After My Divorce, His Enemy Claimed Me.

(Sloane) I should have known something was wrong when Vaughn started working late three nights a week. My husband wasn't the dedicated type. He was the type who delegated his post op notes to residents and left the hospital the second his last surgery finished. But for the past two months, he'd been texting me around eight PM with the same excuse. *Running behind. Don't wait up.* I didn't wait up. I had my own surgeries, my own patients, my own exhaustion to deal with. Cardiothoracic surgery didn't leave much room for suspicion or jealousy. When you spent your days holding human hearts in your hands, you learned to prioritize what actually mattered. Except tonight, I forgot my tablet in the surgeon's lounge. The tablet with my notes for tomorrow's valve replacement. The surgery I'd been preparing for all week. So at nine PM, I drove back to Seattle Grace Memorial Hospital, my coffee from this morning still cold in the cup holder, my feet aching in the heels I'd worn for the hospital board meeting. The administrative wing was quiet. Most of the offices were dark, the hallways deserted except for the occasional nurse passing through. Vaughn's office was on the third floor, tucked away in the orthopedic department. I wasn't going there to check on him. I was going to the lounge two doors down. But as I rounded the corner, I heard it. A moan. Low and breathy, followed by a masculine grunt I'd heard a thousand times before. My feet stopped moving. The sound was coming from Vaughn's office. His door was cracked open, just enough for a sliver of light to spill into the hallway. I should have walked away. I should have gone to the lounge, grabbed my tablet, and gone home. But my legs carried me forward, my hand pushing the door open wider before my brain could catch up. And there he was. My husband of four years. Bent over his desk with his scrub pants around his ankles, thrusting into a blonde nurse whose face was pressed against the wood, her scrub top shoved up. They didn't notice me at first. Too caught up in their little performance. "God, you feel so good," Vaughn groaned, his hands gripping her hips. The nurse giggled. Actually giggled. "Better than your wife?" My stomach turned to ice. Vaughn laughed. Laughed. "Sloane? She's too busy with her precious hearts to even notice I'm gone. This is so much better." That was when I spoke. "You're right. I didn't notice." Both of them froze. Vaughn's head whipped around, his eyes going wide when he saw me standing in the doorway. The nurse scrambled to pull her top down, her face turning red. "Sloane," Vaughn started, pulling up his pants with shaking hands. "This isn't what it looks like." I raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because it looks like you're screwing a nurse on the same desk where you told me last week that you loved me." "I can explain." "Don't." I held up a hand, my voice cutting through his pathetic stammering. "I don't want your explanations. I don't want your excuses. I want you out of my house by tomorrow morning." The nurse was moving toward the door, trying to slip past me. I stepped aside, letting her flee like the coward she was. Vaughn, however, had the nerve to look offended. "Sloane, we can work through this. It was a mistake." "A mistake?" I laughed, the sound bitter. "A mistake is forgetting to pick up milk. This is a choice. You chose to cheat on me. You chose to disrespect me. You chose to throw away four years of marriage for a quick screw in your office." "You're never home!" he shouted, his face turning red. "You're always at the hospital, always too tired, always too focused on your patients. What was I supposed to do?" "Not cheat," I said. "That's what you were supposed to do. But clearly, that was too much to ask." He ran a hand through his hair, his expression shifting from panic to anger. "You're going to regret this, Sloane. You think you're so perfect, but you're not. You're cold. You're impossible to live with. No wonder I went looking somewhere else." I stared at him for a long moment, letting his words hang in the air between us. Then I smiled. "You know what, Vaughn? You're right. I am cold. I am impossible. And I'm also the best cardiothoracic surgeon in this hospital. I don't need you. I never did." I turned and walked out, leaving him standing there with his pants half done up and his dignity in ruins. By the time I reached the surgeon's lounge, my hands were shaking. Not from sadness or heartbreak, but from pure, unfiltered rage. I grabbed my tablet and headed back to the parking lot, my mind already spinning with everything I needed to do. Lawyer. Divorce papers. New locks on the house. I wasn't going to cry over Vaughn Reid. I was going to destroy him. The cool night air hit my face as I stepped outside, and I took a deep breath. The parking lot was nearly empty, just a few cars scattered under the lights. And then I saw him. Dr. Kieran Ashford. Chief of Surgery. Vaughn's biggest rival and the man who'd been a thorn in my husband's side since the day he arrived at Seattle Grace six months ago. He was leaning against his car, still in his scrubs, a cup of coffee in his hand. His dark hair was messy, stubble covering his face, and his tie was loose around his neck like he'd been in back to back surgeries all day. He looked up when I walked over, his green eyes studying me. "Dr. Reid," he said, his voice low. "Working late?" "Something like that," I said, unlocking my car. He tilted his head, looking at my face. "You look upset." "I'm fine." "You're a terrible liar." I turned to glare at him, ready to tell him to mind his own business, but the words died when I saw the concern in his eyes. Not pity. Not fake sympathy. Just honest concern. And for some reason, that broke something inside me. "My husband is cheating on me," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "I just walked in on him screwing a nurse in his office." Kieran's expression darkened, his face hardening. "Vaughn?" "The one and only." He was quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he set his coffee down on the hood of his car and stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with the faint scent of antiseptic. "I'm sorry, Sloane," he said, his voice quieter now. "You deserve better than that." I laughed, the sound hollow and bitter. "Yeah, well. I'm filing for divorce tomorrow, so at least I won't have to deal with him much longer." Kieran's lips curved into a dangerous smile that sent a shiver down my spine. "Good. He never deserved you anyway." There was something in his tone that made my heart skip. Something dark and possessive that I shouldn't have found attractive, but God help me, I did. "Thanks," I said, my voice low. "Sloane." I paused, my hand on the car door, and looked back at him. His eyes locked on mine, intense and unwavering. "If you need anything, and I mean anything, I'm here." His words settled over me, loaded with meaning I wasn't ready to unpack. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and climbed into my car. As I drove home, Vaughn's words came back to me. *You're going to regret this.* No, Vaughn. You are. Because I had a feeling that Kieran Ashford was about to make my soon to be ex husband's life a living hell.