Just like always, when I was wronged, he hugged me from behind. His buzz cut grazed my neck, stubble scratching my sensitive skin.

"Mom's from the countryside, Elise. She doesn't know any better. Why argue with her?"

His voice dropped, authoritative. "My students are outside. Clean yourself up and come out. Don't make a joke of yourself."

His large hand drifted down to stroke my lower abdomen. "The baby isn't a priority."

The realization that those same hands had just been touching another woman made my skin crawl. I wrenched myself free.

"Not a priority? Or is it just that *I'm* not necessary anymore?"

He froze.

Then he laughed. A cold, dismissive sound.

"Honey, do you have too much time on your hands?" He shook his head. "Stop imagining things. You sit at home in luxury—you have no idea how hard I work to make money. Where would I find the energy to cheat?"

Rage surged through my chest, hot and suffocating.

From dawn until dusk, I managed this home. My mother had passed away, and my father had abandoned me for a new family. I had treated Thomas and his mother like my own flesh and blood. Every cent I earned, I poured into this house.

And in his mouth, my sacrifice became "living in luxury."

I peered through his glasses, searching his eyes for a flicker of guilt.

There was none.

*Thomas Gilbert,* I thought. *I never realized you were such a talented actor.*

"You and Hazel—"

"Professor!" Hazel's voice rang out from the bathroom. "I got my collar wet! Do you have a hair dryer?"

Thomas turned on his heel instantly, his steps carrying an urgency he didn't even try to hide.

"I'll find it for you," he called out. "Dry off quickly—we can't have you catching a cold."

Suspicion gnawed at me. I followed them down the hall, my footsteps silent on the hardwood.

Outside the bathroom door, I heard words that made my blood run cold.

"Mr. Gilbert! How can I face anyone now? You tore it—you owe me!"

"If it's ruined, I'll give you one of Elise's."

"What if she finds out?"

"She has no family, no backing in this city. Even if she finds out, she wouldn't dare make a scene."

The noises from the bathroom mingled with the drone of the hair dryer—a cacophony that made my ears ring.

I didn't dare imagine what they were doing behind that frosted glass.

Even when we were most in love, he had never spoken to me with such raw, reckless desire.

When did he become this person?

In the past, holding hands made Thomas blush to the tips of his ears. Now he was brazenly cheating under our own roof without batting an eye.

He had once knelt by my mother's deathbed, swearing to protect and cherish me.

Now, convinced I had no one to rely on, he stabbed me in the back.

He ripped open old scars and plunged a fresh blade into the wound.

In that moment, the last thread of hope snapped.

There was no going back for us.

I pulled out my phone. My fingers trembled as I opened the 999th email from Quinn Barnes.

**[Quinn, I'm in.]**

Quinn Barnes. My mentor from grad school. He had admired me back then, begging me to go abroad with him to develop new materials.

But I had been a love-struck fool. I threw myself at Thomas, believing that a home was the only path to happiness.

I rejected Quinn.

He had been furious. He told me it was a waste for someone with my IQ to be a slave to love.

I had laughed at him. Told him he didn't understand romance.

Eight years. Quinn had built a research empire overseas and a famous cosmetics company domestically.

And I? The dazzling genius of A University had become a nameless housewife, mocked by her husband's students.

Quinn's reply came instantly.

**[Why the sudden change of heart?]**

**[You were right. Love is fragile. I regret everything.]**

**[Elise, congratulations on finally waking up. My company welcomes you anytime. But I hope you make a clean break with the past.]**

I inhaled sharply and shoved the bathroom door open.

Panic flashed across Thomas's face, but he smoothed it over with a practiced lie. "Hazel doesn't know how to use our hair dryer. I'm teaching her."

My gaze landed on Hazel. Her bra strap had slipped down her arm—identical to the lace underwear Thomas had held earlier.

His collar gaped open. Another button was missing from his white shirt.

The tenth ruined shirt.

It happened sooner than I expected.

"Does teaching her to use a hair dryer require unhooking her bra?" Ice dripped from every word.

Caught, Thomas grabbed my arm and yanked me fully into the bathroom, kicking the door shut. His voice dropped to a menacing hiss.

"Keep your voice down. Hazel is a student. You ruin her reputation, and we have a problem."

I stared at him, incredulous.

I thought being caught would bring shame. Guilt. Instead, his first instinct was to protect his mistress.

"She did the deed, but she's afraid of the reputation?" I scoffed.

I tried to push past him. He blocked my exit.

"Mrs. Gilbert... don't blame the Professor," Hazel whimpered, shrinking back. "He's a man. You don't let him touch you—he's been suffering... I just felt sorry for him."

Red haze clouded my vision. I stepped forward and slapped her across the face.

*Smack!*

"What are you doing?!"

Thomas shoved me. Hard.

My lower back slammed into the door handle. Pain exploded in my spine and shot through my lower abdomen like a lightning bolt.

I doubled over, gasping, but Thomas didn't even look at me. His hands were cupping Hazel's face, examining her cheek.

"Are you okay? I'll take you to the hospital."

"It's my fault," Hazel sobbed. "I made Mrs. Gilbert misunderstand. She has every right to hit me..."

The commotion drew the others. The door pushed open, revealing the crowd of students and my mother-in-law.

"Elise!" my mother-in-law screeched. "Have you lost your mind? Hazel is a good girl—she brought gifts, she helped out!"

"Your 'good girl' is a mistress seducing a married man," I spat, clutching my stomach.

My mother-in-law took one look at the scene—the disheveled clothes, the tension—and knew exactly what had happened.

Yet she sneered.

"If you can't bear children or keep a man satisfied, don't blame others for stepping up."

Thomas turned to the students, his face a mask of tragic patience. "My wife has severe depression. Her delusions have been getting worse lately. She's hallucinating affairs."

Shock rooted me to the spot.

The man I had loved for twelve years was standing there, telling the world I was insane.

"Even so, violence isn't the answer..." a student muttered.

"Hazel is so pitiful. Just because she's pretty, she gets targeted."

"Mrs. Gilbert, you should apologize."

The accusations rained down. I felt dizzy.

Thomas's gaze was cold, fearless. He knew that if I made a scene, no one would believe the "crazy" housewife over the esteemed Professor.

He let out a long, weary sigh. "Apologize to Hazel, Elise. Do that, and we'll forget this ever happened."

He and his mother each grabbed a shoulder, forcing me down.

They wanted me to kneel.

I looked at Thomas's hands on me.

Years ago, those hands had taken a slap from my father to protect me. He had promised to hold up the sky for me.

Now those same hands were forcing me to my knees to apologize to his mistress, grinding my dignity into the dust.

"Get your filthy hands off me!" I roared, wrenching myself free. "You disgust me!"

"You want me to apologize to a whore? Keep dreaming!"

Silence.

The students, sensing the toxicity, shuffled toward the door. Once the last guest left and the front door clicked shut, Thomas's facade dropped. His face darkened with rage.

"Elise! Did you have to humiliate us?"

Hazel stepped between us, playing the peacemaker, though her eyes danced with triumph.

"Mrs. Gilbert, I don't want anything," she said softly. "I just want to stay by the Professor's side. Sharing his burdens is enough for me. Please don't fight because of me. If it makes the Professor happy... I'll leave."

Rage detonated in my chest. I snatched the soup bowl from the table and hurled it to the floor beside her.

Porcelain exploded, sending shards flying. Hot broth splashed onto her calves.

"Elise James!" Thomas Gilbert roared, surging to his feet. Before I could react, his hand connected with my face.

The force of the slap knocked me to the ground. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, and the metallic tang of blood bloomed in my mouth.

"You vicious woman! You dare attack a student? Do you call yourself a professor's wife with behavior like that?"

It was the first time I had seen Thomas lose control so completely. Even on our wedding day, he had remained composed, not shedding a single tear of joy.

"It's my fault." Hazel Fox's voice was small and trembling. "No matter how Mrs. Gilbert treats me, I should endure it. Teacher, please don't fight for my sake."

Her words seemed to snap Thomas out of his trance, but only to redirect his fury.

"No apology, is that it?"

He grabbed the clay pot from the table and upended it over me.

The broth looked lukewarm, but the temperature was searing. The moment the liquid coated the back of my hand, my skin screamed in protest, turning an angry red.

Thomas didn't even look at me. He scooped Hazel up in his arms, panic etched onto his features as he rushed toward the exit.

Before leaving, he threw a cold sentence over his shoulder:

"Since Hazel is hurt, you can taste what being scalded feels like, too."

The burn on my hand throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest. The Thomas Gilbert who used to cook for me clumsily—who insisted on making me noodles even after burning his own fingers—was dead.

*"Cooking is too dangerous,"* he had once said, his eyes full of tenderness. *"From now on, let me do it."*

Now, he used the soup I had lovingly stewed to mutilate me.

I looked at the mess of food scattered across the floor and felt like a clown in a tragedy of my own making.

I pulled out my phone and texted the doctor:

*[I'm coming in for the abortion today.]*

The doctor replied instantly, urging me to reconsider. But the image of Thomas and Hazel kissing in the emergency room lobby burned in my mind.

I shook my head, my resolve hardening into ice.

Thomas once claimed he despised public displays of affection. At our wedding, he hadn't even kissed the bride. Yet for Hazel, he was willing to shatter every principle he claimed to hold.

My father had been a cheater. I would not let my child have one, too.

Climbing onto the operating table, my limbs felt heavy, as if filled with lead. When I climbed down, my womb was empty.

"Elise? What are you doing coming out of Obstetrics and Gynecology?"

I froze. Thomas was standing there, eyeing the department sign suspiciously.

My stomach churned. I forced a mask of calm onto my face. "Cramps. I was picking up painkillers."

I tried to sidestep him, but he caught my arm, yanking me back. The sudden motion sent a jolt of agony through my abdomen, and I doubled over.

That was when he noticed the blistering skin on the back of my hand. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. He reached out to check it, but I violently shook him off.

"Go keep your Hazel company."

Hearing the sarcasm dripping from the words "your Hazel," Thomas's expression frosted over.

He looked down at me, his gaze imperious. "You know nothing. Hazel's family comes from money. If I mentor her well, my career path clears up significantly. I'm doing this for our family, Elise."

He paused, his lip curling. "And you—making a scene in front of my students. You're lucky Hazel is generous and isn't pressing charges. Come with me. You're going to apologize to her."

A laugh bubbled up in my throat. He was cheating, yet he still managed to package it as a noble sacrifice for his career.

"Then let's divorce. That way, you can't blame me for holding Professor Gilbert back from his promotion."

Thomas stiffened. When the weight of my words settled, he scoffed.

"You want a divorce? Don't joke. Without me, do you really think you'd live this comfortably?"

He pulled out his phone and transferred $100 to my account. The note read: *Buy burn ointment.*

"Fix that hand. A scar that size is hideous. You're both women, yet your hands don't have half the elegance of Hazel's."

He reached into his pocket and handed me a smartphone.

"Hazel doesn't use this one anymore. You can have it."

Having dispensed his charity, he turned and jogged back toward Hazel's ward without a backward glance.