After My Husband Killed His Father For My Fortune

The candlelight flickered across Theodore's face as he raised his wine glass, the crystal catching the light in a way that made his smile look more like a sneer than a celebration.

"Another anniversary," he said, his voice dripping with something that wasn't quite warmth. "Another opportunity to thank the Clark family for their... charity."

I felt my father's jaw tighten beside me. He'd never liked Theodore, though he'd never said it outright. The tension in the dining room of our family estate was thick enough to cut with the steak knife I still held in my hand.

"Theodore," I said quietly, "we're celebrating our marriage, not my family's financial support."

He laughed, a cold sound that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. "Aren't we though? Without your daddy's money, I'd still be scrubbing floors somewhere, instead of operating on Seattle's elite."

Before I could respond, a strange sound came from across the table. A gasp, followed by a thud.

Mr. Martin—Theodore's father, who I'd invited to dinner because I knew how much he'd been struggling—clutched at his chest. His face had gone ashen, his eyes wide with pain.

"Arthur!" I was on my feet instantly, my medical training kicking in. "He's having a heart attack!"

Theodore glanced up lazily. "Dad, seriously? Not tonight."

But there was no response from Mr. Martin. He was slumped in his chair now, one hand still pressed to his chest, the other hanging limply at his side.

"Theodore!" I shouted, already moving toward Mr. Martin. "This isn't drama! Look at him!"

Something in my voice must have finally reached through Theodore's arrogance. He stood slowly, his eyes narrowing as he took in his father's condition.

"Call an ambulance," I ordered, checking Mr. Martin's pulse. It was weak, erratic. His breathing was shallow and labored.

Theodore's face changed then, not with concern but with annoyance. "This is going to ruin my suit," he muttered, pulling out his phone.

---

The ambulance ride was a blur of sirens and tension. I held Mr. Martin's hand, whispering reassurances while the paramedics worked around us.

"Stay with me, Arthur," I murmured, feeling his pulse growing weaker. "Theodore is meeting us at the hospital. He'll fix this."

I pulled out my phone and called Theodore, who had insisted on driving his precious sports car separately.

"Where are you?" I demanded when he answered.

"Stuck behind an accident on Fifth," he replied, sounding irritated. "What's the rush? It's just Dad being dramatic."

"It's not dramatic!" My voice cracked with desperation. "Theodore, please. Meet us at Seattle Grace. I need you to prep the OR yourself."

There was a pause, and I could almost see him checking his watch, his expression of mild inconvenience.

"I have a full schedule tomorrow," he said finally. "VIP patients. People who actually matter."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Your father doesn't matter?"

"He's just an elderly relative," Theodore replied dismissively. "The hospital staff can handle it."

My hands trembled as I hung up. Mr. Martin's breathing was becoming more labored, his skin taking on a bluish tinge.

---

Seattle Grace Hospital's emergency entrance was chaos when we arrived. I jumped out before the ambulance had fully stopped, running alongside as they wheeled Mr. Martin through the automatic doors.

Theodore was waiting in the lobby, his tailored suit immaculate despite the emergency. He was scrolling through his phone, not even looking up as we rushed past.

"Theodore!" I grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the trauma bay. "You need to operate. Now."

He looked down at my hand on his sleeve, then at my face. "I'm exhausted, Avery. I've had three major surgeries today."

"This is your father!" I hissed, incredulous.

"Which is why I'm here," he replied coolly. "But I'm not scrubbing in. Halle can handle it."

"Halle?" I repeated, following his gaze to where his young intern stood nearby, looking nervous and unprepared.

As if on cue, Halle approached us, her eyes darting between Theodore and me. "Dr. Martin, I've prepped the OR, but I—"

"Good," Theodore interrupted, his voice warm in a way it hadn't been with me all evening. "You're up."

"But she's an intern!" I protested, my voice rising with panic. "Theodore, please!"

He turned to me, his expression cold and calculating. "Watch and learn, Avery. This is real medicine."

With that, he walked away, pulling out his phone again to check his stocks as if nothing were happening.

Halle stood frozen, her eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Behind us, the trauma team worked frantically to stabilize Mr. Martin.

I looked from Halle's shaking hands to Theodore's retreating back, a chill running down my spine as I realized what was happening.

No one was going to save Mr. Martin.