Rick's accusation was so absurd it was almost laughable.

But Clara believed him.

"Tommy! You dared to hurt Rick!"

She turned to the two bodyguards at the door and shouted, "Hold him down! Break his hands! Make him pay for what he did to Rick!"

Before I could react, the two burly men had already seized my arms.

"I didn't! Clara! I was just cleaning his wound!"

But she wouldn't listen.

She rushed to the wall, grabbed a decorative blue-and-white porcelain vase, and walked toward me.

"Clara! I'm a surgeon! My hands—"

Before I could finish, she had already raised the vase high above her head.

A surgeon's hands are a second life. They demand absolute precision and sensitivity—there can be no error, not even the slightest.

I couldn't stop myself from pleading, my voice breaking. "I really didn't do anything, Clara. We've been married for years. Don't you trust me at all?"

Her raised hand paused midair for a second.

For that one second, I thought she still had a shred of humanity.

The next moment, she brought the vase crashing down on my right hand with all her strength.

"I only believe what I see! Rick would never lie to me!"

A searing, bone-deep agony exploded from my right hand, ripping through my entire body.

My vision went black. The pain nearly knocked me unconscious.

A scream tore from my throat, barely human. "Stop! Don't hit me anymore! I won't go—I won't go to the operating room! Please!"

Only then did Clara lower the vase.

I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air, thinking the torture was finally over.

But she handed the bloodstained vase to one of the bodyguards.

"Keep going. Don't stop until his bones are broken."

I looked up in shock—just in time to meet Rick's eyes, dark with malice and triumph.

In that instant, everything became clear.

The heavy vase came down again and again. My right hand was smashed into a mangled mess of flesh and blood, the bones twisted and exposed in grotesque angles.

At last, I couldn't hold on any longer. The endless pain swallowed me whole, and I blacked out.

When I came to, it was the shock of cold water being splashed over me.

Clara stood in front of me, her face devoid of emotion.

"This is what you get for doing something wrong."

I looked down at my hands—blood and torn flesh fused together, bone faintly visible beneath.

A tidal wave of hatred surged through me.

"Clara… we're getting a divorce!"

She let out a cold snort, as if she'd just heard a joke. "Stop making a scene. It's just a minor injury. We'll have a doctor fix it in a bit."

I laughed in fury, until tears streamed down my face.

"I'm a surgeon! You knew exactly how important my hands are! They require absolute precision and control—there can't be even the slightest mistake! And you—"

My career. My life. She had destroyed them with her own hands.

At that moment, Spencer Shaw rushed in, sobbing, his voice sharp with grief.

"Ms. Stevens! Mr. Stevens… he couldn't be saved!"

Then he saw Rick cowering behind Clara. His eyes widened as if they might split apart.

"It was you! You murderer! Your car hit Mr. Stevens—I saw the surveillance footage! I'm calling the police! You'll be arrested!"

It all came rushing back to him—the hit-and-run vehicle he had seen on the cameras… it was Rick's.

Rick panicked instantly. He clutched Clara's sleeve, his words tumbling over each other. "Clara, I didn't mean to—I really didn't…"

Clara waved Spencer off impatiently. "Get out. This doesn't concern you."

I couldn't be bothered to watch this farce any longer. All I wanted now was to find an orthopedic doctor immediately—to see if my hands could still be saved.

I struggled to my feet, trying to leave.

But once again, Clara stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

"Stay right there. About your father—sign Rick's letter of forgiveness first. Only then can you leave."

I was so furious I laughed. She had personally smashed my hands, yet she wanted me to sign a letter of forgiveness for her lover?

"I'm not qualified to sign that."

Clearly, Clara took my words as an excuse—a form of bargaining. She shot me a contemptuous glance, pulled out a card from her bag, and tossed it at my feet.

"Not enough money? Is three thousand enough? Your country bumpkin father wouldn't earn that in a year, right? Tommy, you should be grateful."

I looked at her beautiful face and, for the first time, found it utterly repulsive.

"Clara, you and Rick really are a perfect match. One ruthless, one venomous—a pair of filth."

Enraged, she slapped me across the face. The sting burned, but it was nothing compared to the agony in my right hand.

"Tommy, have I been too lenient with you?" She glared at me. "You want a divorce? Fine! Once this is settled, we'll divorce immediately!"

Spencer, who had been listening, finally understood and shouted at her, "Ms. Stevens! You've lost your mind! The one who died on that operating table—that was your own father!"

This time, Clara didn't spare him either. She backhanded him, sending him staggering.

"Throw him out!"

She pointed at Spencer, roaring at the bodyguards, "Such a foul mouth! How dare he curse my father! I'll call my dad right now and have him fire you!"

As the bodyguards dragged him away, Spencer struggled in vain.

"Ms. Stevens! You can't do this! Mr. Stevens has—"

Rick clutched Clara's sleeve, his face pale with fear. "Clara, what do I do? I don't want to be arrested…"

"Don't be afraid."

Clara patted his hand soothingly. Just then, her assistant hurried in and placed two documents in her hands.

A divorce agreement—and a letter of forgiveness from the victim's family.

Clara threw the papers in front of me, along with a pen.

"Sign it, and you can get lost."

"I'll sign the divorce papers later. But the forgiveness letter—I can't sign it."

Her patience snapped. Her eyes turned sharp as she barked at the bodyguards beside her, "Hold him down! Use his handprint!"

They seized my mangled fingers and, using my own blood as ink, pressed them hard onto the signature line of the letter.

The pain was so intense I nearly blacked out again. I could only grit my teeth, forcing myself not to make a sound.

"There, Rick. Everything's taken care of now."

Holding the bloodstained document, Clara turned to Rick with a look of triumph, as if claiming credit.

I watched her, that utterly foolish expression on her face, and felt nothing but ridicule.

Did she even realize that the man she was so desperate to protect… was the true killer of her own father?

I wrenched myself free from the bodyguards and staggered out of the room.

The moment I reached the hallway, I saw Spencer rushing toward us with two police officers.

Pointing at Rick, he shouted, "Officers! That's him! He's the driver who hit someone and fled!"

Rick turned deathly pale and immediately hid behind Clara.

She stepped in front of him, raising her chin arrogantly at the police. "You can't take him! We have a forgiveness letter from the victim's family!"

She handed over the bloodstained paper.

The officer took it, glanced at it, and frowned.

"This letter of forgiveness is invalid. The victim's name is Roger Stevens. Not Ellis Connolly."

Clara froze completely.

"What? Roger Stevens? My dad?"