I never told my husband’s mistress that I was the renowned plastic surgeon she booked a consultation with. She didn’t recognize me in my mask and scrubs. She pointed to a photo of me on her phone and said, “I want to look better than this hag my boyfriend is married to. Make me younger so he finally dumps her.” I simply smiled behind my mask and nodded. The surgery was a masterpiece. She believed she was waking up with a face that would make me weep with envy. But when the final bandage was peeled away, her face went pale. She screamed in horror, dropping the mirror to the floor. I hadn’t made her younger. I had used my scalpel to carve her into an exact, permanent replica of…

“This is her,” Lila scoffed, chewing gum.
“My boyfriend says she’s boring. Says he only stays for the kids, but hates looking at her.”

She leaned forward, eyes glittering.

“I want a younger, hotter version of this face.
I want him to forget she ever existed.”

My heart slammed.

Thomas.
My husband.

The man who kissed me goodbye that morning and told me I was beautiful.

I studied the photo.
Then I studied the girl across from me.

I smiled with my eyes.

“I understand,” I said calmly.
“We can achieve a very precise resemblance.
I will make you unforgettable.”

Lila grinned.

“Money isn’t a problem.
He gave me his card.”

She slid a black card across the glass.

Thomas Sloan.
Sloan Holdings.

My husband was financing his own nightmare.

“The nurse will prep you,” I said, picking it up.
“I’ll see you in surgery.”

She signed everything without reading a word and checked her reflection as she left.

When the room emptied, the anger didn’t burn.

It crystallized.

Chapter 2: The Sleep of Trust

The prep room was quiet.

I scrubbed my hands slowly, methodically.
Finger to elbow.
Again.
Again.

My phone buzzed.

Thomas: Working late. Meetings all night. Love you.

I stared at the screen.

Then I looked through the glass.