After My Surgeon Husband Chose His Mistress Over Me Chapter 5 – The New York skyline sparkled through the limousine windows as we pulled up to the red carpet.
Camera flashes erupted like lightning, momentarily blinding me as Julian extended his hand to help me from the car.
“Ready?” he asked, his perfectly symmetrical face lighting up with a practiced smile.
I smoothed the midnight blue gown that hugged my figure a far cry from the conservative pastels Chris preferred me in and nodded.
“Absolutely.”
Julian Vance, one of the most sought after male models in the industry, placed his hand at the small of my back as we stepped onto the red carpet. The touch was respectful, professional, but to onlookers, it suggested intimacy.
Which was precisely the point.
“Mrs. Montgomery!” called a photographer. “Over here! Who’s your date tonight?”
I smiled directly into the camera lens.
“It’s Ms. Parker tonight,” I corrected, loud enough for the nearest reporters to hear.
“And this is Julian Vance.”
Julian played his part perfectly, leaning close to whisper something in my ear that made me laugh genuinely. The cameras went wild.
Inside the venue, Fashion Week’s most exclusive gala buzzed with the elite of the fashion world. I felt eyes following us curious, speculative glances from people who knew exactly who I was married to, who had seen the society pages covering Boston General’s golden couple.
My phone vibrated in my clutch. Chris. Again. His fifth call in the hour since the first photos had hit Instagram.
I silenced it without a glance.
“Your husband?” Julian asked quietly as he handed me a champagne flute.
“Soon to be ex-husband,” I replied, taking a deliberate sip.
“He’s discovering that actions have consequences.”
Julian’s eyebrow arched slightly.
“Well, he’s certainly getting a front-row view of those consequences tonight. You’re trending, by the way.”
I smiled, clinking my glass against his.
“Good.”
The hospital corridor fell silent as I walked through, the click of my heels against the polished floor the only sound. Nurses who once whispered behind my back now watched me with new eyes some curious, others almost respectful.
Olivia Chen fell into step beside me, her voice low.
“Everyone’s talking about your Fashion Week photos.”
“Are they?” I asked, though I knew very well they were. The images of Julian and me had been splashed across social media for three days now.
“Jamie’s furious,” Olivia continued, a hint of satisfaction in her tone.
“She threw a tray in the OR yesterday when someone showed her.”
I suppressed a smile.
“How unprofessional.”
“There’s something else.” Olivia glanced around before continuing.
“Have you seen the posts about her on MedGossip?”
I maintained a carefully neutral expression.
“I don’t follow hospital gossip forums.”
“Someone’s been posting about her history. Apparently, Boston General isn’t the first hospital where she’s… gotten close to married attendings.” Olivia’s eyes gleamed with the thrill of sharing forbidden information.
“There are screenshots from her residency in Chicago. And before that, med school.”
I nodded thoughtfully.
“How unfortunate for her reputation.”
As we reached the elevator, Olivia touched my arm lightly.
“Dr. Montgomery’s been in a terrible mood. Snapping at everyone. The board called him in yesterday for a closed-door meeting.”
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside.
“Change is difficult for some people,” I said as the doors closed between us.
The ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton glowed with soft lighting as I approached the podium. Three hundred of Boston’s most influential women watched me, their attention absolute.
In the back row sat Marcus, a silent pillar of support.
“Thank you for that generous introduction,” I began, my voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach. This was my first public speaking engagement something Chris had always done for both of us.
“It’s an honor to address the Women’s Foundation tonight.”
I paused, looking out at the sea of faces.
“My journey to this podium has been… unexpected. Three months ago, I wouldn’t have imagined standing before you. I was comfortable in the shadows supporting from the background, existing in the margins of someone else’s story.”
The room was utterly silent now, hanging on every word.
“Today, I’m announcing a five-million-dollar donation to the Foundation’s mentorship program for young women.”
A murmur of approval rippled through the audience.
“Because I’ve learned firsthand the cost of surrendering your voice. Of accepting betrayal as your due. Of believing that your worth is measured by your ability to endure rather than your courage to leave.”
My gaze swept the room, landing briefly on a reporter from the Boston Globe who was frantically taking notes.
“Finding strength after betrayal isn’t about revenge,” I continued, my voice growing stronger.
“It’s about reclaiming the person you were always meant to be. It’s about drawing boundaries that say: this is what I deserve, and I will accept nothing less.”
By the time I finished speaking, several women were openly wiping away tears.
As applause thundered through the room, my phone lit up with a notification.
A text from Marcus:
Hospital board just announced emergency session tomorrow. Chris has been asked to prepare a statement.
I smiled as I tucked my phone away.
The walls were closing in.
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