Chapter 3

He hung up on me again before I had any chance to refuse.

I blinked at the silent screen, suddenly realizing I had forgotten to record the call.

However, it was only a sentence or two; it did not seem vital at the moment.

He had simply asked me to bring his mother over. Surely, nothing would go wrong.

I called Cynthia and waited for her to arrive at the hospital.

Once she was there, I made my way toward the surgical wing.

When I arrived and asked for her, a nurse informed me that she had already been wheeled into the operating room.

I was genuinely surprised. Had they taken her in that quickly? Had they drugged her to get her on the table? Did Quentin really not know that the patient was his own mother?

As I stood by the operating room doors, I spotted Quentin Hayes.

He was holding Sophia Newell's hand, the two of them laughing and chatting as they walked toward me.

I stepped forward to warn him. "Quentin, do you actually know who you sent into that operating room?"

At the sound of my voice, Sophia's cheerful expression vanished. Her eyes welled up with tears instantly.

"If Eliza isn't willing to help, then let's just forget it," she sobbed. "Ultimately, it's just my own lack of skill. Eliza must be worried about me failing..."

I waved my hands frantically to clarify. "No, no, that's not it. I'm just worried about Quentin. After all, this person is—"

Quentin pushed me aside with an annoyed grunt. "What is there for me to worry about? It's not like it's my own mother in there."

Even though I played the part of the slow-witted wife, I still had a conscience.

I chased after them. "But what if the practice session fails? I know I might not have the right to speak up, but that is a human life."

Quentin rolled his eyes at me. "Practice sessions come with high risks. If she dies, she dies. Oh, by the way, I signed the liability waiver on your behalf. Since I'm essentially your mother's son-in-law, I have the right to sign for her."

I reached out to stop him again, but before I could utter a word, Quentin shoved me back with force. He frowned deeply as he pulled the operating room doors shut.

Just before the doors slammed closed, I saw Sophia flash me a triumphant, malicious smile. She mouthed the words: "I'll make sure your mother never makes it out alive."

I fell to the floor from the force of his shove.

I picked myself up, brushed the dust off my clothes, and shook my head helplessly.

Well, it wasn't my mother in there, so why was I worrying?

I hadn't realized Quentin could be quite this cold-blooded. It seemed my decision to file for divorce was the right one.

Lawyer Miles Rivera handed me the finalized divorce papers. I sat in the waiting area outside the surgery suite, passing the time.

Three hours later, the doors opened. Quentin and Sophia walked out, still laughing together.

Quentin pulled off his surgical mask and looked at me with a flat, detached expression.

"Eliza, your mother is dead," he said casually. "I let Sophia perform a dissection afterward so she could study human anatomy."

He tossed a body donation consent form at me. "Sign this."

Quentin stood there with his hands in his pockets. His gaze was icy and devoid of any emotion.

"What do you want for compensation? Just name it and I'll give it to you."

I shook my head. "I can't sign that document. Only you can sign it, Quentin. You're the son."

I quickly held out the divorce settlement. "You don't love me, and we aren't meant to be husband and wife. Let's get a divorce."

Quentin's eyes narrowed into a fierce glare. "Your idea of compensation is a divorce? And you want half of my assets?"

He snatched the papers and slammed them against my face. "I didn't realize you were so calculating, Eliza. Every single legal clause in here is airtight. But why on earth should I give you my money? If you want a divorce, fine—but only if you leave with nothing."

I looked him in the eye and spoke the simple truth. "My lawyer said this is my legal right."