound folder hitting the floor beside her head makes Katerina flinch.

"Sign the divorce papers," Cayden says, his voice echoing from somewhere above her. "You have one hour to get your things and get out."

He turns on his heel. The heavy oak doors slam shut. The electronic lock clicks, sealing her inside the tomb of their marriage.

Katerina lies on the carpet, her chest heaving. The bitter taste of the pill coats the back of her throat.

A primal, violent instinct overrides the shock.

She scrambles to her feet, her knees scraping against the broken glass of the vase. She doesn't feel the cuts. She stumbles down the hallway, her hands clutching the walls for balance, and throws herself into the master bathroom.

She drops to her knees in front of the porcelain toilet. Without a second of hesitation, she shoves two fingers deep down her throat.

She gags. Her eyes water, stinging with broken blood vessels.

She pushes her fingers deeper, scraping the back of her tongue. Her stomach convulses violently.

Acid burns her esophagus. She vomits, a harsh, tearing sound echoing in the tiled room. She gasps for air, then does it again. And again.

Finally, amidst the bile and water, she sees the half-dissolved white chalkiness of the pill.

She slumps against the edge of the cold bathtub, her entire body shaking uncontrollably. She presses both hands to her belly. A soft, fluttery kick answers her touch.

A sob rips from her throat. He is alive.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. The Katerina who loved Cayden Merritt died on that living room floor. The woman sitting by the bathtub is just a mother. And she has to run.

She drags herself back to the living room. She picks up the pen lying next to the divorce papers. Her hand is steady as she scrawls her signature across the bottom line.

The electronic lock on the front door beeps.

Cayden walks back in, Simon trailing him. He stops when he sees her standing there, the signed papers in her hand. His brow furrows in deep irritation.

"Why are you still here?" he snaps.

Katerina looks at him. The amber eyes she used to get lost in now just look like dirty glass.

"I'm leaving," she says, her voice raspy from the stomach acid. "But before I go, you need to know something. Since you care so much about the truth."

Cayden crosses his arms, looking at his watch. "Make it fast."

"Three years ago, when your kidneys failed, you didn't get a transplant from an anonymous donor." Katerina stares dead into his eyes. "It was me. I gave you my kidney."

Cayden freezes. His posture stiffens, his eyes narrowing as he searches her face. For a fraction of a second, the ice in his eyes cracks.

Then, a soft ping comes from his pocket.

Cayden pulls out his phone. The screen lights up with a text from Carmella. Katerina can see the little heart emoji next to her name.

Cayden reads the text. A lie. It had to be. And yet... the sheer conviction in her dead eyes sent a sudden sliver of ice through his chest. He tightened his grip on the phone, violently crushing the thought before it could take root. Carmella was the victim here. This was just another one of Katerina's desperate manipulations. The crack in the ice seals over, thicker than before. He lets out a harsh, barking laugh.

"You are truly pathetic," he sneers, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "You'll say anything to stay in this penthouse. Carmella donated that kidney. I have the medical records. I saw the scar on her body."

Katerina's breath hitches. Carmella had stolen everything. Even her flesh and blood.

"Get her out of here," Cayden orders the bodyguards. "Throw her on the street."

The two massive men grab Katerina by the arms. They drag her toward the elevator. She doesn't fight them. She just turns her head, locking her dead, empty eyes on Cayden one last time.

They drag her through the lobby and shove her through the revolving doors.

Katerina stumbles and falls hard onto the wet concrete.

The Manhattan sky has broken open. Freezing, torrential rain pounds against the pavement, instantly soaking through her thin maternity dress. The cold bites into her bones. Pedestrians hurry past under black umbrellas, no one sparing a glance for the pregnant woman shivering on the ground.

She forces herself to stand, wrapping her arms around her belly. She starts walking, her bare feet numb against the flooded asphalt.

A sleek, black, bulletproof Maybach glides through the rain and stops right beside her.

The tinted rear window rolls down. Elie Mcdonald sits in the shadows, his sharp features illuminated by the streetlights. He extends a heavy black umbrella out the window.

"Are you ready to let Katerina Herman die?" Elie's voice is a low rumble over the sound of the rain.

Katerina reaches out. Her cold fingers wrap tightly around the handle of the umbrella.

"Yes," she says.

Five years later.

The tires of the Gulfstream private jet screech against the tarmac of JFK International Airport.

Katerina steps down the stairs, the sharp click of her black stilettos echoing in the crisp morning air. She wears a tailored black suit that hugs her slender frame. Her hair is pulled back into a severe, flawless bun.

She is no longer the pathetic, discarded wife. She is Astrid. The ghost. The medical fixer for the global elite.

Elie Mcdonald stands by a waiting armored SUV. He hands her an encrypted tablet as she slides into the leather backseat.

"Your VIP patient," Elie says, closing the door.

Katerina swipes through the medical file. The name is redacted. The symptoms are severe: chronic migraines, insomnia, violent mood swings. The patient has fired-and physically thrown out-five neurologists in the past month.

The SUV pulls into the underground garage of a highly discreet private clinic on the Upper East Side.

Alistair Crombie, the clinic director, is sweating through his suit as he waits by the private elevator.

Katerina steps out. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a sleek, silver half-mask. She secures it over her face, leaving only her eyes and lips exposed.

"Dr. Astrid," Alistair stammers, pressing the button for the penthouse floor. "Please be careful. He is in a terrible mood today."

The elevator doors open. The hallway is lined with men in dark suits.

Katerina's eyes narrow behind the mask. The cut of the suits, the specific way the men stand with their hands clasped in front of them-it tugs at a dark corner of her memory.

She ignores the rising dread in her stomach and walks to the heavy mahogany double doors at the end of the hall. Alistair pushes them open for her and quickly steps back.

The VIP suite is suffocatingly dark. Heavy blackout curtains block out the Manhattan skyline.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stands by the window, his back to the door. Smoke from a cigar curls around his dark hair.

Katerina steps onto the thick carpet, her medical case heavy in her hand.

Hearing her heels, the man turns around.

The dim light from a wall sconce catches the sharp angles of his jaw, the straight line of his nose, and those amber eyes.

Katerina's lungs seize. Her heart slams against her ribs so hard she feels it in her throat.

Cayden Merritt.

He looks older. Harsher. The lines around his mouth are carved deeper, and there is a dark, dangerous exhaustion in his eyes.

Cayden crushes the cigar into an ashtray. His gaze sweeps over her, sharp as a scalpel.

"You're the miracle worker everyone is terrified of?" His voice is a low, gravelly rasp.

Katerina grips the handle of her medical case until her knuckles turn white. The leather digs into her palm. She forces her breathing to slow. She cannot panic.

"Yes," she says. She alters the placement of her tongue, producing a clipped, cold, faintly European accent.

Cayden takes a step toward her. Then another. The sheer physical dominance of the man fills the room, pressing down on her chest.

He stops less than two feet away. He looks down at her, his eyes locking onto hers through the eyeholes of the silver mask.

A slight frown creases his forehead. His amber eyes darken with a sudden, restless confusion. Something in her gaze is scratching at his subconscious.

Without a word of warning, Cayden raises his hand, his long fingers reaching straight for the edge of her silver mask.