Fabian Morton was a university professor.

For nine years of marriage, he published a collection of love essays for me on every anniversary.

But on the tenth year.

The heroine of the collection became his female student, Doris Fox.

I didn't cry or make a scene. I continued my academic research.

But I never expected this.

To promote her, Fabian took it upon himself to give my first authorship on my academic paper to that student.

"She's young. She needs the opportunity."

"But you have me."

One sentence, and he brushed me off like it was nothing.

But why should I agree to this?

"No."

I wanted to expose the academic fraud and make it clear that I wrote the paper.

But Fabian threatened me with a cold expression.

"Sara Pruitt, I suggest you don't go against me. Otherwise, it won't end well for you."

Afraid I'd sabotage things behind his back, Fabian accused me of plagiarism and forced me into suspension.

But he seemed to have forgotten.

Who invested in building the Pruitt Research Center in the first place? Who elevated him to his current position?

1.

"Give it to her."

Fabian didn't even look up, but his voice was utterly self-righteous.

"Sara, you have countless papers under your belt. Awards and honors coming out of your ears. You don't need this one."

"But Doris is different."

"Without this paper, she might not graduate."

I almost laughed from the sheer absurdity. I grabbed my experiment records and slammed them onto the table.

"Three months of all-nighters for this data. Thirteen rounds of revisions."

"This is my life's work, Fabian. You think you can just tell me to hand it over and I will?"

Doris hid behind him, timid as a frightened rabbit, her eyes rimmed red as she looked at me.

"Professor Pruitt, please don't be angry."

"It's all my fault for being so stupid. Professor Morton only did this because he felt sorry for me..."

"Don't call me that."

My voice cut through hers, cold and flat.

"Doris, if you want a signature work, if you want to graduate smoothly, you should focus on your actual research."

"Not on seducing your professor."

"Enough!"

Fabian couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed my wrist.

"Doris doesn't know any better. She's just a young girl. You're a grown woman—why are you still making such a fuss?"

"Do you really want to drag this out until your reputation is in ruins? Will that make you happy?"

I stared into his eyes. They once reflected my image. Now all I saw was disgust.

I let out a bitter laugh.

"Fabian, you started this."

"Unless you return my paper to me—"

"I will pursue this to the end and nail both of you thieves to the pillar of academic shame."

Fabian's expression didn't change. He watched me with calm detachment.

As if he was certain.

That I was all bark and no bite.

"Fabian, you've been a university professor for ten years. You should know better than anyone what happens to people who commit academic fraud."

"You wouldn't dare."

His face shifted slightly.

He gripped my wrist harder, speaking through clenched teeth.

"Go ahead and say whatever you want. I run the entire Research Center now. I'd like to see who would believe you."

"Whether they believe me isn't up to you."

I shook him off and pulled a stack of documents from the drawer, throwing them down in front of him.

"These are the experiment logs from last December to this March. Every daily entry has a timestamp. I also have email correspondence with the collaborating laboratory—every single data point matches up. Doris has only been in the group for two months. What does she have to compete with me?"

"This evidence is in black and white. Can you forge that for her too?"

Doris's face went white. She shook her head at Fabian, looking pitiful and helpless.

"Professor Morton, maybe we should just forget it?"

Tears spilled from her eyes. "I don't want this to blow up and affect my graduation."

Fabian patted her shoulder reassuringly.

"Even if something does happen, it's my responsibility. It has nothing to do with you."

He turned to me, impatience written all over his face.

"Sara, do you really have to take this so far?"

"I told you—one paper isn't a big deal for you."

"Why are you so determined to make an issue of this?"

I laughed coldly.

"You think this is just about a paper?"

"Fabian, have you ever respected me?"

"Today you're letting your student walk all over me for a paper. What outrageous thing will you do for her tomorrow?"

"I can ignore the rumors swirling around about you."

"But don't treat me like a fool."

Doris's eyes were red from crying. She tugged timidly at Fabian's sleeve.

"Professor Morton, please don't fight with your wife because of me. I don't need this paper anymore..."

"This is all my fault."

Fabian rubbed his brow in frustration. "Doris, go home for now."

Once the door closed, only the two of us remained in the lab.

Fabian watched me in silence for a moment, then sighed.

"Fine. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Since you won't give it up, let's drop the whole thing. Forget I said anything."

I didn't respond. Didn't even look at him.

Fabian suddenly wrapped his arms around me from behind, his voice impossibly gentle.

"Sara, we've been married for years."

"Why argue in front of a student and give people something to gossip about?"

He said he'd just had a lapse in judgment—that he felt sorry for Doris because she had talent but hadn't found her footing yet, and he'd been too eager to help her along.

But it sounded like nonsense to me. I pushed him away with a cold laugh.

"Fabian, are you lying to me?"

I stared straight into his eyes.

Every word deliberate.

"Why did it have to be my paper you took for Doris?"

"And our tenth anniversary essay collection—why is she suddenly the heroine?"

"Fabian, don't you think you owe me an explanation?"

His gaze dropped slightly. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

"Our essay collection has nothing to do with Doris."

He pulled a manuscript from his study drawer.

"Look. This is this year's edition. I finished writing it—just haven't sent it to the publisher yet."

I froze. Flipping through a few pages, I saw it was indeed different from the tenth volume circulating online.

"That doesn't make sense. Where there's smoke, there's fire."

I opened my laptop and pulled up the essay collection that the internet claimed Fabian had written himself.

"It's all over the internet. Everyone's saying the heroine in this one is Doris."

"She even posted about it on social media to celebrate."

"You didn't know?"

Fabian sighed, looking helpless.

"Sara, how old are you? You're really going to believe baseless rumors from the internet?"

"As for Doris's post—I saw it too."

"I asked her about it. She said she posted it on a dare during a game of truth or dare at a party with friends."

"Young girls these days are all like that. It was just for fun."

I studied the man standing before me. He looked as sincere and composed as always. Not a single crack in his facade.

But something still felt off.

"Really?"

Fabian gave me his word again and again.

"That essay collection was fake. How could I possibly make another woman the protagonist?"

"Don't forget—publishing an essay collection for you every year was our wedding promise."

"Why would I suddenly change that?"

Fabian's gentle voice washed over me like a balm, settling my nerves.

I thought back over our ten years of marriage. He had always been attentive to my every need.

He remembered all my little habits.

I liked my coffee with two spoons of sugar and one of milk. Every morning, he'd prepare it and set it on my desk, always at the perfect temperature.

My hands and feet turned to ice in winter. Every night before bed, he'd heat water for me to soak my feet, massaging my ankles while I did—for nine years straight.

When I worked late in the lab, I'd step out to find him waiting with a thermos. Inside was always ginger tea with brown sugar, or the sweet white fungus soup I loved.

And now he was asking me to give my paper to a female student?

I wanted to believe it was just a misunderstanding.

"Fine, Fabian. You'd better keep your word."

That night, to make amends, he cooked dinner himself—a whole table full of dishes.

But the next day, everything fell apart.

I had taken the day off from the Pruitt Research Center. Then, around noon, my assistant called.

"Professor Pruitt, something's happened with your paper. You've been accused of plagiarism!"

I gripped my phone, my head buzzing.

"Plagiarism? That's impossible."

Those papers represented countless hours of painstaking work and dedication. Several of them were at the cutting edge of the field—concepts I had pioneered myself.

How could anyone accuse me of plagiarism?

There was no time to think. I rushed to the Research Center.

But before I even reached the entrance, I froze at what I saw.

Fabian was carefully opening a car door, then ceremoniously scooping up a girl in a white dress, carrying her bridal-style.

"Professor Morton, I'm so sorry to trouble you." Doris had her arms wrapped around his neck, gazing up at him with starry eyes. "I'm so clumsy—I twisted my ankle. Otherwise I wouldn't have bothered you like this."

Fabian looked down at her, his gaze soft as it rested on her face.

"At least you know you're clumsy." His voice was teasing. "Next time you're this careless, I can't guarantee you'll still have an internship at the Research Center."

Doris nuzzled against his chest like a clingy cat, then playfully raised her hand in a vow. "Professor Morton, I'll never do it again. I swear I'll walk more carefully from now on."

Fabian's lips curved upward. He reached out and tapped her nose.

Then he turned and carried her into the Research Center without so much as a glance in my direction.

I stood there, stunned. My scalp prickled, my vision swam, and my stomach churned violently.

Fabian was a germaphobe. He never willingly touched anyone.

In nine years of marriage, I had been the only person he would allow close.

But now, Doris had become the exception.

My mind was still reeling when my assistant appeared beside me, hesitating before she spoke.

"Professor Pruitt, I looked into it. The plagiarism accusation against your paper... it was filed by Professor Morton."

The words hit me like a plunge into ice water. Suddenly, everything made sense.

The day Fabian had pressured me to give Doris first authorship on my paper, I had stood my ground.

He'd pretended to back off.

But in reality, he'd played dirty—dragging me into a plagiarism scandal, destroying my reputation, forcing me to hand over the authorship.

My chest heaved. The color drained from my face.

"I need to find Fabian!"

I spun around and ran into the Research Center. The next second, I stopped dead in my tracks, frozen in shock.