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.

My workstation had been ransacked.

Petri dishes lay shattered across the floor. The hard drive containing all my research data had vanished without a trace.

"Professor Morton said your experimental design has critical flaws. All your projects are suspended."

Doris stood in the doorway, chomping on gum with infuriating nonchalance. Pinched between her fingers was the USB drive I'd backed up my data to just last night.

She dangled it in front of my face, her expression pure provocation.

"Thanks for all those late nights you pulled for me, Professor Pruitt. Now it's all mine."

Gone was the fragile, innocent girl from before. The woman standing before me now was a completely different creature.

I lost it. I lunged for the drive.

Doris didn't even flinch. She tucked the USB into her lab coat with maddening calm.

"Professor Morton says people who commit academic fraud don't deserve a place in this lab." Her lips curled. "Congratulations, Professor Pruitt. You've officially graduated."

My head rang like a struck bell.

What was there left to misunderstand? The plagiarism scandal, the accusations—all of it was a trap. Fabian and Doris had orchestrated the whole thing.

My eyes burned. Before I could stop myself, my hand connected with Doris's face.

"Don't think I don't see right through your two-faced act." My voice shook with fury. "You think these underhanded tactics will drive me out? Keep dreaming."

Doris cupped her reddening cheek, but instead of retreating, she smiled.

"Oh, Sara. Getting a little hysterical, are we?" She tilted her head, mock sympathy dripping from every word. "I suppose I understand. A woman past her prime who can't even keep her own husband... what else can she do but throw a tantrum when faced with someone younger?"

She shook her head slowly, then pulled something from her pocket with theatrical flair.

Fabian's car keys.

"I'm so sorry, Professor Pruitt." Her voice was honey laced with venom. "When Professor Morton drove me home last night, I accidentally left my lipstick on his passenger seat. I should go retrieve it."

She turned to leave. "As for you—feel free to keep having your little meltdown. I won't be staying to watch."

As she walked away, something fluttered to the ground.

A photograph.

I picked it up. The image showed Fabian in his office, guiding Doris through revisions on a paper—his hand over hers on the keyboard. But her other hand rested on his shoulder, and they were gazing at each other like lovers posing for a portrait.

Something inside me snapped.

I stormed to Fabian's office and kicked the door open.

"You ordered someone to destroy my lab? To wipe out my research data?" I was shaking. "What happened to everything you promised me yesterday? You're going back on your word already?"

I'd completely lost the composure I usually prided myself on. Every trace of poise, of calm—gone. I wanted to grab the ashtray from his desk and hurl it at his head.

His assistant went pale, stammering at Fabian. "I'm so sorry, Professor Morton, I couldn't stop her—"

"Leave us." Fabian set down his pen and rose from his chair, his expression maddeningly neutral. "All of you."

The room emptied.

"Sara, I'm not targeting you." His voice was measured, reasonable. "But your papers are under investigation for plagiarism. You need to lay low for a while."

I laughed—a sharp, bitter sound—and stared at him through burning eyes.

"Under investigation? For what?"

"You know exactly how I wrote those papers. You were there." My voice cracked. "You know how much time I poured into that research. How much of myself I gave. And the moment someone accuses me of plagiarism, you just believe them? You reported me yourself?" I stepped closer. "What kind of husband does that?"

Fabian's expression cooled.

"Sara, stop making a scene." His tone hardened. "Precisely because I'm your husband—your family—I have to recuse myself. Avoid any appearance of favoritism."

He straightened his cuffs. "If your papers are clean, you have nothing to fear from an investigation. I'm just asking you to go home and rest for a few days. Cooperate, and this will all blow over."