The Heiress' Secret: Ex-Husband, Meet The Real Me

Deanna left the Dixon residence with nothing but the clothes on her.

Behind her, the servants wasted no time gossiping.

"She talks big about wanting a divorce, but she left with empty hands. If she's trying to act aloof, she's doing a lousy job."

"Right? She walks around like she's above it all, but everybody knows she only married into this family for the money. They say she's never even shared a bed with her husband."

"That's probably for the best. A woman like her doesn't deserve him anyway. I doubt she'll really go through with the divorce."

"Please. What could she possibly make as a doctor? She's all talk. Just wait—she'll cave and quit her job so she can stay here and nurse Gillian full-time."

"If she's really so tough, why not just go through with the divorce already?"

As Deanna put distance between herself and the house, their ridicule faded into the background.

The fever had wrung her dry, leaving her body weak and trembling.

Her years of medical training told her she was close to collapse.

She steadied herself, willing herself to stay upright while she waited for a taxi.

A sudden gust whipped past, followed by a sleek black car that barely missed her as it sped by.

A jolt of panic shot through Deanna as she stumbled backward, barely dodging the oncoming car. In that brief second, she caught sight of Connor's profile through the glass, his face as unreadable as stone.

The tinted window slid up, cutting her off from his world once and for all.

She stayed rooted to the spot, a sad, broken smile twisting her lips.

Three years of loyalty had ended with her standing alone in the street, cast out like a stranger.

As the car rounded the corner, the driver risked a glance at the rearview mirror, his eyes lingering on Deanna's pale figure. "Sir, she looks like she's about to collapse. If she faints out front, it'll get people talking. We might have a mess on our hands."

Connor opened his eyes, cold and resolute. "She's the reason Gillian lost the baby. Even if she gave up everything, it wouldn't be enough to make up for it."

Unseen, the driver's lips curled into a faint smirk before he answered, "Understood."

The vehicle blended into the traffic, leaving Deanna exposed beneath the merciless sun.

Heat shimmered around her, drawing all the moisture from her lips and making her vision swim. She tried to blink away the darkness, but her balance faltered, and she fought to stay upright.

Her heart thundered painfully as she clutched her chest, struggling for air.

The world tilted around her, the edges blurring.

For one suspended moment, she felt herself drift—light as a leaf, cut loose from its branch and tumbling helplessly to the ground.

Through a haze of tears and dizziness, Deanna glimpsed a familiar face—sharp lines and steady eyes flickering in and out of focus.

She tried to force her eyelids open, but exhaustion pinned her down. As her senses faded, a distant, urgent voice called her name, panic lacing each syllable.

Theresa Lloyd, her closest friend, burst into the hospital after a frantic phone call, only to find Deanna already unconscious, her skin pale and cold.

Even in sleep, Deanna's body shook uncontrollably, clammy sweat collecting on her brow. She hovered on the edge of life, looking one breath away from slipping under for good.

The staff from obstetrics and gynecology rushed to her side, their voices rising in a chorus of concern.

Nikolas Green, the hospital director, arrived to see Deanna limp and lifeless on the gurney. Grief twisted his expression. "She lost so much blood and still finished that surgery. Yet when she fell ill herself, she took a taxi alone and collapsed right at the entrance. The Dixon family has no heart."

The head nurse, Rebecca Oliver, face flushed with outrage, jabbed a finger toward Gillian's room. "Are they really so shameless? Deanna nearly died, and all they care about is another woman."

Nurses and doctors, bristling with anger, rushed Deanna into a private room.

Her fever raged well into the night. When morning finally broke and her eyes fluttered open, she felt fragile and spent, slumping against the pillows.

Her gaze drifted, empty, while the chaos of yesterday replayed in cruel detail.

Pain welled up in her chest, hot and raw. Three years spent loving a man who had once held her close, a man who now left only scars.

She pulled her knees to her chest, hiding her face in her arms as silent tears slipped down.

All this time, she had believed that genuine love would be returned. Instead, her devotion had only left her shattered.

She'd clung to the hope that effort and obedience could thaw even the iciest heart.

How foolish that dream seemed now.

No wonder people called her naive—looking back, even that felt like too gentle a word.

When Deanna awoke again, sunlight filtered in through the hospital window.

Her body was sticky with cold sweat. She changed into fresh clothes just as her coworkers arrived, with Theresa leading the way, balancing a steaming cup of coffee and a bag of breakfast in her arms.

"Deanna, finally, you're up," Theresa said, grabbing her hand in relief. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. For a second, I thought I might never see you again."

Deanna found a tiny smile. Theresa always had a flair for the dramatic. "I'm all right now. It's nothing."

"Deanna, please just focus on getting better. We'll handle the rounds and checkups. The whole team's agreed to cover your shifts, so you don't have to think about anything except recovering," another colleague, Ian Dale, remarked, his voice full of warmth.

Since Deanna's arrival at Benignity Hospital, she had raised the bar in cardiac surgery. When Gillian's pregnancy required close monitoring, Deanna transferred to lead obstetrics and gynecology.

Some of the old guard had doubted her at first, but after watching her in the operating room, even the most stubborn skeptics came around.

Under her leadership, the department changed a lot—surgical success rates shot up, and the hospital's reputation soared across the country.

Her team's loyalty and respect had been hard-earned, and right now, their support felt like a lifeline.

Ian's reassurance was echoed by the rest of the team, all nodding their agreement.

Deanna allowed herself to relax, genuinely moved by their support.

Once her colleagues had returned to work, she looked over at Theresa, who lingered by her bed. "Do you know where my phone is?"

Theresa was immediately on guard. "Please don't tell me you're thinking about calling Connor again. Haven't you had enough of him ignoring you? If you're still hoping to patch things up, at least wait until you're stronger. You can't keep pouring yourself out for someone who only takes."

Deanna managed a tired, lopsided smile. The heartbreak was gone—she had already chosen to let go.

"It's not about him," she said, shaking her head. "I just want to check the news."

She knew Gillian's patterns too well. After losing the baby, Gillian would make sure to appear blameless—crying for sympathy, painting herself as the victim, and placing all responsibility for the tragedy on her.

This time, Gillian's accusations wouldn't be limited to whispers within the Dixon family. Gillian would play to the crowd, spinning stories to ruin her name far and wide.

Deanna thought back to the years Gillian had spent acting like a friend, only to lay the groundwork for this betrayal.

Three years of kindness, only to end up holding a knife in her back.

Every headline and article Deanna scrolled through proved her right.

Theresa, watching her, couldn't hide her frustration. "Why even bother looking? I told you Gillian wasn't as sweet as she pretended. She's a snake, and you keep getting bitten because you refuse to see it. You used to call her your friend with a 'good heart.' Well, now the whole internet is convinced you're the villain. And Connor? That man's hopeless! It makes you wonder how he even got to be CEO—he's clueless!"

Deanna stayed silent, her attention glued to the phone in her hand.

All the coverage was aimed at her and Benignity Hospital—Connor and the Dixon family were never mentioned.

For doctors, reputation was everything. For a hospital, it was survival.

Deanna could take whatever the world threw at her, but she couldn't let the place she'd worked so hard to build fall into ruin.

Gillian's attack was ruthless and perfectly timed, but she didn't realize that the same expertise Deanna had used to save her life could be used just as effectively to destroy her.

After all, congenital heart disease never really disappeared—it needed constant care, and ignoring that was a recipe for disaster.

Deanna found it almost amusing—how much she'd cared, and how little Gillian understood what was truly at stake.

From the corner of her eye, Theresa noticed Deanna's faint, almost dangerous smile and shivered. "Deanna, um, what's going on? I know you've been through hell, but you're scaring me. All right, I won't call Connor an idiot or Gillian a snake ever again, I promise."

Deanna looked up and saw Theresa's worried face, realizing her old habit of defending Connor had clouded things for her friend.

Her throat burned with every word, but she spoke with quiet determination. "Honestly, you're right, Theresa. I finally see it now."

She finished her coffee and settled back against her pillow, closing her eyes, leaving Theresa wide-eyed and completely stunned.

What just happened?

Had Deanna really changed?

She had spent years getting scolded every time she complained about Connor. Now, Deanna was actually agreeing with her?

In disbelief, Theresa pinched her arm hard enough to leave a mark. The sting proved it—she wasn't imagining things.