My Husband's Mistress Stole My Hands

As the airplane's landing gear touched down, I tightened my grip on the insulated box at my side. Inside was a living heart—the only hope for my ex-husband Sebastian Smith's survival. The powerful Sebastian had waited two years for this suitable heart donor. Three days ago, I got a call from Sebastian. His voice was strained as he told me he couldn't hold on any longer—and that I was the only surgeon he trusted to perform his heart transplant. I used to be his wife, now am the only lead surgeon he trusts. Stepping out of the airport arrival hall, the evening breeze carried the familiar scent of the city. I was about to pull out my phone to contact the hospital when a black van suddenly stopped right in front of me. The door swung open, and two burly men dragged me inside without a word. The insulated box slipped from my hands and was snatched up by one of them. "Who are you?" I struggled to ask. A woman's laughter came from the back seat—sharp and icy. I turned my head and saw Riley James leaning against the seatback, her fingers painted bright red lightly tapping her knee. "Cecily Liebes, long time no see." She said. My heart sank. I knew her—Sebastian's current lover, who'd always seen me as a thorn in her side. "What do you want?" I fixed my gaze on her. "Nothing," she raised an eyebrow, "I just want to invite you somewhere for a proper talk." The van left the city and finally stopped in front of an abandoned factory on the outskirts. I was pushed out of the car, the soles of my feet grinding over broken glass, sharp pain shooting through them. Riley carried the insulated box, walking ahead of me. "Do you know where this is?" She spun around, her eyes full of malice. "It's the 'stage' I picked out for you." She pulled out her phone and opened a live streaming app. On the screen, the viewership was soaring, already past fifty thousand. "See?" She held the phone up in front of me. "Today, everyone's going to witness the fall of your so-called 'surgical genius.'" Suddenly, I sensed something was wrong and lunged to grab the insulated box. "You can't touch what's inside!" Riley sidestepped and grabbed an iron bucket from the side. The bucket was filled with boiling hot oil, white steam rising from it. "I remember your hands were your meal ticket." She sneered, "I want to see how you'll be a doctor without these hands." I tried to run, but a burly man pinned my shoulder down. The next second, hot oil poured onto my right hand. A sharp pain instantly spread, like countless needles stabbing me. I couldn't help but scream, my fingers curling as the skin quickly reddened and blistered. Comments in the live streaming room scrolled wildly; some cheered, others said, "Well done." Riley looked at my pained face and smiled even more gleefully. She didn't realize that the hot oil she poured onto my hand was snuffing out her lover Sebastian's only chance of life. I gritted my teeth, staring at the insulated box in her hand, my heart clenched as if squeezed by an invisible grip.