He Gave Her Strawberries, Gave Me Hives (Ford and Sylvia) novel Chapter 59

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“Easy, Ruby… if it hurts, BITE ME…”

Anniversary day. I caught psychiatrist husband red–handed–devouring my fired maid.

The moment I confronted him? He delivered the most insane excuse ever:

“It wasn’t an affair, Scarlett. Necessary medical treatment.”

“Sexual release to save her from suicide.”

Medical treatment, right? Fine.

In the next second, I made my call–to my childhood friend:

“Got a spot at the psych ward? Yeah. My husband’s lost his damn mind.”

“He need necessary MEDICAL TREATMENT.”

On the night of our anniversary, Cormac Wilder hit Scarlett Flynn with the usual excuse: an emergency walk–in at the clinic, said he’d be dragging his feet getting home.

Worried his stomach would be growling, Scarlett packed a gourmet dinner she’d cooked herself and headed straight for his practice.

But the second she shoved that office door open, she froze–he was shirtless, pinning a woman beneath him and devouring her face like a starving animal.

His back was a roadmap of scratch marks, and the woman had her legs wrapped tight around his waist, looking totally wasted on pleasure.

“Easy, Ruby… don’t be scared. If it hurts, BITE ME…”

Scarlett’s blood turned to ice, and the food container slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a deafening BANG.

The two on the bed snapped their heads around in panic, and the moment their eyes met, Scarlett recognized the woman pinned under Cormac.

It was Ruby Reed–the damn maid she’d fired a year ago!

“Scarlett!” The color drained from Cormac’s statue–perfect face, “What the hell are you doing here…”

But before Scarlett could even open her mouth, a whirlwind of rage stormed in from the hallway.

“Cormac Wilder! I pay you good money to fix my wife’s head, and you’re screwing her brains out instead?!”

Ruby’s husband, Mick Stone, eyes bloodshot with fury, smashed a fist right into Cormac’s jaw.

Ruby scrambled up, screaming like a banshee, “Don’t hit the Doctor!”

Just then, the cops burst in.

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Cormac frantically grabbed some clothes to cover Ruby up, his eyes dripping with protection and tenderness.

“Put this on! Don’t let them see you like this!”

He snapped his head back, finally noticing Scarlett standing in the corner, her face pale as a ghost.

He hesitated for a split second, then turned his back on his wife to shepherd Ruby out the door.

In the interrogation room, Mick was slamming the table, screaming that Cormac was soliciting his wife like a hooker.

Cormac flat–out denied it, sitting there with a look of absolute, self–righteous calm.

He sat upright, collar straightened, radiating that signature icy professionalism, as if he were still the trustworthy Dr. Wilder everyone admired.

“Ruby is my patient. I was administering a necessary treatment.”

He rattled off a string of complex psychological jargon, his fingers lightly tapping the table like he was lecturing a class.

The gist of it was: Ruby was a victim of Mick’s chronic domestic abuse, suffering from severe trauma and suicidal tendencies, and apparently, sexual release was the only thing that could stop her from killing herself.

She had an episode right there in the clinic, and in the heat of the moment, Cormac claimed he had to intervene.

The cops looked at each other, confused as hell, but after checking Cormac’s top–tier credentials, they didn’t know how to handle it.

“Look, Doc, I don’t care if you’re the best shrink in the country, this ‘therapy‘ sounds like total bullshit.”

The next second, Ruby rushed in, dropped to her knees, and wailed, “Please! Don’t misunderstand Dr. Wilder! I begged him to help me! He’s a saint… if you gotta arrest someone, arrest me!”

Mick was so pissed he raised his hand to smack her, but the cops tackled him.

The whole mess ended in a private settlement–technically, Mick was the one who threw a punch.

Cormac didn’t ask for a dime, he just warned Mick never to lay a hand on Ruby again.

Scarlett drifted home like a zombie, leaned against the cold wall, and stared blankly at their wedding portrait.

This marriage to Cormac? She basically begged for it.

She’d loved the man for ten years–four years of crushing from afar, and six years of relentless chasing.

He was a born prodigy–skipped grades, got into the Ivy League for Psychology, fast–tracked his Masters, PhD, the whole nine yards.

Even with his killer looks and old money background, barely any women dared to approach him.

Simply because he was too cold, living like a damn cyborg, every day running on a pre–set program.

And ironically, this man with zero emotional pulse chose a career in healing human hearts.

And of course, Scarlett was the only one crazy enough to chase him, and she kept running for six years.

She was like a battery that never ran out, pulling every trick in the book to “accidentally” bump into him and cater to his every whim.

She even faked being crazy a few times just to book appointments at his new clinic.

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Cormac, sick of her antics, would give her the cold shoulder: “Scarlett, you’re not sick. Or if you are, it’s just ADHD.”

“Scarlett, we don’t fit. Stop wasting your time on me.”

“Scarlett, I like ‘em quiet and gentle. You’re… a bit loud.”

Scarlett took a massive hit to her ego back then, moping around like a kicked puppy.

She was a Flynn heiress, for God’s sake, born with a silver spoon, but Cormac had shattered her confidence until she felt worthless.

Until the day she got her acceptance letter from a grad school overseas and was ready to leave.

Just as she was passing through security, Cormac grabbed her wrist.

“You chase me for this long and just leave without a goodbye?” There was a hint of exhaustion and affection in his eyes. “You know I hate quitters.”

“So, Scarlett… let’s give this a shot.”

In that moment, fireworks exploded in Scarlett’s chest.

They dated smoothly and sailed right into marriage.

Cormac was emotionally stable and never hesitated to drop big bucks on her.

Being a master psychologist, he could read her mind like a book, so they barely ever fought.

Cormac was cold, stoic, and a germaphobe, aside from Scarlett, he treated other women like they were contagious.

Everyone thought Scarlett hit the jackpot, and even she believed she’d melted his icy heart.

But now, all she felt was a bone–deep chill.

Because Cormac hadn’t just slept with another woman–he slept with their little maid, a woman he used to look at like she was trash.

A moment later, Cormac walked in, bringing the cold air with him.

“It’s handled,” he said calmly, washing his hands and dabbing iodine on his cut lip, his tone as bland as tap water. “Don’t worry about me. Go to

sleep.”

Scarlett stared at him, stunned, her fingernails digging into her palms.

“Cormac, seriously? You got nothing to say to me?”

Cormac paused, a look of mild confusion crossing his face.

“Didn’t I already explain at the station?”

“That wasn’t an explanation, that was BULLSHIT!” Scarlett’s voice cracked. “I want to know why you were in bed with Ruby!”

But Cormac just lowered his eyes, unbuckling his watch strap, sounding as calm as if he were discussing the weather forecast.

“It might sound absurd, but I only feel a doctor’s sympathy for Ruby.”

“Her complications are rare–something I’ve been researching. In that extreme state, only sexual release could alleviate her pain. She had a knife to her wrist, Scarlett.”

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With that, Cormac turned and walked into the bathroom.

Listening to the shower running, Scarlett felt her heart sink all the way to the bottom.

She crumpled the diagnosis report in her hand–Brain Tumor–and made a call.

“I’m doing the surgery abroad. Pick me up in seven days.”

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