Psyche The Queen Villainess of Revenge
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Falling For My Cheating Boyfriend's Uncle
"I'm badly injured. Get over here right now!" Fresh off a grueling twelve-hour open-heart surgery, I received a frantic call from my boyfriend, Derik. Without even changing my scrubs, I rushed through Boston's freezing autumn rain to the bar. But the moment I pushed open the VIP room door, my blood ran completely cold. Derik was sitting perfectly unharmed on the sofa, with a scantily clad, third-rate model straddling his lap. Seeing me soaked to the bone and looking like a mess, the model didn't get off him. Instead, she leaned into his chest with fake innocence: "Sorry to bother you, sis. I just twisted my ankle, but Derik was so worried he insisted a top doctor like you come take a look." The cold rain dripped from my hair. Swallowing the sharp pain in my chest, my voice trembled: "I'm a cardiothoracic surgeon. I can't treat an ankle." "If you can't even look at a twisted ankle, what use are you?" Derik interrupted impatiently, looking at me like I was a cheap object. "Don't forget, my family funded your medical degree. You're nothing but a free maid we took in out of charity! As long as you behave, I might still let you keep the title of my girlfriend." In that instant, my four years of walking on eggshells and compromising felt like a massive joke. Instead of crying and begging like he expected, I looked at him coldly. "You're right, I can't treat it. So I'm officially giving up the position of your girlfriend to her." Leaving Derik staring in shock, I turned around, walked out of the room, and rushed straight into a restroom stall. Just as I was about to let out a sob, the door was violently kicked open. A towering, blood-soaked man forced his way in, pinning me hard against the wall. The overwhelming scent of fresh blood and dangerous masculinity instantly enveloped me. "Keep your mouth shut if you want to live." Hearing the assassins' footsteps approaching outside, my doctor's instinct kicked in. I yanked his belt loose, grabbed his collar, and kissed him fiercely. I thought I had just saved a stranger, until a few days later when Derik's grandmother suffered a severe heart attack. Her life was hanging by a thread, and the surgery required the signature of the family's ultimate patriarch. Outside the ER, Derik arrogantly showed up with his arms around that model. "She's already carrying my child! Once my grandmother wakes up, I'm kicking you out of this hospital!" he yelled at me. Suddenly, the temperature in the hallway seemed to drop below freezing. Flanked by two rows of bodyguards, a terrifyingly powerful man strode out. Derik, who was acting so high and mighty a second ago, instantly turned pale. He shrank like a frightened mouse, trembling as he bowed his head: "U-Uncle..." My mind completely short-circuited, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs. The dangerously lethal man I had fiercely kissed and stripped to bandage in that dirty restroom late that night... was actually Derik's most feared and revered billionaire uncle?!
Chapter 1
Gracelyn POV:
Fresh off a grueling twelve-hour coronary bypass surgery, I received a frantic call from my boyfriend, Derik Mccarthy, claiming he was badly injured and needed me immediately.
I rushed through Boston's freezing autumn rain and burst into the VIP room of the sports bar he had texted me, only to find a blonde woman with her pale, slender legs draped shamelessly over Derik's thighs, her eyes rimmed with red.
It was Krystle Paul, a minor model desperate to claw her way into the NHL WAG circle.
"Gracelyn, you're finally here. Krystle hurt her ankle. Hurry up and look at it," Derik ordered. There wasn't an ounce of guilt in his voice, just impatient entitlement.
Soaked to the bone by the freezing rain, my heart plummeted.
So he had panicked me into rushing over in a storm just to treat his new fling's ankle?
Swallowing the bitterness in my throat, I crouched down anyway. But just as my hand reached out, before my fingers even brushed her skin—
"Ah! It hurts!" Krystle let out a shrill, agonizing gasp, burying her face into Derik's neck.
"Gracelyn, are you blind? Can't you be gentle?!" Derik snapped, his eyebrows knotting together in furious annoyance.
I froze. "I haven't even touched her yet."
"If you didn't touch her, why would she cry out in pain?" Derik glared at me, his large hand gently rubbing Krystle's back to soothe her.
Looking at the man in front of me, the extreme contrast felt like a scalpel slicing straight into my chest.
I had been his girlfriend for four years, but before that, we had known each other for twelve years. We went to the same private schools. Every off-season, I meticulously managed his diet. When he ran a fever during his rookie season, I stayed awake for forty-eight hours straight, applying cold compresses so he wouldn't miss a game.
He had known this girl for what? Four days? Yet he chose to believe her cheap tears over me.
I slowly stood up, my spine perfectly straight. "I'm a cardiothoracic surgeon, Derik. I can't treat this."
"Can't treat it?" Derik sneered. "The Mccarthy family fed you and funded your medical degree, and you can't even look at a twisted ankle? What use are you?"
The undisguised contempt in his voice completely shattered my last illusion of him.
Twelve years ago, my mother—a maid at the Mccarthy estate—died in a fire while shielding Derik's mother, Hedy. The Mccarthy family took me in out of so-called "charity." They let me attend school with Derik, and he naturally assumed I was just an obedient maid his family had bought and paid for.
In his eyes, my identity had never changed.
"You're right. I can't treat it," I said, looking down at them. "And I apologize for taking up the position of your girlfriend for the past four years. We're done. The spot is officially hers."
A brief flash of shock crossed Derik's eyes, but an arrogant smirk quickly replaced it. "Are you throwing a tantrum and breaking up with me? Perfect. I was just thinking about giving Krystle a proper title anyway."
His tone was so painfully light. It was as if... he had been waiting for me to say those exact words.
"Enjoy your new title, Krystle," I said calmly. "I'm leaving."
When the heavy VIP room door clicked shut behind me, the suffocating weight of the past twelve years came crashing down.
I had no family left. Every memory I had of growing up was tied to Derik. He had once announced I was his girlfriend in front of his whole team. He had even bought me a promise ring.
Those memories twisted with the image of him holding Krystle, acting like an invisible hand crushing my heart. I couldn't breathe.
Tears uncontrollably spilled from my eyes. Shivering, I dragged my heavy steps down the hallway, rushing straight into the women's restroom and locking myself in the furthest stall.
Just as I was about to let out a sob and release all my grievances, the stall door was violently shoved inward, snapping the latch. A towering figure forced his way in, locking the broken door behind him.
The overwhelming scent of fresh blood, mixed with cold peppermint and cedar, instantly suffocated me. I opened my mouth to scream, but a large, rough hand wearing a half-finger leather glove clamped over my lips, pinning me against the wall.
In the dim light, a pair of ice-blue eyes glared down at me like a cornered beast.
"Keep your mouth shut if you want to live," a deep, gravelly voice rasped against my ear. "Cooperate with me."
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Psyche: The Queen Villainess of Revenge
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