Page 28 of The Surgeon's Secret

Lexi swallowed and nodded once. “Okay.”

Josephine nodded back, professional as ever. “Good.”

As Lexi left Josephine’s office, her mind was spinning. The conversation wasn’t what she’d expected, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

Lexi’s phone buzzed again, and she glanced down to see a message from Catherine:Thinking about you. Can’t wait to see you tonight.

A smile tugged at her lips, but it was quickly followed by a pang of guilt. How could she keep living in this web of lies?

She wasn’t sure she could.

14

CATHERINE

Catherine didn't expect the call. It came in the middle of the afternoon while she was in the operating room, gloves slick with sweat, her focus on the procedure at hand. The voice on the other end was calm, detached, and far too familiar: James.

"I'm coming home earlier than expected," he said, his tone impassive. "There's no point in staying away any longer. I'll be there around six."

There was no warmth, no inquiry into her wellbeing. The truth was, James's voice felt distant now, a far cry from the man she'd once known. They hadn't spoken since that argument when she'd ended up at Lexi's. She'd stayed there for a few days, but as soon as she knew James had left the country again, she'd returned home. As much as she loved being at Lexi's, she knew it wasn't fair to burden her with the chaos that was her life while she still hadn’t really left James.

When the clock finally hit five, Catherine couldn't focus. She wrapped up the last of her notes, practically racing through the final steps of her shift, her mind fixed on the image of James walking through the door—his sharp, calculating gaze, the coldness that had settled between them. The tension in her chest was suffocating.

It was only a few minutes after she reached their house that the front door clicked open, and there he was, standing in the foyer. James was precisely as she remembered him—dressed in a tailored suit, his posture immaculate, his eyes sharp and calculating.

"Home early," she said, trying for casual, but the tightness in her chest betrayed her.

James's eyes swept over her, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary, as if inspecting her for flaws. He didn't smile. "I've got work to do," he said, his tone devoid of warmth. "You know how it is."

Catherine nodded, swallowing hard. She did know. His career was his life, his everything. Catherine's work was a source of pride and passion, but James only tolerated it. She'd long since learned to keep her accomplishments quiet, not because she was ashamed of them, but because he never seemed to see her success as anything but minor compared to his own.

He walked past her, heading straight to the study. "I expect dinner to be ready by six. I've got a conference call, and I'll need you to be…presentable."

Catherine didn't respond immediately. He didn't even notice her hesitation, too focused on his own routine. Her frustration bubbled beneath the surface, but she swallowed it down. The lastthing she needed was another argument where he would belittle her accomplishments, treating them as if they were secondary to his.

"I'll make dinner," she said quietly.

Without looking at her, James muttered something about needing quiet, then disappeared into his study. It was as if she wasn't even there.

The house felt cold now, emptier than it ever had before. He was home, yes, but there was no joy in it. No comfort. Just the familiar weight of his dismissiveness.

She moved into the kitchen, trying to find something besides her husband to focus on. But her mind refused to cooperate, constantly pulling her back to the same thought: James was here, but it was as if he wasn't. He was a stranger in their home, occupying space without really being present.

As she prepared the meal, her thoughts drifted to Lexi. Her moments with Lexi were the only times she felt truly alive, seen, and desired in a way James had never been able to offer. With Lexi, everything was different—real, raw, and unfiltered. But with James? She'd become little more than an accessory to his life, an image of the perfect wife who silently followed him around.

Dinner was a quiet affair. James barely acknowledged her presence, too absorbed in his phone as he texted or checked emails between bites. Catherine sat across from him, trying to ignore the frustration clawing at her chest. It was as if she'd become an object in his life, a fixture in the background that needed to be maintained, but never truly engaged with.

"You've been distant lately," James remarked abruptly. His eyes didn't meet hers as he spoke. "Is something going on, Catherine? Are you too busy with your little surgeries to remember you have a husband?"

Her heart sank. It wasn't the first time he'd made this accusation. The fact that she saved lives every day, that she was a respected surgeon in her own right, meant nothing to him. To James, she was always just a wife—his wife, a woman whose sole purpose was to support him.

"I'm just busy," Catherine said, the words tasting bitter. Would he even notice if she left him, or would he always expect her to come back, like the dutiful wife she'd been for years?

James snorted dismissively. "You always are. Just make sure you're not too busy to remember your place. That's all I ask."

A cold rush of resentment washed over her. But she said nothing, her gaze falling to her plate, her appetite lost.

As the night dragged on, she realized that this—this oppressive silence, this sense of being invisible in her own home—was what her life had become. James was here, but he was as much a stranger to her as anyone else. Maybe the man she'd married was an illusion—either a mask he'd put on or a lie she'd told herself.

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