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."

Cooperate nicely, he said.

When this research center was built, my father was the one who funded it.

Back then, Fabian had nothing—just a penniless professor with empty pockets and no prospects. My father worried I'd suffer if I married him, so he poured everything he had into propping Fabian up, building him into the man he is today.

But I never imagined he'd have a change of heart.

That he'd hurt me without any bottom line—all for some nobody of a graduate student.

Before I could even react, Fabian signaled the security guards behind him to escort me out.

I locked eyes with him, forcing a cold smile onto my face.

"You'll regret this."

Fabian lifted his gaze, indifferent. "Take her away."

As I passed Doris, she flashed me a taunting smile.

"Professor Pruitt, you're getting up there in years. Why don't you just stay home and rest?"

She tilted her head, all false sweetness. "As for the Research Center—don't worry. I'll take good care of Professor Morton for you."

But Fabian—

Don't forget. I'm not someone to be trifled with either.

The days that followed, I was suspended. I stayed home, watering plants, reading books.

My phone, however, wouldn't stop buzzing.

Doris, sending me videos. Deliberately. Tauntingly.

In one, Fabian stood with his back to the camera, cooking in her kitchen.

Her voice dripped with satisfaction: "Look, Professor Pruitt—he even keeps his razor at my place now. He told me being with you was exhausting. Said I'm the one who truly understands him..."

Then came the photos. One after another. Intimate. Unmistakable.

I scrolled through them, and my heart sank to the bottom.

So this was the truth. Fabian's heart had never been with me.

The papers. The essay collections. All those little moments I thought we shared.

Doris's gloating voice kept playing:

"Remember your anniversary last year? He told you he was working late. But actually, I texted him saying the library lost power and I was scared of the dark. So he came to me instead."

"And last night when he said he was working overtime? He was sleeping at my apartment."

"If you know what's good for you, you'll sign the divorce papers now."

"Don't drag this out. The only one who'll be humiliated in the end is you."

I set down my phone.

Then I dialed a number I hadn't called in a very long time.

Seven days later.

Doris had submitted my paper under her name—and won a national award. The ceremony was in full swing.

Just as she stepped onto the stage to accept her trophy, a swarm of reporters burst through the doors.

Microphones thrust toward her face.

"Someone has reported you for academic fraud. They claim this paper was plagiarized. Care to comment?"

"We've heard you're a student of Professor Fabian Morton at Southport University. Sources say you got into the Pruitt Research Center through the back door. Is that true?"

"No!" Doris tried to push the microphones away.

She was panicking, though she fought to keep her composure. "I wrote this paper myself. It has nothing to do with anyone else."

"But someone has provided the original manuscript." A female reporter in glasses held up photocopied documents, her tone sharp and relentless. "It bears Professor Sara Pruitt's signature and editing marks—dated three months before your submission."

She stepped closer. "We also have chat logs showing you asked Professor Morton to give you first authorship. How do you explain that?"

The color drained from Doris's face.

Her eyes darted frantically toward Fabian.

He looked just as stunned. The ambush had caught him completely off guard. He shot to his feet, his expression thunderous, barking orders at the staff to shut down the interview.

"I don't know anything! I've been framed!"

Doris was crying now, her composure shattered.

Her finger trembled as she pointed at me.

"It's her! Sara Pruitt framed me!"

"She's always had it out for me, wanting to kick me out of the Research Center. She forged evidence just to keep me from graduating!"

All eyes in the room swiveled toward me.

"Miss Pruitt?" The reporter's voice carried a note of skepticism. "From what we understand, you've been Professor Morton's wife for ten years, with countless awards to your name. Why would you forge evidence to frame her?"

"Because of me."

A deep voice cut through the murmurs.

Fabian strode onto the stage, positioning himself protectively behind Doris.

"My wife and I had a disagreement. She's throwing a tantrum and taking it out on innocent people."

"Doris is my student. There's nothing wrong with her thesis. I stake my professional reputation on it."

The room fell deathly silent.

Everyone knew that Fabian Morton was one of Havenport's most prominent academic figures. When he put his reputation on the line, people believed him.

Even the reporters exchanged uncertain glances.

"Why would Professor Morton go this far to protect a female student?"

"According to our research, this Doris Fox doesn't have any particularly impressive credentials. Surely he wouldn't risk his entire reputation over a student's fraud?"

Whispers rippled through the crowd. There had to be some misunderstanding.

"Professional reputation?" I laughed, my voice carrying clearly to the stage. "Is Professor Morton's professional reputation built on enabling plagiarism? Or perhaps on gifting his wife's research to his mistress?"

Fabian's expression darkened instantly.

"Sara, stop this. We can talk about it at home."

He walked over and grabbed my wrist, but his voice dropped to a furious hiss near my ear.

"Did you arrange for these reporters?"

"You'd better send them away."

The threat in his tone was almost laughable.

I met his eyes and coldly shook off his grip.

"Home? Fabian, do you really think we still have a home?"

"And why should I do anything you say?"

Seeing that I had no intention of backing down, a flicker of panic crossed Fabian's eyes, though he struggled to maintain composure.

"Sara, do you really have to be this cruel?"

"It's just one thesis! Why do you have to go after Doris like this?"

His eyes had gone red with anger, his voice a furious growl in my ear.

I watched the vein pulsing at his temple, the desperation written across his face.

A cold smile tugged at my lips.

"The show hasn't even started yet, and you're already panicking?"

Fabian froze, looking up in confusion.

"What show?"

His brow furrowed. "Sara, what are you planning?"

At that moment, the doors behind us burst open. A group of people strode in, uniforms crisp, badges flashing.

"Professor Fabian Morton of Southport University—you are hereby suspended pending investigation into allegations of inappropriate conduct with a female student!"