Chapter 3: Breaking Point

Elena's POV

The surgery went perfectly, which somehow made everything worse. For four hours, Tristan and I worked in perfect synchronization, our hands moving in practiced harmony around Mr. Henderson's open chest. I anticipated his every need, passing instruments before he asked, adjusting retractors, monitoring vitals. In the OR, we were partners.

It was the only place we ever were.

"Excellent work," Tristan said as we closed, and for just a moment, his eyes met mine over his surgical mask. There was something there, a flicker of acknowledgment that made my heart race. Then it was gone, and he was all business again. "Elena, handle the post-op notes. I have a meeting."

A meeting. With Serena, no doubt.

I finished the paperwork and changed out of my surgical scrubs, my body aching with exhaustion. The nausea had returned with a vengeance, and I barely made it to the bathroom before I was sick again. When would this end? The pregnancy books said twelve weeks, but I wasn't even at nine yet.

My phone buzzed as I was washing my face. A text from an unknown number.

"Hey stranger. Heard you're back in town. Coffee sometime? - Marco"

Marco Bennett. The name sent a wave of complicated emotions through me. We'd been in the medical illustration program together, before I'd dropped out to become Tristan's assistant. Marco had tried to convince me not to give up my dreams, but I hadn't listened.

Now he was a renowned medical illustrator, traveling the world, creating the kind of art I'd once imagined for myself. And I was here, invisible and pregnant with twins I couldn't keep.

I was about to delete the message when someone slammed into me from behind, sending my phone clattering to the floor.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Serena's voice was sugary sweet. "How clumsy of me."

I bent to retrieve my phone, but she was faster. She picked it up, her eyes scanning the screen before I could stop her.

"Marco Bennett?" She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Isn't he that medical illustrator? The one you used to be so close with?" Her smile turned sharp. "Does Tristan know you're texting other men?"

"It's none of your business." I grabbed for my phone, but she held it out of reach.

"Everything involving Tristan is my business, little sister." The endearment was poison. "We both know what you are. His convenient little arrangement. Did you really think he'd ever choose you over me?"

"Give me my phone, Serena."

"Or what?" She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You'll tell him about your secret coffee dates? Or maybe I should tell him first. I'm sure he'd be very interested to know his wife is reconnecting with old flames."

Something in me snapped. Years of abuse, years of being second choice, years of watching her take everything I ever wanted, it all came rushing to the surface.

"At least Marco actually sees me," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "At least he remembers I exist when the sun comes up."

Serena's face twisted. "You ungrateful little bitch. After everything I've done for you."

"Done for me?" I laughed, and it sounded slightly unhinged. "You've done nothing but make my life hell since the day your mother married my father. You took my home, my inheritance, and now you're taking my husband."

"Your husband?" Serena's eyes glittered dangerously. "Is that what you think he is? Tristan will never be yours, Elena. He's mine. He's always been mine."

"Then why did he marry me?"

The question hung between us, sharp as a scalpel. For just a second, I saw uncertainty flicker aCaine Serena's perfect face. Then her hand flew up, fast as a snake.

The slap echoed through the hallway.

My cheek burned, my eyes watering from the impact. I'd never hit anyone in my life. I'd spent my whole existence trying to be small, trying not to make waves, trying to earn love through quietness and compliance.

But I was done being quiet.

My hand moved before my brain could stop it. The sound of my palm connecting with Serena's face was satisfying in a way that terrified me.

"You bitch!" Serena shrieked, stumbling backward. For a moment, her mask of perfection slipped, and I saw pure hatred in her eyes.

Then, like magic, the mask was back. She grabbed her own arm and squeezed hard, leaving red marks on her pale skin. She messed up her hair, let tears fill her eyes.

"Help!" she cried out, her voice trembling and afraid. "Someone help me!"

No. No, no, no.

Doors began opening. Nurses poked their heads out. And then, striding down the hallway like an avenging angel, was Tristan.

"What's going on here?" His voice was cold steel.

Serena rushed to him, sobbing convincingly. "Tristan, thank god. I was just trying to talk to Elena, trying to be friendly, and she attacked me. Look what she did!" She held up her arm, showing the marks she'd made herself.

"That's not what happened," I said, but my voice sounded weak even to my own ears. "Tristan, she's lying."

He wasn't listening. His eyes were on Serena, his hands gentle as he examined her arm. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay," Serena whimpered. "I just don't understand why she hates me so much. I've tried to be kind to her, but nothing is ever enough."

I watched in horror as Tristan bought every word. Of course he did. Serena was his true love, the brilliant neurosurgeon, the woman whose name shared his research institute. I was just the contract wife, the assistant, the woman he fucked in the dark and ignored in the light.

"Tristan, please," I tried again. "Let me explain."

"Explain what?" He turned to me, and his eyes were arctic. "Explain why you assaulted a colleague? Explain why you can't control yourself?"

"She attacked me first! She slapped me!"

"I see no marks on you." His voice was flat, factual. Tristan the surgeon, assessing evidence. "But I can clearly see what you did to Serena."

Of course. Serena's fair skin showed every mark. My olive complexion hid the evidence of her violence.

"I didn't mean to upset her," Serena said softly, still clinging to Tristan's arm. "I know our family situation is complicated, but I just wanted to try. For your sake, Tristan. I know she's important to you."

The lies were so smooth, so practiced. And Tristan was eating them up.

"Apologize," he ordered me.

The word hit me like a physical blow. "What?"

"Apologize to Serena. Now."

I looked at my husband, this man I'd loved for so long, and saw nothing but cold judgment in his eyes. He didn't even want to hear my side. Didn't even consider that Serena might be lying.

"No," I whispered.

His jaw tightened. "Excuse me?"

"I said no." I lifted my chin, even as my heart shattered. "I won't apologize for defending myself."

"Then you leave me no choice." Tristan's voice was ice. "You're suspended, effective immediately. Linda will handle your duties until further notice."

The words landed like punches. Suspended. From the job that was the only thing giving me any stability. From the position that provided my health insurance, the insurance that was currently covering my prenatal care.

"Tristan, you can't."

"I just did." He turned away from me, his arm still around Serena. "Go home, Elena. We'll discuss this later."

I stood there, shaking, as they walked away together. Serena looked back once, and the triumph in her eyes told me everything. This had been her plan all along. Provoke me, frame me, drive a wedge between me and Tristan.

And it had worked perfectly.

The hallway emptied around me, nurses and doctors returning to their duties, leaving me alone with my humiliation. My phone was still on the floor where Serena had dropped it. I picked it up with trembling hands and saw Marco's message still on the screen.

Coffee sometime?

I typed back before I could think better of it.

"Yes. When?"